She’s sitting lower in the boat to keep one hand on Jack but she can’t see as well as if she were sitting on the rail. They slip into the channel. Ellie isn’t practiced enough to keep an eye out for the powerboats. The wind fills the sail once more. The boat heels, dipping farther down than it has since they’ve been out together. A wave of water washes in the right side of the boat, and Jack’s face transforms to shock as his lower half is drenched. Ellie stops, wanting to reach for him, wanting to pull the boat back flat, but not sure how. She grabs hold of the tiller, but she turns too quickly and another puff fills the sail before she’s able to loosen it. The boat dips hard and suddenly, its edge nearly going underwater, and Ellie watches, too afraid to move, as Jack tips out of the boat.
Ellie dives in after him and the boat falls behind her, the sail slapping hard against the water, then filling slowly and dipping down. She keeps her eyes on Jack. She’s only under for a minute. She opens her eyes wide — they sting — and there he is, the bright yellow of his life jacket bobbing a few feet from where she is; Ellie scoops Jack into her arms. He isn’t frantic; he looks confused and scared, but too surprised to have reacted yet. They’re in the channel and there are boats coming at them from both sides and Ellie waves, screaming loudly to be sure the people in the boats see them, and finally, bobbing up above the water, Ellie keeping hold of him, Jack begins to cry.
Winter 2013
Things devolve quickly after Caitlin’s pronouncement. Maya watches as her food seems to age years over a period of minutes, wilting and congealing, looking suddenly inedible, when just an hour before it had seemed the most nourishing assortment that she’d ever seen. No one’s touched their plate now for a while. Maya gets up and attempts to clear the table before Caitlin tries to stop her. And though Caitlin motions effusively and begs a couple times for Maya to stop, she finally acquiesces and Maya has a brief respite, washing and drying dishes, putting away the pots and dishware for which she can find the proper place.
The conversation has fragmented. Charles sits close to Caitlin, on the edge of his chair, leaning toward her, his legs crossed. The color rises in Caitlin’s cheeks and she looks impossibly young, lovely, even. Her eyes look larger with her hair pulled off her face and she smiles easily, not thinking about the shape her face is making, not considering the things she says before she speaks. Alana has moved to the bed again to feed the child. Maya, holding a rag and a large green pot, watches as Alana cups her breast with her right hand, and cradles the child in the crook of her left arm. Vivian has a dark shock of hair and wears a yellow purple-polka-dotted onesie. Her hand is wrapped around her mother’s pinkie as she nuzzles into her and latches on.
Bryant sits back in his chair and sips the scotch he brought. A book, Maya thinks, a book. It’s more than a child because it might outlive one, because it will stay still once it’s out in the world. But then the book has no chance to ever be anything other than the thing it is right now.
“You didn’t have to do this.” Caitlin spreads both her arms, smiling. She’s close to Maya, suddenly, and Maya starts, setting down the pot.
“I wanted to,” Maya says.
“Well. .” Caitlin looks down. She takes the pot and places it on top of the refrigerator. “Not much room,” she says.
“I didn’t know you and Charles were so close,” Maya says. This is wrong. Not what she meant to talk about. Caitlin’s hair has wilted and a sweat-wet chunk of it sticks to the right side of her face.
Caitlin stands very close to Maya. She’s picked up the dishrag and starts drying as Maya washes the last dishes from the sink. Their fingers touch as Maya passes her a white ceramic plate.
“I was sort of in love with him awhile,” Caitlin says.
Maya pulls a pan from the stove and lets the water scald her as she scrubs. She remembers the day in her office, Caitlin’s unraveling, all the tears, the way that Maya’d talked and talked to calm her down.
“I was in love with an idea of him that’s probably not real.”
“You dated?” Maya wonders how this sounds. She thinks she feels Caitlin harden at the shape of Maya’s words.
“No. No,” Caitlin says.
The man she’d spoken of then had been tactful in his disinterest. Caitlin had felt worse, in fact, she’d told Maya, for the delicacy with which he’d declined. Maya watches the thickness of Caitlin’s ankles underneath her smock dress, the awkward way her shoulders slump as she curves her toweled hand around a pan.
“I’m more of an admire-boys-from-afar, live-life-vicariously-through-books-and-other-people kind of girl anyway,” Caitlin says.
Maya smiles. She wants to take care of her again, to hold her close, to straighten her shoulders and wipe the hair out of her face.
Caitlin shakes her head. “We’re better as friends.”
Maya’s quiet, grabs another dirty dish. It’s possible that Caitlin doesn’t remember that day, could hardly recall all the things they’ve shared.
“I’ve been making people up my whole life,” says Caitlin. She smiles this smile Maya thinks of as specifically hers. Caitlin’s cheeks rise in gorgeous mounds as her lips turn up. She’s put on mascara for the occasion — it’s clumped into the corners of her eyes, and there’s a faint smudge of black on her left cheek, her whole face damp from sweat. Maya wants to wet her thumb under the sink and brush her fingers over Caitlin’s face. She runs her hands over her own face instead and loosens her hair from its clip. She pulls it back tight against her head and higher, and tries not to glance back at Charles, who, she knows, is watching them.
“Maya,” says Caitlin. She grabs her arm, which surprises both of them.
Maya stays still, the sponge warm and wet in her hand.
“You should go to her,” she says.
Maya’s not sure whom she means at first. She backs away.
“You have to get her out,” Caitlin says.
Maya turns briefly toward the sink and sets the sponge down. She’s not used to this from anyone but Stephen. Ellie, she thinks, Ellie, like a shock straight through her brain. She looks down at Caitlin’s toes; she nods.
“I’m sorry,” Caitlin says. She crosses, then uncrosses her arms. “It’s not my business,” she says. “I’m sorry,” she says again.
Maya still can’t speak, grabs hold of the counter, finds her wine.
Caitlin shakes her head, maybe wanting to start over. “I wanted. .” she says. “It was important to me.”
“Honey,” Maya interrupts her. She needs to take control again.
“It means a lot to me, you being here.”
Caitlin grabs Maya again, this time with both hands, below the elbows, their faces very close. Maya squeezes back. They stand, not quite embracing, not quite willing to let go.
“I can’t wait to read it, sweetie,” Maya says. “I’m so very proud of you.”
Summer 2011
It’s a long time before Annie speaks to her. They’ve been home and both Jack and Ellie have showered. Ellie has stayed alone in her small room. She avoided looking at herself as she walked by the full-length mirror, put on long cotton pants and an oversized sweatshirt, though it’s still a hundred degrees, thick and humid, just outside her room. She has sat quietly on her bed and tried to keep her mind from whirring. She’s tried to read the book her mom sent, but then failed and stared up at the ceiling as she listened to Annie cook, Jeffrey come home. The hours pass in which they must eat, then put Jack to bed. No one comes to invite Ellie to join. She hears murmuring, loud for a minute, then quieter, then the whole world is silent for a long, long while.