‘It looks great.’ I get out of the car and then help Grace, because I’ve noticed she struggles with this. She murmurs her thanks but then she gently shakes me off and walks slowly toward the cottage by herself, a pale, thin figure.
The cottage is small and shingled, old and weather-beaten. The shutters need painting and one of them is askew. The grounds are nicely kept though, and as we walk around the house, I see right away why she loves it. There is a stretch of green grass, a couple of Adirondack chairs, and then mere steps to the beach and the ocean – all of it right there, vast and shimmering under a hazy blue sky. Grace walks toward the beach with slow, halting steps.
‘Isaac,’ she calls. ‘Isaac, come here.’ He trots up to her and she takes his hand. I stay back, letting them have this moment. Knowing they need it. Grace and Isaac walk hand in hand toward the ocean, the sun making the placid water dance with diamond lights. Isaac kicks off his sandals and Grace, with effort, slips off her pull-on Keds. Then I watch as, hand in hand, they step into the sea.
Isaac starts jumping waves while Grace watches, the surf lapping around her ankles, and after a few moments I leave them to it, and go to empty the car. I call Kev after I’ve brought everything in, including a lasagna I made last night and brought from home. I pop it into the oven to warm as I listen to his cell ring.
‘Heather?’
‘We got here okay.’
‘Good.’
I feel emotional, for
a whole lot of reasons. ‘I’m sorry, Kev,’ I whisper. ‘I know this is hard on you. A whole week…’
‘It’s hard on you,’ he says gruffly.
‘She’s so sick.’ I feel tears start in my eyes. ‘It’s so hard to see her like that. To know…’
‘How’s Isaac doing?’ He sounds even gruffer, which tells me how much he cares.
‘He seems okay, but I’m worried for him. Everything is going to change. No matter what, everything is going to change.’
‘I know.’ We haven’t talked about custody arrangements again. I haven’t dared, and Grace hasn’t actually said anything. As I turn toward the window and watch Grace and Isaac jumping through the waves, I realize I don’t know how I feel about anything any more. It doesn’t seem quite so obvious, so simple, right now.
‘How’s Amy?’ I ask, and Kev gives the verbal equivalent of a shrug. I sigh, and a few minutes later, we say goodbye.
Grace comes in a little while later, looking completely worn out, but happy.
‘I might have overdone it a bit,’ she says as she carefully lowers herself into an armchair in the living room and closes her eyes. Outside Isaac is playing happily on the beach.
‘What can I get you?’ I ask.
‘Just a glass of water, please.’
I fetch one and hand it to her. She looks so pale, her lips bloodless as she slowly sips. I glance around at the cottage; it seems even smaller on the inside – just one main living area with a ratty sofa, two armchairs, and a tiny TV, and a little kitchenette leading off it. The bedrooms are small too – one with a small double and another one with two twins. The bathroom looks like it hasn’t been redone since the Avocado Era of the 1970s.
Grace smiles faintly, her eyes still closed. ‘This wasn’t what you were expecting from me, was it?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The house. It’s pretty darn shabby.’
‘Well.’ It’s hard to pretend otherwise. ‘Yeah.’
‘The same lady who owned it when I was a kid owns it now. She only rents to a couple of people. It’s a treasure. A hidden gem.’ She laughs, the sound raspy. ‘I’m glad she hasn’t changed it. It helps me remember.’ She opens her eyes and looks around at the faded furniture, the dusty seashells on the bookshelf, the local hardware’s calendar from 2015 that is still tacked up on the kitchen wall. ‘I love this place,’ she says softly. ‘I’ve always loved it. When I was a child, it was the only place I felt safe. Where death couldn’t touch me.’ She glances at me, her expression wry. ‘Do you suppose that’s true now?’
‘What do you mean by that?’ I ask. ‘That death couldn’t touch you?’
‘Because when my dad and I came here, we felt safe. Cocooned. My mother came too, for those first few years, but she felt different here. It was almost like it was magic.’ She pauses, her gaze faraway. ‘I think I’ve told you about my mom, how she was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was seven, and then died when I was fourteen. It overshadowed my whole childhood. My whole life, really.’ She sighs and leans her head back against the chair. ‘And here it is, playing out again, except Isaac is so much worse off than I was.’ Her voice chokes and she takes a shuddery breath. ‘He doesn’t have my dad.’
There’s so much love and grief in her voice that I feel compelled to say, ‘Tell me about him.’
‘Oh, Heather.’ She sighs, the sound still shuddery. ‘He was such an amazing man, so funny and gentle and kind. I know it’s easy to memorialize people after they’re dead, although God knows who will do that for me.’ She shakes her head. ‘But in his case it’s all true. He took care of me when my mom was sick, and he was my rock after she was gone. We did everything together.’
Her gaze turns distant, thoughtful. ‘Sometimes I wonder if he did too much for me. I depended on him so much. And I missed him so much. Maybe if he hadn’t been such a huge influence in my life, I would have had more friends. More boyfriends. A husband, even.’ She shrugs. ‘But who knows? Maybe I wouldn’t have, because I’ve known what it’s like to lose someone, and it hurts.’ She draws a quick breath. ‘I hate that Isaac is going to know that too, and worse than I ever did.’ Her expression closes down then, and I wish I could comfort her.