Fortunate Harbor (27 page)

“The sand looks clean and soft here,” Rishi said, after they had walked a distance in silence. “Shall we sit?”

Janya lowered herself to the ground and pulled her knees toward her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Rishi sat beside her.

“Have you heard from Yash?” he asked.

Yash was Janya’s younger brother, the one member of her family who had stood beside her at a time of great difficulty in her life.

“He called several nights ago,” Janya said. “He is definitely going to start classes at the University of South Florida in the fall. He was very excited.”

“You didn’t tell me.” He sounded perplexed.

“You weren’t home.”

“You should have called me at work.”

She glanced at him. “Should I have? I will remember that. From now on, when I have important news, I won’t wait to share it with you in person, since that time might never come. I will call you at work and ask your assistant to relay the message.”

“Janya…”

She turned her gaze back to the water. “Let’s watch the sunset, please.”

“I…I’m sorry I haven’t been…more available.”

“Are you? That’s good. Being sorry can at times be helpful. I rather doubt it will be this time, though, since you have been sorry many times lately, but nothing has changed.”

“It’s just that this is a crucial—” He stopped abruptly. “It’s just that…”

She waited a long moment. As explanations went, this was not a good one.

She changed the subject, or thought she did. “It always surprises me that photographers can take such perfect pictures of a sunset but not even begin to convey the real experience.”

She glanced at him again and realized she hadn’t changed the subject at all. “Sunsets are like marriages, aren’t they? Someone could take a photograph of ours, and it might look happy and solid to anyone viewing it. But the photograph would not convey the truth. I am not quite certain how long the photographer could continue, under these circumstances, to get acceptable images, either.”

For a moment he looked angry. “Do you think it helps to be critical?”

“Did it help when I was not?”

“This is just a difficult time for me, that’s all. Many things happening, and I’m caught up in all of them.”

“Things I should know about?”

He shook his head. “Nothing to worry about. Just things that are keeping me too busy.”

“Too busy…” She wanted to add “to make love to your wife,” but the words wouldn’t come. They had begun their marriage as strangers trying to find a life together. They had overcome difficulties, begun to grow closer. But intimacy? The kind that grows between two people who can say whatever they must without recrimination? They hadn’t reached that point, and now she was fairly certain they never would.

She sat silently and watched as the sun was devoured by the hungry gulf. Darkness would come quickly now, but from here they could easily pick their way back to the road. She started to stand, but Rishi held her back.

“I am sorry,” he said softly. “This is a stressful time. I
am
sorry.”

She thought about telling him she knew he had lied to her.

She thought about demanding an explanation. But something in his tone stopped her. Rishi sounded genuinely sad, perhaps even more than sad.

Desolate.

She put her hand on his cheek and gazed into his eyes. “Show me you are.”

He looked startled. Hope, and something that might be desire, blazed suddenly in his eyes. “Here?”

“There is no one here to see us.”

“On the sand?”

“Have I married a prissy old woman? To worry about such things? If you are sorry for ignoring me so thoroughly in the past weeks, then ignore me no more. Beginning right now.”

For a moment she thought he would comply. His eyes were filled with longing. He reached around to cup the back of her head and bring her close. Then he froze.

“I…I think there’s someone on the path. I saw a shadow.”

She turned in the direction Rishi’s gaze had traveled. The path, which they would take back to the road, was empty.

“There’s no one there,” she said.

He moved away and got to his feet. “I saw a shadow. This is no place to…” He let the words trail off.

Sighing, she got to her feet, too. She could finish the sentence for him, but there were so many possible endings, there was no time to voice them all.

No place to make love.

No place to be honest.

No place to set their marriage to rights.

No place to tell her that he no longer want to be married to a woman who could not bear his children.

She brushed the sand off her pants and straightened her shirt.

“You’re right. As they say in this country, what was I thinking? Let’s go home.”

She started across the sand to the still-vacant path.

Dana sat next to Pete in his screen room, a glass of merlot on the fold-up table beside her. The Airstream was air-conditioned, but even with the sultry temperatures outside, it was nice to be where the air smelled like pine and wood smoke, and the sounds of children laughing and playing were punctuated by the bellows of frogs and the hum of radios.

“I’m assuming Lizzie will find her way back,” Dana said, not really worried.

“She’s having a ball. You may not be able to wrestle her back into your car.”

“You’ve been so nice about this.”

“Lizzie’s always welcome.”

“Well, when you saw us, I’m hoping you felt at least a trace of disappointment that you and I weren’t going to be alone tonight.”

“More than a trace.”

She leaned over and kissed his cheek, then his lips, when he turned them to her. “Thanks for hiding it.”

He laced his fingers through hers. “My boys were born when I was practically a kid myself. Two was plenty, since we were all growing up together. But I did miss having a daughter. You must have been thrilled when you learned you’d had a girl.”

These were choppy waters, and Dana trod carefully. Despite years on the run, she could still sort lies from truth, and as long as she could, she didn’t want to lie to Pete. At least not any more than she had to lie to everyone.

“I’ve always loved kids,” she said.

“You didn’t want a daughter more than a son?”

Dana thought back to her pregnancy. “I wanted a healthy baby.”

“Did you get one?”

Dana thought back to the infant who had fought for every breath in a preemie’s incubator. “Lizzie looks pretty healthy, wouldn’t you say?”

“I would say.”

“Love makes all the difference.” The moment she said it, Dana wondered why she had. That sentiment didn’t fit the conversation they were supposed to be having, although it certainly fit Lizzie’s life.

Pete interpreted. “In other words, you took good care of her, despite the asthma, despite all the childhood problems that cropped up, and you have a healthy girl to show for it.”

She was relieved he had somehow made sense of it. “That’s what mothers do.”

“That’s what they’re supposed to do. Not all of them comply.”

For a moment fear streaked through her, as it so often did. Had she given something away? Would Pete grow suspicious? With all the moves and the accompanying fishy excuses, her peculiar lack of attachment to anyone but her daughter, their lives looked suspicious enough.

“Most of them try,” she said. “It’s a tough job, and some mothers just don’t know where to begin. Nobody ever showed them how.”

“Who showed you?”

They were going too deep. She was sorry the conversation had taken this turn. “I had an ordinary childhood, where my needs were taken into consideration, and I was expected to
behave.” Deftly, she turned the spotlight to him. “Sometimes it’s just that simple, don’t you think? Was yours the same?”

“My father was career navy. You’d better believe we were expected to behave.”

She laughed softly. “Somebody took good care of you, though. You understand how it’s done.”

“My mother doted on all her children, and my father doted on her. He didn’t dare cross any lines. If she thought he was demanding too much, she pulled him to one side and things changed. He was a good man who was better when he was around her. We all were.”

“A testimony to motherly love.” Dana saw her daughter coming back with a couple of the campground girls. “And speaking of mothering…”

She got to her feet and unzipped her way out of the screen room to greet Lizzie, who waved goodbye as the two other girls started back down the road.

Lizzie was sweating and flushed, and she looked tired. Dana thought the girls had probably made the entire circuit, some of it at a run.

“You look beat, kiddo. Come on in and have a seat. I’ll get you some water.”

Lizzie didn’t respond. She hung her head and shook it from side to side. Dana decided to let her catch her breath, but Pete got to his feet and joined them.

“Are you okay, Lizzie?”

She shook her head again. Dana was instantly alarmed. Maybe Lizzie had already caught Olivia’s cold, or maybe she was just overheated and dehydrated.

She moved closer, and then the cause of Lizzie’s distress was obvious.

She stooped, so she could see Lizzie’s face. “Were you petting a cat?”

Lizzie croaked a “yes.”

“The neighbor a couple of campers over has two,” Pete said.

“Is that where you were?” Dana asked her daughter.

Lizzie nodded. “Ear…lier.”

“Let’s get your rescue inhaler. Did you leave it in the car?”

Lizzie looked up, stricken. “I didn’t…”

Dana felt panic begin to gnaw at her. The last doctor to see Lizzie had convinced Dana that at eleven, Lizzie was old enough to prepare for an asthma attack on her own. She was the right age, he had cautioned, to learn how to handle one herself, so that by the time she became a teenager, carrying and using her inhaler would be second nature and nothing to be embarrassed about around her peers. Dana was allowed to check with her daughter when she left the house to be sure Lizzie had what she needed, but Lizzie had to learn to handle her asthma on her own.

Tonight Dana had forgotten to check. She’d been in a hurry to see Pete, and she had been lulled by all the months of Lizzie’s good health. Apparently Lizzie had been, too. They’d even cut down the daily meds she was supposed to take, with no repercussions.

“I should have reminded you,” Dana said, guilt warring with panic. “It’s not your fault. I should have—”

“Dana.” Pete put a hand on her arm. “Let’s make her comfortable.”

“But she doesn’t have—”

He gave a sharp shake of his head to silence her. “She’s going to be fine. Lizzie, take my seat.” He led the girl into the screen room and over to his chair where he helped her sit.

Then he stooped in front of her. “Okay, now the most important thing you can do is relax your shoulders and neck, okay? I know it’s hard, but you have to do it. Just feel the muscles let go, a little at a time. Don’t fight with them. Let everything drop.” He waited. Dana saw Lizzie’s shoulder droop a fraction.

“Terrific!” Pete put his hand on her arm. “Now watch me and breathe with me, okay?”

Lizzie’s eyes were wide with alarm, and Dana could hear her wheezing loudly.

“Purse your lips. Like this.” Pete showed her, as if he was about to play a round of Taps.

Dana went to her daughter and put her hand on her shoulder to comfort her, but Pete had control now, and he was calm and useful, while inside, she was falling apart.

He spoke slowly, as if they had all the time in the world. “We’re going to breathe in through our noses. Then we’re going to breathe out through our mouths. But we’re going to do both as slowly as we can. Try not to gasp for air, okay?”

Pete began to breathe, keeping eye contact with Lizzie. Lizzie tried to follow his example, but with limited success. Pete kept encouraging her softly, as Dana felt more and more panicked.

“I can’t…” Lizzie wailed.

“Sure you can,” Pete said. “You’re going to be fine in a few minutes. But breathe with me. Again now.”

Dana closed her eyes and tried to think where the nearest emergency room might be. There was a hospital in Palmetto Grove, of course, but they were a good twenty-five minutes north of the city. If they left now, would that be better for Lizzie? Should she get her daughter into the car right this minute, wheezing and all?

“Hey, that’s good.” Pete sounded pleased. “Let’s see if we can do that even slower.”

Dana looked down and saw that Lizzie was concentrating and trying to follow instructions. Dana prayed it was working.

Four long breaths later, she realized it was beginning to. She could feel her daughter’s shoulder relaxing bit by bit. And the strained, shallow sound of her breathing had lessened.

Ten minutes passed before Pete stood.

“Rest if you need to,” he told Lizzie, “but keep up the breathing a little bit longer.”

“I feel a lot better.”

“I know you do, but let’s make sure the worst is really over, okay? Then your mom will drive you home, and you can use that missing inhaler of yours.”

Lizzie nodded.

Dana realized all too well that she was the one who should have been guiding Lizzie through the slow breathing. But she had completely lost her cool. Had she tried to, her own anxiety would have communicated itself and made things worse.

“Where did you learn that?” Dana knew she still sounded frightened. Her voice was high and breathy.

“My youngest son had asthma as a boy.”

She felt Pete looking at her, as if trying to understand why she had fallen apart. If Lizzie’s asthma was serious enough that they had been repeatedly forced to move because of it, shouldn’t she be as used to this as a parent could ever be?

Dana had no answers. None she could give him, anyway. She couldn’t explain that Lizzie’s attacks were so rare that the only time they came to anybody’s attention was when Dana used them as an excuse for moving. She had panicked because she had been completely surprised.

“I’m sorry,” Dana said, not sure which part of the evening she was apologizing for. The attack. Her reaction. The lies that probably made him wonder what kind of mother she was.

“No need to apologize.”