“None of us have to carry on a story we don’t want,” said Justine.
Cheyenne saw something different in the movement of Justine’s face. Sun breached the swamp, throwing vertical light against the windows, which cast rose-gold rectangles on the bed. Justine stepped away and turned the tap. She filled a glass and drank the water down. Everything in her manner was casual.
“India is wild. I think we should ask people to buy you a ticket,” she said. “You don’t have much holding you. Come with me.” She turned. “Become a citizen of the world.”
There were citrine flecks in her irises. The empire set in her eyes. She had a flirtatious love of destruction. The worst part was she couldn’t help it. She thrived in acquaintance. She was the perfect teacher. She had nothing to offer.
A man came up the path and knocked on the door. Cheyenne wanted to yell and warn him, but how do you spell it out? What no one wants clearly said, this shameful desire—make me a student. Reinstate all this terrible potential like I never spent it.
Justine smiled affably at the man and left with him to look at the maintenance work. Cheyenne found the phone and charger Essex had given her, stuffed all she had in her backpack, and left, wading through the muddy water back to the road.
56 Postcard
KIRSTEN MADE A TRIP to the store for dish soap and a can of Ensure. What used to be a quick errand two or three weeks ago was becoming a major outing. She had turned an invisible corner. Now she couldn’t walk all the way to the store and couldn’t drive safely because her reaction time was too slow. She had to take the bus up and down the hill. Even getting around the store took twice as long as it had a month earlier. By the time she got back the mail had come. In it was a postcard with a photo of a spruce forest and an eagle flying over. It said, I know you know. I’m okay. I’ll be there first week of December, love Livy. It was clear that Livy had never gotten the letter Kirsten sent to Dutch Harbor. Which meant her daughter was about to walk into another new and awful reality when she got to Seattle—and there was absolutely nothing Kirsten could do about it. She had been scheduled to start treatment ten days earlier but had postponed it, waiting to hear from Livy. Now she was waiting to see her.
Kirsten called the nurse navigator and left a message to say she needed to reschedule. She called Margaret to tell her she’d heard from Livy. Margaret lit into her about being a martyr and told her to get off the phone and call Cheyenne.
“Tell her what’s happening and get her home now,” said Margaret.
“I can’t. She thinks I’m a control freak and that I try to choreograph everyone’s life. Besides, she’ll think my being sick is her fault.”
“You talk incessantly about what the universe wants, but I bet it isn’t telling you to die to protect your pride.”
“You’re a materialist atheist. What do you care what it says?” said Kirsten and hung up.
Suffused with anger, she decided to go to the convenience store on the corner for the toilet paper she forgot. It was more expensive but closer and she didn’t have the energy for another bus ride. Even with extra adrenaline, though, that, too, took twice as long.
When she got back to her apartment, she saw a woman sitting cross-legged on the concrete landing in front of her door. She was camped out with an open box of cereal on her lap, which she was eating dry by the handful. The hood of her blue sweatshirt was pulled over her head so Kirsten couldn’t see her face, only damp corkscrews of red hair springing out as if from a wild untended houseplant.
As Kirsten approached, the woman jumped up and brushed the crumbs off her clothes. She stuck out her hand.
“I’m Sarah,” she said.
Kirsten didn’t shake Sarah’s hand so Sarah dropped it.
“Sarah who?”
“You called me in Juneau. I’m the woman your daughter was staying with.”
Kirsten stepped back.
“Cheyenne gave me your address. Here, see?”
Sarah held out a piece of paper. Kirsten took it. Seeing it was Cheyenne’s handwriting, she handed it back.
“Why are you here?”
“I was hoping to see Livy. Have you heard from her?”
“No,” she said and unlocked her front door.
“May I come in? I need to use the bathroom. I came straight here from the airport.”
Kirsten nodded. “Down the hall to the left.”
While Sarah was in the bathroom, Kirsten got out the postcard. When she came out, she showed it to Sarah. Watching Sarah’s face as she recognized Livy’s handwriting made Kirsten feel guilty for being so cold.
“You can stay for dinner if you want,” she said.
Sarah shook her head. “I’m meeting friends. I should go. The Neva should be in port in the next day or two. Will you let me know when Livy comes?”
“Is she expecting you?” asked Kirsten.
Sarah shook her head. “Will you call me still?”
Kirsten looked at the young woman’s face. So hungry, so tentative.
“I don’t know,” she said.
57 The Nurse Navigator
COMING INTO PUGET SOUND, Livy saw Seattle through a kaleidoscope of sun breaks and rain showers, the ship canal and the locks; she knew she was home, which meant she would have to face Kirsten. And what was she to say? It was nothing. It was everything. But different. People make too big a deal out of it, people don’t make enough out of it. Thinking about the conversation she would have to have, she couldn’t yank herself back from the gravitational pull of the Archean black universe that was her mother. Birther of planets, abuser of the phrase “personal journey,” heroic myth generator—why Cheyenne felt like she needed two mothers was inexplicable; Livy couldn’t bear the weight of merely Kirsten’s feelings.
On the dock when they came alongside, she saw Kirsten shading her eyes and scanning for her. Something was wrong. She was gaunt. Kirsten had always been a little heavy but healthy, solid. The extra weight that seemed so natural to her body was gone. Her hair didn’t shine and she was bundled in a winter coat even though it was fifty degrees.
It took more than an hour to get the cutter out, run the lines, double them, and get the chaffing gear on. When the gangplank went down and Livy jumped off, Kirsten wrapped her in a hug that lasted too long.
“I’m fine,” Livy said, extricating herself. “Can you please not look at me like that?”
Kirsten could feel Livy’s warmth from movement, her broad muscled shoulders, the rough skin of her hands. Her skin, its winter tone, her hair braided and slept in and shaped at the crown by sweat and her knit cap. She checked for every part of her as she had when she first counted her toes and fingers. Her daughter was intact but could not look her in the eye.
They went to a nearby café and Kirsten ordered soup but did not eat it, though she cupped the bowl for warmth. Livy noticed that her mother walked slowly and had not taken off her coat.
“What is going on with you?” she asked.
The lie came right out of Kirsten’s mouth with no thought at all. “I got E. coli from a salad wrap. They kept me in the hospital for three weeks. I just got out. I’m fine. Just weak.”
Kirsten pushed her soup away abruptly, spilling it over the sides into the saucer beneath.
“You get raped,” she said. “Raped. And you don’t even call. I find out from a stranger.”
The word raped was too strong in the air for Livy’s comfort.
“Lower your voice. It’s not everybody’s business,” she said.
“The hell it isn’t. They—” Kirsten’s voice got louder. “They,” she waved her arm at the lunchtime rush, “get off too easily. It’s not your shame. It’s theirs. They’re the fucking rapists.”
A couple of women at the next table paused with salad on their forks. Anger brought color to Kirsten’s skin. This kind of moment, embarrassin
g and thrilling, was so familiar to Livy that she started to laugh. Because Kirsten, without money or property, acted like she owned the world and held it accountable. Kirsten daubed the spilled soup on the saucer with a napkin then set it aside.
“I met Sarah,” she said.
Livy froze.
“What are you talking about?”
“Cheyenne gave her my address. Your sister went to Juneau to find you, you know.”
“Why is Sarah here?”
“Ask her.”
“What the fuck is Cheyenne doing handing out my address?”
“Well if you had actually called us, she wouldn’t have had to go find you and wouldn’t have met Sarah at all so you can thank yourself for it,” said Kirsten.
Livy speared a tasteless slice of a salmon-colored tomato and put it in her mouth. Swallowing, she looked at her mother’s untouched soup. “Is something wrong with it?”
“Too rich,” said Kirsten.
Livy asked for a to-go cup. The waiter brought it with the check.
“I like Sarah a lot but there’s a time and place and we had ours,” said Livy.
Kirsten put a twenty on the table. “Tell her yourself. She’s at the house.”
* * *
—
When Livy came in, she saw Sarah on the couch, uncomfortably vivid, even more weirdly stunning than she was in Livy’s imagination. The feeling that she couldn’t control her life was back. It was the last thing she needed.
Livy dropped her backpack.
“Sarah, I know you mean well and I’m grateful for all you did but we can’t both be here. If you need a place to stay, I’m happy to sleep on the ship.”
Sarah scrambled to pick up her journal, a pen, a coffee cup, a phone, all scattered over the coffee table. “I’m sorry. I’ll go. Cheyenne thought I should come,” she said.
“I don’t blame you at all. My sister thinks a lot of things.”
“At least let her have some lunch before you kick her out,” said Kirsten.
“Yes, of course,” said Livy. “I’m sorry. I’ll make you a sandwich.”
* * *
—
Watching Livy and Sarah eat at the kitchen table, Kirsten was struck by their awkwardness with each other and how sensual it was. Kirsten had forgotten how beautiful people were when they were in love. Around Sarah, Livy shivered with life. Sarah was so different from what she’d imagined Livy would want, but that’s better, isn’t it? We shouldn’t be able to know for sure what people desire. It should be a mystery.
Sarah ate her sandwich slowly, stalling, drinking water in between every few bites. When she was done she stared at the plate.
“I guess I should leave,” she said.
“If you want some coffee to take with you I have a thermos,” said Livy.
“I can get it back to you.”
“No,” said Livy. “You can have it. When does the Neva leave?”
“Marne said they’ll be in port a week.”
Their eyes locked and Kirsten saw it happen. All that electricity between them, Livy sent it to ground; she simply switched the channel. Kirsten felt the weight of it in her abdomen. Cheyenne was right. Livy was in love. And was going to do absolutely nothing about it. Worse, once Livy knew about the cancer, Kirsten would be her excuse.
They said goodbye in the doorway like casual acquaintances and did not touch.
Later, while Livy did the dishes, Kirsten tried to raise the subject of Sarah but Livy interrupted, asking about her health and what her doctors thought about her eating so little.
“It’s normal,” said Kirsten. “They said to drink some stupid poisonous fake milk protein if it gets bad.”
She pointed to a can of Ensure on the counter. Livy nodded, wiped the counter, and said she was going out.
Kirsten knew she had to tell Livy about the cancer but couldn’t find the words. She also had to get Livy on the ship to Panama, and she couldn’t think of a way to do both.
After Livy left, Kirsten called palliative care to move her appointment.
“I need to reschedule,” she told the nurse navigator.
“There’s a point at which intervention makes no sense.”
“I just need one more week.”
“We’re not holding your weeks,” said the nurse navigator. “No matter how many times we reschedule you, we can’t stop time.”
58 Ishtar
ESSEX SPENT most of his training time out in the field. In camouflage, in ditches, under leaves and trees, and at night under the stars. It was easier to stay distracted that way. Back on the base, Essex thought about Livy all the time. He began to look at everyone differently. In every interaction he had with a man he wondered: Would you do it? Would you rape someone if you knew no one would know? He stared pointedly into the eyes of every woman he came across and wondered what had happened to her before that moment.
One night, Essex sat around with a bunch of the guys listening to a corporal who had just come back from “over there.” Soon Essex would probably be going “over there,” wherever the new “over there” was. After that, according to the corporal, he would have one job. Stay alive, don’t get blown to bits at a checkpoint, don’t get shot in a market square, make it back to the base at night and you’re a model employee.
The corporal showed them a picture. In the foreground was a soldier. In the background an ancient city. Seven thousand years old, the marine said. Essex looked at the rich blues that were baked into the clay tiles. The wall around the city, weathered and breached, pockmarked with bullet holes, was still beautiful.
“Do you think they hate us?” Essex asked the corporal.
Jared came up behind him. “Does who hate us?” Jared said.
Essex didn’t acknowledge him.
“The people there,” he said to the corporal. “I mean I know they hate us, but do you think they all hate us?”
The man said nothing.
Jared put his hand on his breast. “You can hate all of the people some of the time and some of the people—”
“I’m pretty sure you can hate all of the people all of the time,” said Essex.
“Well if they don’t try to shoot me, I don’t care if they hate us,” said Jared.
Essex passed the photo back.
“They used to worship Ishtar in that whole area,” Essex said.
“Who is Ishtar?” asked the corporal.
“She’s the Sumerian fertility goddess of war, love, and sex.”
Another grunt laughed. “That’s a fucking weird thing to know.”
“You’ll never beat him at goddess trivia,” said Jared.
Essex looked at the grunt. “My mom is a witch. My sister is a fisherman. I like Ishtar because when they tried to keep her out of the underworld she said, Fuck you. I’ll break your doors and smash your locks. I’ll raise zombies to eat the living. She walked into the underworld naked and nobody could have sex until she came back. She got to decide. It was her call. All the way her call.”
Essex got up and left. He could feel the men staring at his back and he didn’t care.
* * *
—
There were people on base he could have told about Livy, people he respected and trusted, but Livy would hate being the subject of conversation. Of course it wasn’t really her that he was protecting. If he had ever had any wish it was to stop being useless and yet here he was, trained in combat, armed with health insurance and a debit card, and none of it prevented Livy from getting raped. Strange rages were hitting Essex. Rages like when he was a boy on the street and had no power. Kick me out, push me around. Look through me like I’m hollow. They came up when he remembered something intimate about her. These things are private. These things are public. They came up over nothing. Like wet dreams, they surged through his sleep. It had bee
n weeks since he found out and he had to tell someone.
Eating breakfast next to the marine he was closest to, a deep and kind man, one of the few his age, Essex almost asked him if he had time to talk. The man would have said yes. And if Essex was going to confide in anyone, it would be him. Scraping his plate Essex practiced the words. My sister was raped and I couldn’t stop it because I’m a fake. But those words were never going to leave his mouth.
Essex took the soft way out and decided he would tell Jared because it was easier since he had no respect for him, and also Jared was a shit bag of a soldier so who cares about his opinion?
Essex found him in the barracks half asleep.
After months of brutal physical training, Jared’s wiry long body had barely changed. Which was only fitting because certainly not a damn thing else had changed about him either.
He reminded Essex of a dirty penny. The drab of his clothing, his buzzed copper hair, two sides, loyal and bullying. Jared had never been the type to pull wings off bugs, but he wouldn’t have stopped it either. He was perfectly happy to be around whatever was going on. In any setting, he sank to the lowest common denominator.
Essex pressed his knee into Jared’s ribs.
“Wake up. I want to go on a walk.”
Jared groaned. “Later.”
“We have to go now. It’s going to rain.”
They walked for a bit under heavy clouds. Fine, vertical striations appeared on the horizon to the south. The humidity was so high that Essex felt like he was in a warm mist.
He told Jared.
“Do you think she maybe sent the wrong signals,” said Jared.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I’m just saying a woman fishing with a whole bunch of guys isn’t exactly a good idea.”
“I can’t talk to you,” said Essex. He turned and walked off in a different direction.
It was soon evening but he had an hour left of his two-hour liberty: Liberty. Liberty to do what? Think?
The Great Offshore Grounds Page 31
