by Lucy Clarke
Callie says, “We must be almost there.” Then she twists in her seat to look at Eva more fully. “I still can’t believe it,” she says. “You have a person in your stomach. A person, Eva. Living in your stomach.”
Callie can’t have children. She was diagnosed with endometriosis at seventeen, and even following treatment, the gynecologist gave her very low odds of ever becoming pregnant. Callie’s always claimed she didn’t want children anyway, and Eva understands why she needs to believe this.
But Callie had always been the one, out of all of Eva’s friends, who was most interested in her work as a midwife. She asked questions about everything, wanting to know what had happened to the woman who had premature twins, or the pregnant girl who was refusing cancer treatment, or the IVF lady who’d miscarried four times. She loved hearing other people’s stories and Eva quietly hoped that one day Callie would have a story of her own to tell.
“Do you feel different?” Callie asks. “You must. Have you had morning sickness? Or weird cravings?”
“No cravings. Just morning sickness that comes in the evenings.”
“Do you mind if I feel it?” Callie asks.
“Sure, but there’s not much to feel yet.”
Callie reaches across and places a hand on Eva’s stomach.
Eva keeps her eyes on the track ahead, a sudden surge of emotion rising in her throat.
“Have you felt any kicking?”
She swallows. “Still a bit early.”
“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” Callie says, her voice filled with wonderment.
Eva presses her lips together, nodding. But as she drives, tears begin rolling slowly down her cheeks.
“Eva?”
“I’m sorry.” She takes one hand off the wheel and wipes her face. “I just . . . I want him here so much, Cal. He should be here for this.”
“I know, darling. I know. Here, let’s pull over.”
Eva pulls into the side of the track as more tears spill down her face. She presses the heels of her hands against her eyes. “I can’t do this without him.”
“You can! I know you can.”
Sobs roll through her body as she thinks about all that Jackson will miss: being there for the birth; watching the baby’s first steps; tiptoeing through the house to leave out a Christmas stocking; taking him or her to school on their first day. There will be a thousand important moments and Jackson won’t be there—not for any of them.
“You’re not alone, Eva. I’m going to be right there with you, every step. Okay? And I know it’s Jackson that you really want, and that what happened to him is awful and unfair and such a terrible, terrible waste—but he’s not gone, Eva. Not really. He’s still with you, watching over you.” She pauses. “And you know the best thing of all?”
Eva blinks, looking at her.
Callie places her hands over Eva’s stomach. “Jackson’s left you this. It’s a gift.”
Eva feels the warmth of Callie’s hands resting over the tiny life growing inside her, and she thinks, Yes, this is a gift.
She wipes her face with her sleeve, then sits up straighter, composing herself. She reaches for the key in the ignition, but Callie says, “Actually, we’re already here.”
Eva follows the direction Callie is pointing in.
Her breath catches: ahead of them is a brilliant white lighthouse rising proudly out of the cliff top, its western side glowing a warm gold in the late-afternoon sun.
Callie says, “I know this isn’t the Tower Lighthouse and I’m not a six-foot-two Tasmanian, but I’ve got a bottle of champagne in my suitcase. So how about a—tiny—drink with me beneath the lighthouse?”
Eva puts a hand to her mouth. She shakes her head as she looks at Callie. “You remembered.”
“Happy anniversary, darling.”
THEY RETURN TO THE shack feeling windblown and tired. Callie points toward the rocks at the edge of the bay. “Is that him?”
Eva follows her gaze to where Saul stands in the shallows. They haven’t spoken since the dinner at his house and she recalls the uncertain feeling that crept over her skin as they stood together on the beach afterward. “Yes. That’s Saul.”
“The estranged brother,” Callie says, wiggling her eyebrows. “What’s he like? He’s younger, isn’t he?”
“Yes, by two and a half years.”
“Does he know he’s going to be an uncle?”
“Yes, but I don’t think he’ll be throwing me a baby shower.”
“Oh?”
Eva tells her about Saul’s oddly reticent manner as they leave the deck and wander along the beach to meet him. “I can’t figure him out, Cal. He offered up the shack so I could stay—yet at the same time it’s like he doesn’t want me here. He never comes by to see me or to ask how I’m feeling about the baby. He’s not even interested in Jackson’s life in London.”
“Do you think it’s because of their falling-out?”
Eva lifts her shoulders. “Maybe he feels guilty. Saul never apologized—and now it’s too late to put it right.”
A few minutes later they reach Saul, who is standing ankle-deep in the shallows, chipping at the rocks with what looks like a palette knife. Seeing Eva and Callie, he stops what he’s doing and wades onto the shore.
“All right?” Saul nods at Callie when Eva introduces her. “I’d shake your hand, but . . .” He lifts his damp hands, which are flecked with shards of shell and grime.
“What are you collecting?” Eva asks.
“Oysters.”
“To eat?”
He nods, then pulls one from the net bag hooked over his forearm. “Want one?”
Eva looks at Callie, then says, “Sure.”
Saul takes a penknife from the pocket of his shorts, releases the blade, and pushes the tip of the knife into the hinge of the shell. Then he twists it to pry the shell open. When the lid comes off, he holds it in his palm and runs the knife under the muscular part to loosen the glistening flesh.
“Isn’t there some rule about shellfish and pregnancy?” Callie says to Eva.
“These couldn’t be any fresher,” Eva says, “so it’s perfectly safe.”
“Just because you’re a midwife, I don’t want you cutting corners and being all cavalier.”
Eva smiles. She takes the oyster from Saul and tips it back, swallowing it whole. The flavor is light, crisply cool, with a touch of the sea.
Saul pulls out another from the bag and works the knife into it, then hands it to Callie. “So you’ve just arrived?”
“Yes, a few hours ago,” she says, accepting the oyster. “I’m here for four nights, and then we’re heading on to Melbourne.”
“Callie’s going to be working on a show out there,” Eva explains.
“A bloody awful show,” Callie adds. “We’ve got a celebrity chef visiting people’s homes and seeing what he can do with the ingredients in their cupboards—then eating dinner with the family.”
“Melbourne’s a good city,” Saul says to them both. “Maybe you’ll enjoy it.”
“Do you know it well?” Callie asks.
“I studied there.”
“Oh, like Jackson,” Eva says. “I didn’t realize you both went to the same university. Did you overlap?”
Saul’s brow creases. “Jackson didn’t study in Melbourne.”
“Excuse me?”
“He lived there awhile,” Saul tells her, wiping his hands on the back pockets of his shorts, “but he was working.”
A slow heat creeps up her neck and into the base of her cheeks. Has she gotten this wrong? She’s certain it was Melbourne. She hates to think that any details of his life are slipping away from her—or that Saul might question how well she really knew him. She turns the empty oyster shell through her fingers, asking as casually as she can, “Where did he get his degree, then?”
A quizzical expression settles over Saul’s face. “He didn’t. Jackson never went to college.”
“Of course he did. He has a m
arine biology degree.” It’s one of the first things they’d talked about when they met on the plane. She’s no idea why Saul would think otherwise.
She watches the slow shake of Saul’s head. “No. He worked in Melbourne for a couple of years, but he never got a degree there—or anywhere.”
Eva turns to Callie, wanting her to make sense of this absurd conversation. But Callie is looking at Saul carefully, as if she’s contemplating what he’s saying.
The heat is now full in her cheeks. How would Saul even know what Jackson was doing? He was happy to cut Jackson out of his life years ago—so what kind of relationship must they’ve had before that? Her fingers clasp tight around the oyster shell, the jagged edges cutting into her palm. All she knows is that she needs to end this conversation, get away from Saul. She does her best to smile as she says, “We must be getting our wires crossed somehow.”
“Yeah,” he concedes quickly.
“That was weird,” Callie says a few minutes later as she and Eva walk up the beach together. “What did you make of it?”
“I don’t know,” Eva says, shaking her head.
“Do you think . . . is there any way Saul might be . . . right?”
Eva feels herself stiffen. “What, Jackson doesn’t have a degree? He just made it up?”
“No, I’m not saying that! What I mean is, could there have been a misunderstanding?”
“How do you misunderstand whether your husband went to college or not? I know Jackson didn’t use his marine biology, but that’s only because we didn’t live near the coast.”
“True.” Callie hooks her arm through Eva’s. “Saul’s probably just made a mistake. You said they weren’t close. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
Eva nods, but as they walk toward the shack, she glances at Callie and she can tell her thoughts are lingering on the conversation with Saul, doubt flickering bright in her mind.
I was never sure what Callie thought of me. I think men are always nervous about the best friend—she had your ear a long time before I stepped into your life.
Knowing how much she meant to you, it was important to me that we got on. For my part, I liked Callie. She was a good friend to you—loyal, supportive, kind—and that’s all that mattered. But she never really warmed to me, I could see that.
The evening you and I got engaged, we had friends over to celebrate, didn’t we? I was grabbing another bottle of champagne from the fridge, when Callie came in with a tray of empty glasses. I hadn’t spoken to her yet that night. She set the tray down, then leaned against the sink, her eyes shining as she said, “You must be over the moon.”
I thought it was an odd remark. Not “Congratulations” or “You both must be over the moon.” I grinned as I said, “I am. I feel like the luckiest bastard in town.”
Callie didn’t say anything.
“I guess it must seem quick,” I heard myself adding in her silence, “but it feels right, you know?” When she still didn’t speak, I went on. “Eva’s amazing. Literally amazing. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve her.” I took a deep breath and told Callie the one thing I wanted to believe more than anything: “I’m going to make Eva happy.”
She pinned me with her cool gaze and said, “I really hope you do.”
When she left the kitchen, I stood there holding the champagne bottle, my celebratory mood vanishing. I knew then that Callie would always be keeping a watchful eye on me, making sure I didn’t hurt you.
The last time I ever saw Callie was in a restaurant in London. But she definitely wasn’t watching closely enough that night.
10
The morning is still, as though the island is holding its breath. There’s not a ripple of wind on the water and the sky is blue and cloudless. Eva stands at the end of the jetty, the sun hot on her skin. Beside her, Callie is checking e-mails on her phone, a hand shading the screen from the glare.
Eva listens to the faint chatter of two children catching crabs, their nut-brown legs dangling toward the water. A gull stalks up and down, patrolling near the sandwich crusts the children have discarded.
She rubs a hand over her eyes, wishing she’d slept better. Perhaps a few extra hours would’ve improved her mood. Yesterday she’d felt positive; she and Callie had spent the morning picking blueberries at the berry farm, and the afternoon chatting about baby names over cappuccinos and muffins at the Bakehouse Café. Yet she’d woken feeling overwhelmed by thoughts of Jackson. That’s the thing she’s learning about grief: there’s no traceable pattern—it doesn’t get steadily easier in incremental degrees. It shifts and grows and shrinks at will, catching her off guard.
Her hand moves lightly to her stomach as she wonders whether she can really make this work. She needs to be both a mother and a father to this child and she is scared she isn’t going to be enough.
She wants to believe that she’ll bring her child back here one day. She could show her son or daughter this jetty, sharing the story Dirk told her about Jackson as a boy diving for squid jigs to sell to tourists. She wants to know the minutiae of the memory: how old Jackson was; what swimming trunks he wore; whether he had boyish, gangly legs or baby fat around his middle. She hasn’t seen a single childhood photo and has heard only a handful of tales. There’s still so much she doesn’t know.
“Here he is,” Callie says, nodding toward Saul, who is drawing the boat beside the jetty.
He is wearing a sun-faded cap and his T-shirt is a murky shade of blue with a smear of oil on the right sleeve. He looks tanned and relaxed as he loops a rope around a metal post on the jetty.
Callie had persuaded Saul to take them out in his boat to see Wattleboon from the water. With them leaving for Melbourne in two days, this was Callie’s way of offering Saul a chance to step up to the mark of being a brother-in-law. But Eva knows a few hours on a boat won’t change much. She suspects that Saul’s hesitance to talk about Jackson has deeper roots than they can see.
Callie is the first to climb aboard, using Saul’s arm to steady herself. The small aluminum boat with a half cabin looks tired in the harsh sunlight. Callie sits at the back, where a beach towel has been spread over the metal seat.
“Ready?” Saul says to Eva, holding out his hand.
She tries to work a smile through the muscles of her face. “Yes.”
She takes Saul’s hand, feeling the warmth of his fingers closing around hers. It’s the first physical contact they’ve had, and her gaze travels to their joined hands. His fingers are wide and long like Jackson’s, but they are also deeply tanned with a scar cutting across his second knuckle.
When she’d held hands with Jackson, they’d developed a private way of communicating where one of them would squeeze the other’s hand twice in quick succession, meaning: I’ve got you. She remembers the unspoken reassurance she’d felt when his fingers squeezed hers on the way to a hospital appointment, or when they were sitting in a back pew at the funeral of a colleague, or on the subway in rush hour.
Saul releases her fingers and turns away. She blinks as her empty hand falls to her side.
“Eva,” Callie calls. “Sit back here with me.”
Eva drifts toward the stern, and as she lowers herself down, Callie whispers, “You okay?”
She tries to swallow the rising tide of emotion as she nods.
Callie’s gaze travels to Saul. “He reminds you of Jackson, doesn’t he?”
“Sometimes.”
Saul unties the boat and the engine growls as he maneuvers them away from the jetty.
Once they leave the bay, they pick up a little speed and Eva hugs her arms to her chest to keep out the breeze. They’re on the southeastern side of the island, which is completely uninhabited and designated as a national park so that the old-growth forests and wildlife can flourish.
“This is beautiful,” Callie says, sitting forward and pushing her sunglasses onto her head as she watches the landscape unfold from the water. They cruise beneath towering dolomite sea cliffs iced with green wo
odland, and past secluded coves only accessible by boat.
In Eva’s silence, Callie talks to Saul, asking about the history of the island. He’s difficult to draw into conversation at first, but after a while Callie seems to wear him down and he tells her about the Aboriginal people who were the first inhabitants, the women diving for shellfish and crays, and the men hunting seals. He talks about the whalers who arrived thousands of years later and built stations on the headland so they could spot and hunt for the southern right whale.
Eva closes her eyes and turns her face to the sun, content just to listen. She arches her back a little, feeling bunched up and cramped in her stomach, and then focuses on the soothing motion of water swelling and ebbing beneath them. Saul’s voice washes over her. The timbre of it is so similar to Jackson’s that if she concentrates on the gravelly lilt, she can almost fool herself into thinking that it is Jackson, not Saul, who is here with them.
SAUL LEANS HIS HEAD out of the boat cabin, glancing over the water. Last time he was here, a pod of bottlenose dolphins was racing right beside the boat, launching into the air, arching and twisting for the sheer pleasure of it. He’ll keep an eye out today. Dolphins might be just the thing.
Eva’s quiet this morning and has this faraway expression as if she’s someplace else. He realizes that he hasn’t heard her laugh yet, not once. He’s noticed the light curve of laughter lines bracketing around her mouth and wonders, Who were you before this?
He takes the boat around Eagle Cape, where the wind blows right at them. Luckily there’s barely any swell. After a few minutes, he comes across the small cove he was heading for. It’s sheltered by tall cliffs and the water is almost still. He cuts the engine and the boat slows, skating quietly forward. He leans over the side and sees the sway of sea grass below. “Fancy calamari and fries tonight?”
Callie raises an eyebrow. “Will it involve having to catch it?”
“Might do,” he says with a smile. “I’ve got two rods.”
