21.
In my wedding gown, I wander now through this city of oak. An incredible amount of time has passed. The woods have grown so dense, so tall, that their coiling branches occupy the entire sky. Blindly, through them, I reach the dunes. Everything is yellow. The beach smells of summer grass. Out to sea there are others, sitting in boats. They look at me impatiently, as if I have long delayed them. I walk toward the water, which is as clear as a pool, but endless. My feet shine below the surface. The sand is littered with objects that do not belong in the sea: watches, music boxes, my wedding bouquet. When I look up, I see a boat far from shore, my mother and my father upon it. I move toward them, but then the depth drops beneath me and I am already waist-deep. I try to make my way back to the beach, but I am restrained by a force in the water. I look back at the house. Its windows are shattered; its façade is blackened by fire.
The sun drops below the sea. A glow illuminates the water’s depths, as though the moon no longer lives in the sky but in the ocean. The night is brighter than any night I have known. I go on. I pass so many boats occupied by strangers, until at last I reach the one that held my mother and father. When I get close, I find their faces obscured by blank space. I can see right through them, into the enchanted landscape beyond, and though I try to make my way back—
Raymond! someone screams from the shore.
I am inside the house. The mist is dense, pressed against the windows. I hear the scream again—Raymond!—as the first foghorns sound from the sea. A blue apparition passes through the trees, breathes against the glass, embracing the low clouds. It houses entire galaxies in its beating heart. We do not go toward the afterlife; it comes for us.
Raymond! Wake up! Simon runs through the yard and the blue recedes like a wave folding itself back into the sky. He runs toward the house, then back through the woods until I lose sight of his figure.
I skip down our stairway and leave the house in search of him. He must need my help. I want to run after him to prove I am still alive, to feel my lungs fill with air. Already into the woods, I remember I am wearing only my wedding dress, which is so thin, made for spring. The sunrise has not yet pierced the layer of oak. My bare feet begin to go numb in the cold, damp dirt. Where has the heat gone? The yellow sky? The oak are just shrubs. I had seen them so tall, so tall they reached the clouds. . . .
Simon approaches me breathlessly, puts his coat around me. He draws me to the edge of the dunes. “Can’t you see it, Elle? Do you see it, for the love of God?” He turns away from me, not waiting for my answer, beckoning to Raymond, who has just emerged from the trees. How long has he lived here? Will he just stay forever?
“See what?” I ask.
“It’s right there, glowing! My God. Like it’s washing ashore!” Simon cries.
“Dad, it’s just the bugs again,” Raymond says wearily, lighting a cigarette. “The—what’s it called? The bioluminescence.”
“I know this story,” I say.
“It’s not the damn bugs!” Simon shouts. “I know that blue when I see it!”
“Blue is only for those at the end,” I whisper. “The eye of God.”
“She’s getting worse,” Raymond says.
“Doctor says it’s called sundowning,” Simon responds, removing his sweater, then his shoes. “But listen, Ray, I can’t deal with her now. I’m gonna row out and see what’s there. Dive in if I have to!”
“For fuck’s sake, now you’re hallucinating, too,” Raymond cries. “You have to give up on this or you’ll end up just like that fool cousin of hers.”
“Who’s talking to whom?” Simon shouts. “Any other son worth a damn would swim out in the middle of a hurricane to save his family business rather than sit back like a goddamn louse while watching his old father do it. But you’ve always been a coward, Raymond—in the ocean and out of it. At the very least, you could show me a morsel of respect. After giving everything we had away to that thief loverboy of yours.”
I lie down in the sand as they go on shouting. The wedding dress is gone now, and the sun rises over my near-naked body some decades in the past. Squinting my eyes, I gaze down at my torso, smooth as silk, browned by a summer nearly through. I hear my son’s cry, his tiny footsteps running toward me from the beach. Just a little bit longer. I want to be alone a little bit longer here. Labor Day weekend. Two children birthed, my girlhood gone, womanhood at hand. I am wild with want. I can see them—men in multiples loving me right there on the beach, in perfumed hotel rooms, in rumbling train compartments. One after another. Gabriel, his lips tickling shapes along the fabric of my swimsuit. But then time is up, my son is upon me, sobbing, and the last phantom marauders of summer love flee the scene. My son’s heart pounds against mine. He is wet with seawater. I kiss his salty hair. He is so beautiful when he cries, his eyes large as an owl’s and blue, the bluest blue, black eyelashes purging tears.
“Mommy, Clarke Junior called me a fairy since I wouldn’t swim out past the breakers. A fairy like Daddy, he said. Daddy’s not a fairy, is he?”
“That boy doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Your daddy is looking for fairies in the ocean. The blue fairies.”
“There’s no such thing as that kind of fairy, Mother.”
“Just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it’s not real, my dear. Am I still here when you close your eyes? Think about it. Go on. Close your eyes.”