Eva sits on the edge of the deck pressing the heels of her hands into the cool wood, feeling the prickling of pins and needles building in her palms. Her bare legs dangle toward the damp sand, heels knocking in an impatient rhythm against the wood. A weak sun has just risen above the water, no warmth yet to its rays.
Her mind is abuzz with thoughts, each like flies circling over the carcass of last night. They land on Dirk’s words: He did love you, Eva. That’s why he took the risk of marrying you. Her heart had surged at that, relief and happiness flooding into her chest. Jackson had loved her—that at least was real.
But then she’d glanced toward Saul and seen the pain shadowing his expression as he rose from the table. It’s as if she’s caught between two tides dragging her in opposing directions and is unsure which way to swim.
She takes her phone from her pocket and dials Callie’s number.
“Cal, it’s me. Is it too early? Did I wake you?”
“Course not. I was going to call you actually.”
They haven’t spoken in some time, and hearing Callie’s voice now, Eva is reminded of how much she’s missed her. “Sorry it’s been a while. Things have been . . . complicated.”
“Are you okay? What’s happening?”
“Can I visit?” Eva says in a rush. “I just . . . I think I need to get away from here for a few days. Clear my head.”
There’s silence. Then Callie sighs. “I’m sorry, but I’m leaving. The show’s fallen through.”
“What?”
“An investor pulled out. There’s no more money. Everything’s been shelved.”
“Oh, Cal . . . For how long?”
“Indefinitely.”
“I can’t believe it. Can they do this to you?”
“Seems so.”
“But what will you do now? When are you leaving?”
“I have to be out of the apartment in two days. So I’m going back to London.”
“Oh,” Eva says, disappointment lurching through her.
“But,” Callie says, “I was hoping to come and see you on my way home.”
“In Tasmania?
“Yes. If that’s okay?”
“Okay? I’d love you to!”
There is a pause. “What’s going on out there?”
Eva looks toward the empty bay. There’s too much to say right now—she wouldn’t even know where to begin. “Let’s talk when you’re here.”
IN THE LAB, EVERYTHING seems to be against Saul; he finds the refrigerator broken, all his samples from his last field trip lost. Then he makes a mistake entering some recent results, which skews his entire charts. He is terse with a junior member of the team and has to apologize to her later, which she accepts warily.
He’s desperate to see Eva, and by the time he gets the ferry back to the island, it’s dark. He first checks on his father, who dozes in front of the television with his mouth ajar. Then Saul walks along the bay to the shack.
He finds Eva washing up, her sleeves pushed up, her hands covered in soapsuds. The shack smells of pasta and olive oil, underpinned with a sweeter smell, something he associates with Eva’s hair.
“Hi,” she says, glancing over her shoulder. “I put a few of your beers in the fridge, if you want one?” Her tone is studiously light.
Eva declines a beer for herself, so Saul takes just one out, twists off the lid, and leans against the kitchen counter while Eva finishes the washing up.
The skin on her forearms is lightly tanned and the sharpness of her elbows is faintly appealing. He watches her sponge a plate and then flick on the tap, rinsing the detergent from the glossy white surface. The pump drums as it draws water from the tank. She sets the plate on the draining board, a crust of food still caught on the underside of the plate. She wipes her hands with a tea towel, missing a patch of foam on her wrist. Saul wants to reach out and slide it from her skin with his thumb.
She turns. “Last night . . .”
“I’m sorry I left like that. I needed to clear my head.” He’d needed to wash away Eva’s expression of relief when she learned why Jackson had left Jeanette. “You came down to the shore last night when I was swimming.”
Her gaze flits past him.
“You folded my clothes.”
“Yes,” she says, pushing her hair back from her face, revealing the smooth curve of her forehead.
“Were you waiting for me?”
“I suppose I was.”
Eva pulls her gaze to his. Her eyes are large and watchful. “Can we sit down?”
He follows Eva to the sofa and they sit. She perches forward, drawing her thumb along the hem of her dress, as if counting each of the stitches. She doesn’t say anything for a long time and he wonders whether she is waiting for him to speak.
Then she takes a deep breath. “Over the past few weeks I’d begun to hate Jackson. I hated him for lying to me, for marrying Jeanette, for leaving Kyle. I never thought that the man I married would be capable of any of those things.”
Saul listens hard, his pulse ticking.
“Then, hearing Dirk talk about him last night, it reminded me how much we were in love. And we were, Saul. It was real. I let myself forget that.”
“That’s enough, is it? That he loved you? Jackson lied about—”
“Everything? Yes, I know, Saul. I know!” Her hands curl into fists. “And I’ll never understand why. I’ve got so, so many questions. They’ve been driving me crazy.” She stands and crosses the shack. “I lose hours of the day imagining conversations with Jackson where I get to ask him: Why didn’t you divorce Jeanette? How did you forge the paperwork? Did you make a conscious decision to lie to me? Did you miss Kyle? Did you ever think about coming clean?” Eva stops by the sink. He sees her chest rising and falling. “I can’t keep going over and over them. It’s not doing me any good. The thing is, Saul,” she says, her eyes locked on his, “I’ll never know the truth behind his decisions. But last night Dirk reminded me that instead of fixating on questions—or hating Jackson—I have got to focus on the one thing I do know. He loved me. That much was real.”
Saul hears his own voice, low and filled with tension. “What does that mean for us?”
THE AIR IN THE shack feels too warm; there is a dense weight to it. Eva crosses the room and steps out onto the deck, facing the dusky horizon. She is aware of her own breathing and tries to inhale and exhale more slowly.
She hears the creak of wood as Saul moves onto the deck behind her. She feels him reaching out, encircling her around the waist. Her body sighs into the space between his arms.
“What if . . .” she begins, then stops, not quite sure how to frame the thought. “I can’t tell whether this—you and me—has happened for the wrong reasons.”
“What reasons?” he whispers, his lips close to her ear.
“Grief? Loneliness? Anger? What if you just remind me of Jackson?”
“Eva—”
She turns in his arms to face him. “I was so hurt, so furious with Jackson. What if I’m with you to punish him in some way?”
“That’s ridiculous,” he says, sadness pinching his features.
“Is it?” Everything that is drawing Eva toward Saul is also what is pushing her away, like a magnetic force that is shifting its field. She steps back. “Maybe we’re both just kidding ourselves. We’re near enough living as castaways here. But what if we were in Hobart, or London? What if we were to tell people—your dad, my mum, Jackson’s friends? Would it still work?”
“We could make it work.”
“Yet you didn’t even want your dad to know.”
Saul looks over his shoulder, out toward the bay.
“I just want us to be honest with each other. With ourselves. If Jackson had been a wonderful brother to you and a faithful husband to me, would we have needed this?”
“I can’t answer that.”
“And neither can I.” She hugs her arms to her chest. “That’s why I need a bit of time. Just to work things out.”
When Saul says nothing, Eva continues. “Callie called earlier. Her show’s been canceled. She’s going to come here for a few nights before flying back to England.” Eva looks at her hands. “You’ve got your dad here and I’ll be with Callie. I think maybe we should have some time to ourselves . . . see how we feel in a few days.” She pauses, waiting. There’s a part of Eva that wants Saul to say no, he doesn’t want time apart. Doesn’t need to think. He knows what he feels and what he wants. And it’s her.
She watches as he draws a thick hand over his face, his expression unreadable. He nods as he says, “Okay, if that’s what you need.”