Kate was getting smaller and smaller, but she was still waving her red scarf. Susannah willed her mom to come running down the road and to the ferry terminal. Show her support. But it was just Kate on her own, no break in her loyal waving until the boat rounded a headland obscuring the harbour. She could see her sister no longer. But she felt the thread of them connected. It was unbreakable.
Vinalhaven was diminishing in the distance as they sailed through the channel alongside its rocky coastline, with slabs of granite, tiny crescents of sandy beach and deep green pine tree forests all the way to the edge of the land. Susannah crossed to the other side of the boat and looked ahead of her. Her heart was sore from her mother’s rejection, but she was determined to make her proud one day. When she was a success, surely her mom would understand she’d made the right decision? What girl could turn down a Harvard scholarship?
The sun had risen now, the horizon deep pink, seeping into the perfectly blue sky. There was a whisper of distant moon fading slowly as they ploughed through the gentle island waters, mist curling off the surface. Further out to the sea the water became choppy with tiny cresting waves. The boat began to roll a little and it was a comforting motion. Susannah sat down on the bench. It was cold but she didn’t want to go and sit inside. It was packed with islanders, all of whom would want to quiz her on her journey. Everybody knew she was going to Harvard but still they all wanted to hear it from her lips. She closed her eyes and listened to the chug of the ferry’s engines and the call of the seagulls above. She thought of the day her father must have left to fight in the war. How he must have been feeling, sitting on the same ferry, maybe watching the sun rise as well, listening to the gulls, and tasting salt on his lips. Surely he would have been even more afraid than she was? Had he an inkling one day he might not return? Probably not. But maybe her mom had. Susannah saw an image in her head of a young mother standing at the ferry terminal, holding the hand of one little girl with red hair, and carrying in her arms a little blonde baby girl. Watching the love of her life sail away. No wonder her mom hadn’t come down to the harbour to say goodbye. For a minute, Susannah understood, and forgave her mother. But just as quickly she became angry again. This was different. She was different. Her mom was always going to try to hold her back, but Susannah wasn’t going to let her. Not ever.
12
Emer
16th October 2011
In her sleep, Lars came to her. Without fail every night, he took her in his arms. Brought her back to their passion, despite all the daytime hours she spent suppressing it. Their love-making had felt as inevitable as the turn of the seasons, as right as nature itself. And yet in the cold clarity of morning regret, she was filled with shame. She had let her sister down because of her desire for Lars. She could never make up for it now.
‘Where were you?’ her father had berated her as she’d run into Orla’s hospital room. His eyes were rimmed red, his nose dripping with his tears.
Those moments she could never forget. Her body still humming with Lars’ touch, so alive and vital, and yet right before her was her sister, pale and unmoving beneath the white sheet. Ethan was still sitting by the bed, holding Orla’s hand. He looked up at Emer, his face ghostly with shock.
‘Her hand’s still warm, Em,’ he whispered. ‘But she’s gone. They said she’s gone.’
Emer had collapsed on the chair next to Ethan, put her arm around him, and tried to take some of the weight of his grief, but her head was spinning with denial. This was some kind of nightmare. It couldn’t be true. None of it. They’d been told the prognosis was terminal weeks ago, but still she’d hoped for a miracle. Despite the fact that she worked with cancer patients every day of her life, she had never given up, because sometimes there were miracles. Patients came back from the brink of death. Could Orla have just slipped into a coma? But when Emer looked at her sister, it was clear Orla was no longer present. Her body just a shell. It possessed likeness, but it was not her sister, not the talented young Irish artist everyone else knew. She had already left.
‘She was asking for you,’ Sharon said, wiping her eyes with a tissue.
The words lanced Emer like a blade in the heart. She had promised she’d be with Orla all the way. Hold her hand and be strong for her. Make sure her sister wasn’t scared. But she’d panicked. She’d put her needs before her little sister’s at the most important hour of their lives.
‘We were trying to call all night,’ her father said in a shaky voice. ‘But you never picked up. She went so sudden-like, in the end.’
‘It was very peaceful,’ Sharon tried to console her.
She wanted to jump up and slap her stepmother. How could the passing of a young woman in her prime ever be peaceful? There was no peace in it at all. Orla was supposed to have it all. A long and happy marriage, children to care for her in her old age, paintings and paintings hanging on all her walls. She would never travel the world or be acknowledged as the gifted artist she was or have a baby or take her kids to the seaside for a picnic. What was left in her wake was a devastated family and her husband Ethan, heartbroken and on
