Mal couldn’t talk to her father about it because he was dying. Her mother told her not to waste her time on a man who clearly wasn’t serious. Heartbreak devastated her. Mal worked herself into anxiety tornados trying to analyze every feeling, ever single decision, every failing, until she was just a hysterical, useless lump on her bed in her parents’ apartment above the garage.
Mal’s coffee was cold now, but that didn’t take much, as the coffee maker in the cottage only brewed it warm. She drank it anyway. She had been waking up every hour during the night to check the parking lot, to see if the black car was following her. Mal set the coffee cup on the copy of Midnight’s Children. She was paranoid, exhausted, and alone — the same way she’d felt when she left Vancouver. Just looking at the novel on the arm of the lawn chair evoked her dad. Mal wished he was here with her, having cold coffee.
After he died, Mal had gone back to Vancouver, and Scott was happy to see her. But he was on a shaman diet. A shaman’s path. He was going to hike the Pacific Trail and live in a tent, eat and drink out of one bowl, with one spoon, a bland diet without spices. He was going to write a memoir. He would be one with the trees. He was also almost forty. He was having a mid-life crisis, her mother said. He was all about the swagger. There were other fish in the sea, stars in the
sky, flowers in the garden, shells on the beach. Blah blah blah. Mal knew all that, but it didn’t make her feel better. She couldn’t believe she had ever found him attractive. Self-loathing wrapped around her in a cold, clammy squeeze.
When California issued a shelter-in-place alert because of the coronavirus, Mal’s mother insisted she come home again, immediately. Mal, just let it go. It’s okay. We all make choices we regret. It’s not falling down that’s the problem. It’s getting back up you need to do. And none of it matters right now. There is a pandemic.
It was like listening to a hockey coach. Mal dropped out of university. To make it worse, her parents never pressured her to be like them, but to make the most of her high-strung nature. They never got angry when what she tried didn’t work out. There was so much less opportunity for her generation — it wasn’t her fault. Their kindness and patience made Mal feel crazy with failure.
A truck engine. A loud engine. Mal stood up as the old green pickup came revving into the parking lot. Seraphina drove over and parked in front of her deck. There was a girl in the passenger seat. She gave Mal a little wave with such a look of longing on her face that Mal wanted to ask if she needed help. But the young girl looked down and by then Seraphina was standing in front of Mal.
“Hi there. So how did you find me?”
“There aren’t a lot of places to stay around here. I figured I’d check out the motels first. And here you are. Not so good at hiding.”
“I’m not trying to hide.”
“Well, you should be. I can’t protect so many of you.” Seraphina reached out and put a cloth bag in Mal’s hand. “This should help a bit. It’s some flowers and herbs. You’re on a dangerous path, girl. Too bad there’s no periwinkle here, around your cottage, like where those other two are.”
“I see.” Mal didn’t see anything except that Seraphina was what her gramma Grant would have called touched. “Just who is Lucretia? It would really be nice if someone would tell me who the hell she is.”
Seraphina laughed. “You do have some life in you. Well, let me tell you, I used to think Lucretia was dead. Or just make-believe. But now I believe there’s always some old woman named Lucretia who starts walking by the shore when danger comes, who understands the currents and knows the old words and ways. We’re all related to her, way back.”
Mal exhaled. “I see.”
“Oh, you don’t fool me. I know what people think of me. But I understand. I can read the signs. It doesn’t matter if they think I’m nuts. Your mother knew — that’s why she left. You get on a plane and go. They’ll try to get rid of all of us, don’t you understand?”
The car door opened and slammed shut and the girl came over. “Mom, we need to go. You’re scaring her. And me. Don’t you see that?”
“What I see is that everyone is trying to get me to just shut up, trying to be helpful. But—”
“I know, Mom, danger’s coming. It’s going to be the police coming. You know they’ll call and report me missing.”
Mal watched the girl walk back to the truck and get in, her head down again. Seraphina stomped back to the driver’s side and hoisted herself into the seat. She started the engine and looked through the windshield at Mal. She didn’t smile but she didn’t look angry either. Her face was still and her mouth was set in a thin line. Mal recognized this expression. It was one of realization, that moment where things fall into place, and with this, resignation coming down in a soft and unstoppable rain.
Seaweed and Salt Water Stew.
Now
They gathered driftwood on the beach in the afternoon. The cottage was just behind the beach, only about twenty feet back from where the grey rocks started. Stella collected sticks for kindling. Her hand ached where she had cut it on the window glass. Dianne carried a few bigger logs. They hobbled back over the beach after piling the sticks in the wood box. “Got to find some dulse. We can eat that. Used to do that with my nana, down that way.” Dianne pointed west. She gathered some seaweed left behind
