“That’s the idea,” he said.
“Can we go over there and look around?”
“We’re not supposed to, I think, because it’s unsafe.”
“You’re part-owner here. You should be able to check it out.”
“Whatever you say,” Bruce said. “But let’s walk to the cliff first so I can show you the views.”
They walked along the shoreline past the boathouse and picked up another path that took them up along a ridge through spruce trees and birches, then turned away from the pond and emerged from the woods onto an open bluff. They were high enough so that the Atlantic Ocean, sparkling in the morning sun, spread out all around them.
“Wow,” Abigail said.
“Yeah, not bad.”
They walked across the bluff along a barely visible path. On either side were low shrubs, several with red berries. A large bird hovered above them in the sky, and Bruce pointed it out, said it was an eagle that was nesting over near the pond. When they got to the edge of the bluff, they met up with a wider dirt path that skirted the cliff edge, dark gray outcroppings that sloped down to a rocky shoreline. “Can we get down there?” Abigail said.
“It’s about a half-mile walk but there’s a path.”
They walked along the cliff edge, the breeze off the ocean suddenly gusting. They reached a copse of twisted trees, then picked their way down a steep path that deposited them in a cove. Large rocks, slick with seaweed, spread out into the ocean. The beach itself was covered with medium-sized rocks, black, gray, and green. Here and there were deposits of seaweed or the remains of a gull. Bruce picked up several small stones, then found a strategic location where he could skip them out along the water. “It’s slack tide,” he said.
“What does that mean?”
“It’s gone all the way out, and there’s this brief period before the tide starts to come in again. It’s called a slack tide.”
Despite growing up in New England, and then living in New York City, Abigail had spent hardly any time by the ocean. Her parents had always been too busy, especially in the summer season, and the few big trips they’d gone on as a family had always been to New York to see plays. And summers in western Massachusetts meant trips to swimming holes and nearby lakes. She loved the water, but rarely got to the ocean’s shore. Despite that, there was something nostalgic about being here now. The tidal smell, and the distant sounds of gulls, made Abigail feel young again. As Bruce searched for perfect stones to skip, she began to pile stones on the shore, using the smoothest ones she could find, starting with a circular base and working upward. She was still thinking about her predicament, still thinking about telling Bruce that they needed to leave the island, but as she built her pile those thoughts began to disappear. She was wholly focused on her task, suddenly filled with purpose. Looking for good building blocks for her pile, she’d found a beautiful, perfectly round white stone with a single band of pinkish red around its middle and slid it into her front pocket to save it for the top.
“You’re building a cairn,” Bruce said. He was suddenly next to her, and she realized that she’d stopped hearing the sound of skipping stones for a minute or so.
“A what?” she said.
“It’s a cairn, a pile of stones like the one you’re making.”
“Where I come from, we call it a pile of stones,” Abigail said.
“Well, it’s a good-looking pile of stones.”
Abigail had just reached the top; any more and it was bound to collapse. She touched the white stone through her jeans and was about to pull it out and put it on top when she decided to keep it instead. She liked the way it felt in her pocket. “Find a pretty stone for the top,” she said to Bruce, feeling a little bad that she’d been snippy about the whole “cairn” thing.
“Okay,” he said, and searched around the rocky beach, coming up with a speckled green stone that was almost perfectly round. Abigail carefully placed it on the top of her pile and stepped back, satisfied.
“When do you want to have kids?” Bruce suddenly said, and she turned to him, not able to keep the surprise off her face.
“Not this very moment,” she said, “if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“No.” He laughed. “Sorry. I guess I just thought of kids because here we are playing on the beach.”
They’d discussed children before, but only in the vaguest terms, each saying that they did envision themselves one day having a family. “Let’s discuss it after our honeymoon, okay?” Abigail said, smiling widely so that it didn’t sound harsh.
“Sure,” Bruce said.
The sun had climbed in the sky and they both stretched out along the rocks. They were protected from the ocean breeze and Abigail removed her fleece and put it under her head as a pillow. The sun felt nice on the skin of her arms, and she lifted her shirt a little to expose her stomach. Bruce reached out a hand toward her, and she took it, intertwining their fingers. This is the moment, she told herself. This is the moment I should tell him about what’s happening. Just tell him everything, and it will be out of my hands. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It was like standing on the edge of a high diving board and being unable to jump.
The sun dipped behind a single ragged cloud, and her skin instantly turned cold, then warm again when the cloud moved swiftly away. She was beginning to drift off. Under her eyelids multicolored dots swam and she chased them, moving her eyes, but the dots kept skirting just outside of her vision. Then she was lightly dreaming, walking along the second-floor balcony that hung in the lodge. The hall was filled with people, hundreds of them, and they were all silent, just staring
