Aris looks away from the painting and turns toward the direction of his voice. Through the wide doorway she sees Metis. His tall and slim figure stands in the middle of a room paneled in dark wood. Something about seeing him like that strikes an eerily familiar feeling.
The shakiness returns. She ambles toward him in the parlor with the caution of a feral cat.
“Do you want a drink? I only have Scotch. I hope that’s okay,” he says.
“Yes,” her voice unstable. She clears her throat.
He hands her a highball glass with amber liquid filling an inch of its bottom. She takes it. On his handsome face is a small smile. He moves closer, his face coming toward hers. She steps back.
“Are you okay?” he asks, hesitancy in his eyes.
“Yeah,” she says, “I’m just tired, I guess. It’s been a long day.”
“Aris,” he says her name in a slow, easy way. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” she says and drains the glass. She really does not know. Emotions roll her over like a tidal wave, making her feel as if she is drowning. The irrational feelings surging inside her are frightening.
Am I going insane?
He takes her hand and leads her toward the couch in the middle of the room.
“Let’s just slow down and sit. You’ve been through a lot. You lost your friend,” he says. “Right now, there’s nothing you need to worry about.”
The gentleness of his voice makes her want to cry. She feels fragile, like she is going to break into pieces with one touch. She leans back against the soft cushion and closes her eyes.
The sound of piano music begins. It comes from somewhere in the house. It is her favorite song, Luce. She lets it carry her off on its wings.
Chapter Eighteen
Palm trees. A beach of sand and pebbles. Blue sky. Everything looks brighter, more vivid than usual. Aris blames the two white suns above.
Sea-foam tickles the tops of her feet. The sound of sand crunches underneath. A shell catches her eye, and she picks it up. It glitters like starlight—a constellation in her hands.
There is a man walking ahead. She quickens her steps. She catches up to him and taps his shoulder. He turns around, and she jumps into his embrace.
“Benja! It’s so good to see you.”
“Hi, sweetie. It’s so good to see you too. I’ve missed you.”
“So, what’s it like?”
“It’s . . .” Benja struggles to find a word, “boring.”
“Boring?”
“There’s nothing to do here. Am I supposed to just relax all day, every day?”
She laughs.
“Better than the other way around,” she says.
“You mean with a stick up your ass as the devil barbecues you?”
“Something like that.”
“Yeah, I was kind of wondering if that’s where I was heading.” He shrugs. “Either hell doesn’t exist, or I wasn’t as bad as I thought.”
“I didn’t know you believed in that.”
“I didn’t either. But all the old books I read must have seeped in somehow.”
“Let me take a good look at you,” she says. Benja is as she remembers, before the obsession and the dreamlessness.
“Still beautiful,” she says.
He smiles. “I’m glad they let me keep it.”
She wraps her arms around his waist and hugs him tight.
“Oh, I miss you so much,” she says.
“I really miss you,” he says and holds her.
She looks up at him. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m sorry too,” he says and kisses her head. “But there really is no point. How about we call it even?”
She laughs. “If you say so.”
They hold each other for a long moment until Benja stirs.
“The birds are here for me now,” he says.
Aris looks up and sees a flock of blue cranes flying from one of the suns. They are heading in their direction. She remembers something. She turns back to thank Benja for the one thousand cranes, but he is no longer there.
“Be happy,” she whispers.
“What did you say?” a man’s voice asks.
Aris feels a weight on her ribs. The hardness of an arm against her skin. She opens her eyes and is blinded by the brightness. She blinks to adjust.
Everything is white. The walls of painted wood. The cotton sheet on her body. The pillow under her cheek. There is so much white she feels like she is floating in a sea of milk. Threads of light shine from the direction of her head, illuminating patches on the floors and walls, lighting the dust in the air like sparkling diamond particles.
She feels hot, like she is sleeping next to a furnace. She turns her body toward the source. All she sees is skin—hills and valleys of warm gold. Her eyes travel up the landscape. A neck. Stubble decorates the edges of his face. His lips.
Metis.
She reaches up and kisses him.
“Nothing,” she answers and lays her head on his smooth chest, feeling it move up and down to the rhythm of his breathing.
The heat of his body radiates through her, making her skin tingle. But she does not want to move. A quick breeze enters through the window, billowing the white curtains and giving her temporary relief. It brings with it the salty scent of the sea. She hears the tinkling of wind chimes outside. Beyond that, the constant lolling of tides over sand.
“Happy anniversary.” He pulls her closer, wrapping her tight in his embrace. The length of his body hard against hers.
“A very hot one,” he says. “You’re all sweaty. Did you sleep all right?”
She nods.
“Do you still think it’ll be worth living like hermits the rest of the cycle?” she asks.
“Yes.” He kisses her forehead.
“You won’t miss the restaurants, the plays, the concerts?” she asks.
He runs his fingers through her hair, separating the damp strands from each other. “You worry too much about what’s to come. Besides, there are plenty of fun things to do inside.”
He demonstrates it by tracing his finger along her spine to its base. It lingers there, drawing circles on the small of her back. Goosebumps rise on her
