And yet. She had hurt him. And she felt a deep pain echo in her chest. Surely he was angry—their real and beautiful moment had been built on a foundation of a lie.
Later that night, she woke and shuffled to the bathroom in her hospital room. She knew that much would happen in the light of the new day:
She’d be discharged from the hospital, then charged with crimes.
She’d face Nan.
She’d face her Three Keys.
She’d face her dead husband’s ex-lover.
And she’d need to apologize to several people.
She figured she might as well examine herself tonight, the self she was before this upcoming day, because she’d be a different Ammalie before tomorrow ended.
She looked in the mirror. At the two scars, one at her hairline from the restaurant long ago, one across her scalp from Arizona. Her hair was light gray, and she found it pretty, contrasted with the tan of her skin and her flushed cheeks. Her eyes looked bright and clear and calm, as if full of bigger thoughts, as if she had forgotten herself, in a good way. As if she was less Ammalie and more a part of the living, breathing creatures of the world. More a part of the birds, trees, stone, glass, stars, shells, curls, braids, patterns of the world.
—
The noise of feral happiness: When Powell walked in, she heard herself yelp in joy. He bent over and was saying “Oh, Mom.” Then Apricot and Mari were there. The two women looked the exact same as when she’d last seen them—Mari’s long white-black hair pinned up, Apricot’s blond dyed hair precisely cut, her lips plumped and covered with thick pink lipstick. But Powell looked different. Really different. He had an actual beard, scruffy-looking. She’d never seen him with facial hair at all. He’d filled out and muscled up a surprising amount for only a few months. Before she could comment, they were turning and shaking hands with Apolena, who had just walked in, and suddenly…What was that?
The air changed.
She could feel it radiate through the hospital room, clear as an approaching storm. Oh, how things happened all at once! She could not help but smile. As Powell shook Apolena’s hand, the air vibrated with the invisible but powerful electricity that happens when two people catch each other’s eye—and are surprised to discover something there. Attraction. It was an amazing thing to witness. And yes, it could happen just like that, in a moment. Ammalie’s eyes darted from Powell to Apolena and she laughed, startling everyone, but she said nothing.
There was an awkward silence, so she cleared her dry throat. “You all three came? You dropped everything…and came?”
“Of course,” Apricot said, reaching down to brush Ammalie’s hair from her face.
“Sure, Mom,” Powell said. “But I had to put it on your credit card.”
“I’ll pay you back for any other expenses. I’ll pay you all back,” she mumbled. “You’re here!”
After more gentle hugs—she was still hooked up to an IV—Mari lifted Ammalie’s shirt to stare at her scar. Apricot looked embarrassed but peered under too and said, “Ouch,” and Powell said, “Mom, Mom, Mom,” the way she had once said, “Powell, Powell, Powell.”
She became aware then that they were all staring at her.
“You’re so…muscly,” Mari said happily. “But have you been eating enough?”
“And tan and actually kind of burned.” Apricot was scowling. “You could get your hair done. I’ll take you! We’ll do it together.”
“She looks beautiful,” Mari corrected.
“Your hair turned white!” Powell’s voice was soft, as if in awe. “You look good, Mom.”
Ammalie smiled. “I feel lousy. No, I mean, I feel good. Temporarily lousy but overall good. But thanks. And it started turning gray years ago. Dye is an amazing thing, but I’m glad it’s gone. I feel more me now.”
Powell touched her arm, a bit awkwardly. “Mari caught me up on some stuff. I took a literature class too, you know. You’re like on a hero’s journey.” He sat on the bed and put his hand on her shin. “A heroine’s journey.”
“Exactly,” Ammalie said. “And it went pear-shaped.”
They all stared at her blankly.
“It’s a phrase they use here. Like, ‘Cheers,’ and ‘Done its dash,’ which means something has died. Pear-shaped.”
“Like a woman’s body.” Apricot patted her round rump, but Ammalie noticed with a start that it wasn’t very round at all; indeed, Apricot looked thinner than she ever had before, and in a way that didn’t look healthy. Ammalie felt a zing of worry; she’d ask about it later.
“Your life doesn’t seem so pear-shaped to me,” she heard Mari mumble. “Actually, it sounds quite interesting.” Then she leaned over and whispered into Ammalie’s ear. “I’m getting a lot of calls about you. From Levi. And from a sheriff wanting to do a well-being check. They called your work; your work gave them my number. Your car was found in Wisconsin. No plates but they tracked the VIN. And something about a possible break-in in a cabin? But then the homeowner dropped charges, took back his story. Seems the place was left in better condition than it had ever been, including some jewelry left there, and also, ya know, who wants to deal with the law when you don’t have to?” Mari pulled her face back and quirked an eyebrow. “Damn, Ammalie. When I told you to go forth and kick ass, I didn’t expect you to become an outlaw.”
Ammalie winked at her. “I’ve had the best adventure ever, my friend.”
—
Nan did not press charges. “Not only did you clean my cupboards and windows,” she said, “but some people reported seeing you picking up trash on the beach.” Then she added, “I like your jewelry. You can stay as an official artist in residence next year, if you wish.” She sat in a chair next to the hospital bed, more elderly and hunched than Ammalie had imagined, closer to the end of a life than she wanted to consider. Still, Nan was beaming a calm, unmistakable energy or life force or whatever it was that made humans glow.
“What a gift you are. What a gift you offer others.” Ammalie reached out to hold Nan’s thin hand. “That you help the world in that way, I mean. Thank you.”
“With great wealth comes great responsibility. I was gifted wealth. My grandfather made money chopping down kauri trees, and he was part of a society that took land from the Indigenous peoples. So I try to intelligently gift back my fortune by giving it to others in one form or another, and I could not be happier about that. I hope soon to be rather poor, in fact. I hope to die with nothing, as all people truly do. I remember your Vincent, a little. I’m sorry he is gone. He seemed a good man.”
Ammalie paused. “He was. It was complicated, but he was.”
Nan sat back. “Your son looks like him. I have a daughter. And I worry. How sad the future might be. And what should we do? Shall we sit now in the evening hours and simply take note? Shall we lodge the cool days into our memory, so as to conjure them up later?”
Ammalie tried to pay attention through the drugs. This woman seemed to talk in wisps. “Yes. I can’t…I can’t see what to do. Beyond that.”
But Nan was still on her own train of thought, distant eyes focused on the view out the window. “If we had new words and new stories, maybe we wouldn’t treat the planet so.” Her words were broken into fragments, as if she were lost in thought, or half elsewhere. “The smoke from Australia chokes us, those poor people. And then we got such heavy rains that the roads caved in. Floods caused septic tanks to spill into streams…landslides…”
She drifted into a silence, and to fill it, Ammalie ventured her newest thought. “I’ve been considering…the three wisdoms of growing older. One, if you feel irrelevant, well, what the hell, become relevant. Two, if you feel lonely, fall in love. Three, I forget three…Oh, to caretake. Yes. Caretake. That’s the word. Yes. Lose yourself and caretake. That’s what you do.” Perhaps it was the pain, or the painkillers, but she couldn’t quite complete a clear thought. But she did manage to get out the one most important truth. “I’m so very sorry I stole from you—you of all people! I took your sea glass…”
