Leonard was still alive, and they weren’t sure what to do about it. Maggie and her siblings edged his bed. She held his wrinkled, emaciated hand. His fingers were cool, but the nails were still slightly pink. Leonard’s eyes were closed, his breath regular and strong, relentless as the tides. His skeletal body rose and fell with the air mattress’s inflations and deflations timed to ward off bedsores.
Across the water, islands of mud were disappearing in the flood. The seals would soon lose their basking place, and the pelicans, seagulls, and cormorants would have to swim or find another perch. It was a sunny morning; the fog had finally lifted around 10 am, revealing golden brown hills. Wisps still hung damp and translucent over the lagoon. This was the most beautiful place on earth, the perfect place to die. Leonard should have left them by now.
Yet still, his breath carried. It sounded over the call of birds, over the slap of webbed feet on the roof above them, over the distant, regular crash of waves from the beach at the end of the road. Maggie fixed her gaze on a mole on Leonard’s neck, just to the side of his Adam’s apple, that golf ball protrusion. His throat pulled deep with every breath. She breathed with him, matching her respiration to his.
Maggie nodded a silent hello to a seagull on the deck railing outside the window. Her mother called it “my gull.” She loved its constancy. Before Leonard was bedridden, the seagull roosted on the ground floor near the potted palm. Now that Leonard’s hospital bed was in Simone’s bedroom, the gull lived upstairs.
“He’s here to keep you company,” Maggie told Leonard. “Whether you like it or not.”
The bird’s orange feet were poised on white and grey guano dried into the cracks of the old sundeck railing. Before he was bedridden, Leonard had begrudgingly scraped it off. When he became too sick, Simone let the droppings accumulate. “My sentinel,” Simone said of the bird. “Captain of my shit.”
The seagull cocked its head, but not in response to Maggie. It eyed its own reflection warily, wondering if the other bird in the window would steal its habitual perch. The gull saw nothing of the world beyond the glass, a world attenuated by impending death and filled with meaningless gestures. It didn’t see Maggie in her long dress and ponytail, or her younger brother Ronan, who sat at the foot of the bed, his knees jiggling loose cotton pants and kurta. It didn’t see Rachel, the youngest of the three, who sat in the window seat on the other side of the room, coifed and wearing pearls.
Maggie was fourteen when her mother, Simone, brought Leonard home for the first time. Maggie and her siblings hated him. He was young enough to be one of them, over twenty years younger than their mother, only ten years older than Maggie. Knowing the teens would search his Alfa Romeo Spyder, Leonard left joints in the glove compartment, courting the children along with their mother. These offerings bought him begrudging tolerance that somehow, eventually, grew into love. But though they all professed to love Leonard, only Maggie was there for the surgery. Maggie stayed with Simone in the nearby motel. And when Simone had her own illness, Maggie was the one who picked her up and drove three hours to the specialty hospital. She was the one who spent nights in the hospital. She was always the one.
Leonard murmured, tried to sit up. He pulled his hand from Maggie’s and mumbled, “I’m going out for the pass, Dad.”
“He thinks he’s playing ball,” Ronan said. He stood, leaned forward and, squeezing Leonard’s shins, stared at his vacant eyes. “Leonard. Leonard. Where are you?”
“Touchdown,” Leonard said, lifting a hand a few inches.
Ronan grimaced. Or maybe it was a grin. “Rachel, come listen. He’s hallucinating. How much morphine did he take, anyway?”
Before Rachel got to the bedside, Leonard had fallen back onto the mattress and closed his eyes. Rachel nudged her way in front of Maggie. She was tall, and since Maggie was sitting, Rachel’s tiny ass in its tailored navy-blue pants was right in her face.
“No more than usual,” Maggie said. “Mom thinks the cancer has gone to his brain.” She shimmied as far back in the chair as possible to put some distance between herself and her sister’s bum. How was it that even in these circumstances Rachel looked so put together— perfectly smooth blondish hair, pressed linen shirt, and seed pearls? She was so out of place in this town where people walked on the beach in pajamas. She may as well have worn her lawyer’s suit.
Rachel held Leonard’s wan, bearded face in her hands: “Leonard!”
“Leave him alone, Rach,” Ronan hissed. “He wants to sleep.”
Rachel glared at Ronan. “You don’t know what he wants. None of us do.”
On this point, Rachel was wrong. Leonard had called a family meeting a few months earlier to tell them exactly what he wanted. “This is the end-your-life-bible.” He held up a book titled Final Exit. “Anyone want to take a look?” They all stood silent. “I plan to die with dignity, even if the law says I should linger. I promise to give you fair warning.” Leonard grinned at Simone, but he spoke to her children. “If your mom still had her physician’s license, she’d be able to get me the good stuff and a syringe. That would make it easier.” He put a hand on Simone’s thigh, ran it up onto her buttocks. Simone slapped his hand away. Maggie glanced at Ronan, who rolled his eyes. Simone’s children had long tried to ignore Leonard’s sexualization of their mother. At first, they were too young to address the problem. Maggie wasn’t sure why she never told either of them how uncomfortable the innuendos and awkwardly placed hands made her feel.
Her mother delighted in having a lover young enough to be her son. The couple had been together for twenty-five years, longer than Simone had been married to Maggie’s father. During that time, Simone had broken up with Leonard on several occasions. He should find someone closer to his own age, she said. She didn’t want him stuck taking care of her when she got old and decrepit. But he kept coming back, insisting that she was the only one he could ever love.
Finally, she gave up and accepted that they would be together until the end.
Now Simone was in her early eighties. She didn’t look it, though. Her skin was smooth thanks to two facelifts. Her hair, dyed a light strawberry blond, hid the grey as the roots grew in. She wore long-sleeved turtlenecks to cover what she deemed her “weak spot”. Leonard was decades younger, but he didn’t look his age either. Although he was in his mid-sixties, he was as grey and emaciated as a centenarian. And the sexual gestures? In the last months of his life, they were almost comical. What would have been the point of protesting? A few weeks ago, they had stopped. Maggie almost missed them.
Leonard hadn’t only planned his final moments. After his diagnosis, and before he became too debilitated, he organized his own celebration of life with a jazz band and plenty of booze and food. He said he didn’t want to miss the biggest party ever held in his honor. People flew to California from all over the county. When he began to weaken, he sold his apartment in the city, gave away his books and furniture and moved in full time with Simone. Once he had settled in her house, he lit a fire in Simone’s fireplace and burned his letters. “It took six hours,” Simone told Maggie. “He sat there, reading the letters, dropping them in the flames one by one, stoking the fire when it dimmed.”
Just days ago, Leonard had phoned each of Simone’s children. “I’ve decided to die at exactly 10 am on July 5, 2005,” he said. “I don’t want you to feel you have to be there. That’s why I’m calling you. To say goodbye.”
Maggie was supposed to leave for London the next morning. “I’ll see you tonight.” “Maggie, no. It’s really not necessary. I’ll be just fine.”
“I’m not coming for you,” she said, knowing this would prevent an argument. “I’m coming for me. And for Mom.”
Now, the designated day had arrived, and it was well past the designated time. 11am.
Leonard jerked his head forward again. “I’m open!” He dropped his head back against the pillow.
Ronan laughed. “Where’s Mom? We need to tell her he’s hallucinating. It’s kind of funny, isn’t it?”
“Don’t be sick, Ronan,” Rachel said. “Shut up, Ray.”
“Leave Mom alone, Roe. She needs her space.” Maggie said.
Ignoring her, Ronan went to find their mom. Rachel followed him downstairs, saying she needed some air. Maggie stayed with Leonard. An hour passed.
“He’s still here, is he?”
Maggie jumped at Ronan’s voice behind her. “My God, Roe!”
“I’m talking about the seagull. Jesus! You thought I meant Leonard?”
Ronan held out a Fed Ex envelope and shook it, rattling pills in a plastic bottle. “The morphine finally arrived.”
Maggie heard her mother’s slow, distinctive footsteps on the narrow stairs. “It’s time,” Simone said as she entered the sitting area. “But…Rachel…she’s not here,” Ronan protested.
“She got back from her walk a few minutes ago,” Simone said. “I asked her to carry up Leonard’s drinks.”
A few minutes later, Rachel came upstairs holding two tall, blue glasses with a straw in
each.
“Is this really enough?” Ronan asked, holding up the bottle he had unwrapped. Simone shook her head. “There’s more in the bathroom cabinet.”
“I’ll get them,” Maggie said. She came back with another bottle of pills and sat on the sofa opening it. Catching a whiff of spirits, she picked up one of the glasses and sniffed it. Just water. The other was full of tequila. Rachel sat next to her, bouncing her knee up and down.
Maggie counted the pills, moving them from the pile she had dumped on the coffee table to a bamboo breakfast-in-bed tray. She slapped Rachel’s knee. “Stop jiggling,” she said. “I keep thinking there’s an earthquake.”
Simone pressed the button to raise Leonard into a sitting position. His navy cotton robe fell open, revealing a bony chest with only a few stray hairs left on it. Before he got sick, he had been covered in hair.
“Hard to believe he used to be a bear,” she said. Ronan tried to close his robe.
Simone told him to leave it be. “The cold might help keep him awake. Let’s fix these pillows.”
Ronan adjusted the pillows to support Leonard whose chin dropped forward. He was still sound asleep. Simone pulled the blanket off the bed, leaving only the sheet draped over his legs. It was white printed with black notes: sheet music—Bach if Leonard was to be believed. He had a terrible voice, but still he sang in a local chorus, and he and his friends had an informal jazz band. Everyone but him knew he sounded awful. But Simone went to all his concerts. Once, Maggie had gone with her. One concert was more than enough.
“Come over here and take off his socks, Maggs,” Simone said. “See if that helps wake him. When you were babies, I used to wake you to nurse by rubbing your bare feet.”
Maggie pulled at his socks. His calves were puffy, with a tight ring on each leg where the top of the sock had been. His feet were swollen and callused, with too-long toenails. Hoping her mother wouldn’t ask her to touch them, she began to gently knead his calves.
“The edema is more pronounced,” Simone said in her medical voice. “His heart is failing.” She tapped his cheek. “Leonard. Leonard love, wake up. It’s time for your pills.”
Leonard’s eyes fluttered. “Hello darling,” she said.
Leonard smiled faintly, took her hand to his mouth, and kissed it.
Rachel squeezed around the end of the bed and whispered in Maggie’s ear. “Do we really need to do this?” Rachel put her hand on Maggie’s shoulder. “I mean, he’s going to die soon, anyway.”
Maggie didn’t know how to respond. Leonard was half-awake now. She worried he might have heard Rachel.
“Bring the tray over here, Rachel,” Simone said in a firm tone that suggested she’d heard her comment.
Instead of following her mother’s instructions, Rachel sat on the sofa, leaving the tray of water, tequila, and pills on the table.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Ronan said, “I’ll bring them.”
Rachel’s phone rang. “Hi honey,” she said to her wife, and walked out of the room into the guest bedroom. A minute later, she rushed back in and stood just inside the doorway. “Jessie’s on her way. She’ll be here in an hour. Can’t we wait?”
“I’m sorry, Love, I don’t think so,” Simone said. “He’s awake now.” Simone settled the tray firmly on Leonard’s lap. “Okay Babe, this is the morphine.” Simone placed three pills in Leonard’s hand. “Is this what you want? Final Exit?”
He nodded and mumbled something Maggie couldn’t make out. He dropped the capsules on his tongue. Simone held the straw to his lips. “Here’s water. Swallow. There. Very good! Now more.” Her voice was cheerful. “Would you like some tequila?”
He nodded and swallowed the straight booze as if didn’t bother his throat, made a little “ah” sound. The man had always loved his drink. Simone dropped more pills in his hand, gave him another sip. They went on like this for a few more rounds. Leonard closed his eyes.
“Try to stay awake now, Love,” Simone said. “You need to take your pills. This is what you want, remember?”
Leonard nodded. He kept his eyes shut.
Simone tried to give Leonard another batch of pills, but his hand opened, and they disappeared inside his robe. She tried again, but it was no use. “Open,” she said and dropped a few pills on his tongue.
“Mom! No!” Rachel said. “You can’t…”
“I absolutely can, and I will,” Simone said firmly. “Please, Mom! Don’t!”
Simone continued to feed Leonard the pills.
“I can’t be here,” Rachel said, and walked out.
“God and Gaia, help us,” Ronan said under his breath.
Then everyone was silent except Simone, cajoling: “Open, sip, and swallow. Open, sip, now swallow.”
The pill popping refrain stopped. Leonard had fallen asleep.
Simone put the water down for the last time, stood bracing herself on the bedrail. She looked at Maggie, her face full of frustration. “He can’t swallow any more of them. Ronan, take the tray away.” Next to Leonard’s bed was a small white bottle with a dropper. Simone picked it up, pulled Leonard’s cheek open, and began dripping the liquid inside it. Blue viscous fluid dribbled out of the corner of his mouth and dripped on his bare chest. “I’m not sure this is enough,” Simone said when the bottle was empty. She fell into the bedside chair, still clutching the white plastic.
“What do we do now?” Ronan asked.
“We wait.”
Hours passed. The parched hills on the far side of the lagoon pinked as the sun went down. Shards of light cut the water’s surface. Swallows swooped from their nests under the ground floor deck, catching invisible insects. Two cormorants on the neighbor’s chimney made black silhouettes against the dusk. The tide turned towards the sea. When it was dark, the risen moon painted a swath of sparkles that stretched across the lagoon to the house on stilts. But gathered around the bed, Maggie, Ronan, and Simone noticed none of this. They were all focused on the rise and fall of Leonard’s chest.
Maggie heard heavy work boots on the stairs, taking them two at a time, as always. “Jessie’s here,” she said.
Jessie glanced around the room. “Where’s Ray?” She shrugged herself out of her leather motorcycle jacket and threw it on the sofa.
“She went out,” Ronan said. “Needed the solace of the sea.”
Jessie gestured to the window. “Don’t need to go out for that.”
“She left when Mom started giving Leonard the pills,” Maggie said. “She didn’t want to witness a crime.”
“Maggie!” Simone said.
“Maggie might be right,” Jessie said. She put her hands on Simone’s shoulders and squeezed. “Hi Mom.”
Why did Jessie always call her Mom? It drove Maggie nuts.
“Man, what a slog. There was a three-car accident on the highway. Can you believe I left our house at five? Three hours in the car. What can I do to help?”
Maggie tensed. Jessie was an artist with a flair for self-promotion. That was good for her career, but hard for their family, except Rachel, who loved everything about Jessie and defended her right to be involved in every family decision. Jessie’s energy always filled a room, seeping into every corner. It was part of her talent, but it was not what anyone needed now.
Simone reached up and patted Jessie’s paint-stained hand with her petite, arthritis-swollen fingers. Jessie’s hands looked so big, resting against Simone’s slight frame. Let go of her, Maggie thought. Leave her be. She knew Jessie’s intentions were good, but she was always too big, too loud, too overt, too close to everyone, especially Simone. Jessie’s own mother had died when she was young, and it seemed as if she wanted Simone to take her place. Maggie could always feel Simone’s tension mounting when Jessie was in the room. She wanted to grab Jessie’s hands and push them off Simone’s shoulders. But the last thing anyone needed right now was drama.
“I’m glad he’s still with us,” Jessie said, not understanding that this was exactly the opposite of how she should feel. “I’m going to go find Ray.” Twenty minutes later, Rachel and Jessie walked back into the bedroom, hand in hand.
It was ten pm.
“It’s been so long since he took the pills,” Ronan said. “What if those aren’t enough? What if he doesn’t die? He could be a vegetable.”
“You’re right,” Simone said. “We need to help him. I don’t think I’m strong enough. Physically.” She looked right at Ronan.
“I can’t,” he said. “I know it’s what he wants, but I can’t.”
Maggie felt a sudden shock. Someone had told Ronan about the backup plan. Was it Leonard? Or their mom?
Simone sighed. “Well, can you at least go downstairs and get the bags?”
Ronan pushed himself up slowly, as if carrying a great weight, and went downstairs. Simone looked at Maggie. “Maggs?”
She had bought the bags. Wasn’t that enough? “I can’t,” she whispered.
A tense silence ensued. Then Jessie let go of Rachel’s hand and got up from the sofa. “I’ll do it,” she said.
Maggie stared at Jessie, who looked from her, to Simone, to Rachel. “You can’t,” Rachel said.
“Ray,” Jessie said. “It’s what he wants. And Mom––”
“I said you can’t!”
“C’mon, Ray. Mom promised him. I want to help her, and no one will be hurt. These are the instructions Leonard gave, for God’s sake!”
Rachel glared at Jessie. “No one will be hurt?” Her voice was shaking. “You can’t be serious!”
“Don’t be so self-righteous, Ray,” Jessie said with an uncomfortable laugh. “We’ve talked about this. You believe in the right to die. Don’t you?”
Rachel got up from the sofa and pushed past Jessie without saying another word.
“Rachel, don’t go,” Simone called after her. But Rachel was already downstairs. The front door slammed.
Ronan came back into the bedroom and handed Simone a box. “What’s her problem?” he asked.
Maggie looked at the box and the reality of what was about to happen hit her with force. She should be here when—she should be here for Mom. She felt sick. “Mom, I– I don’t think I can be here for this.”
“That’s just fine,” Simone said with a faint smile. Maggie looked at her, eyes welling.
“Really. No one should be here if they don’t want to.”
“I’m staying,” Ronan said.
Maggie hugged her mother and kissed her on the head. As she left the bedroom, she glanced back over her shoulder at Leonard, knowing she’d never see him again.
Maggie sat with Rachel on a log that had washed up on the beach, anxious and nauseated. The surf rolled in and out, foam glimmering in the nearly full moon. She sucked in hard at the salt air, trying to get the smell of illness out of her nose, breathed out as the waves receded. She sidled closer to Rachel and pressed against her for warmth. She couldn’t stop herself from imagining what was happening in the house. The images in her head were gruesome, constructed out of TV scenes. Evil gangsters torturing men, the camera zooming in on a face whose mouth pulled in clear plastic film in a vain effort to breathe.
She pictured the blue box of Reynolds oven bags. 2 bags. Tender, juicy meats. Turkey size. Mom had asked her to buy them a week ago. “My insurance plan,” Leonard had said, patting the box when she gave it to him. She didn’t know what to say to that, so she joked: “They’re on me. No need to say thank you.” Until this evening, she hadn’t believed they would have to use them. She had felt slightly dizzy as she pulled the bags off the grocery store shelf but told herself their real purpose was to make Mom and Leonard feel less anxious about his death. Now she was haunted by what she had done. Like it or not, whether she was in the room where it was happening or not, she was participating. “I’m cold,” she said. “Do you think we can go back now?”
“I don’t know,” Rachel said. “I can’t go back there too soon. Do you know what would happen if anyone ever found out? I’d lose my license. I’d never be able to practice law again. We can’t tell anyone about this. I mean, no one can know. I hope Jessie and Ronan understand that.
Maggie stood up. “If you’re so worried, why don’t you leave? Then you won’t ever know what happened. You can pretend he died in his sleep. I’m going back.”
Maggie kicked off her shoes outside the front door and pushed it open, listening. All was quiet. As she headed upstairs, she heard Rachel come in. The hospital bed had been pulled into the center of the room and laid flat in order, she imagined, to make the process easier. Leonard’s eyes were closed. When Maggie touched his cheek, it was still warm. She kissed his forehead and whispered belated goodbyes.
“Mom,” Maggie said, and Simone reached out, inviting her in for a hug.
“It’s okay, Maggs,” Ronan said.
Maggie fell into their embrace. The three sat, rocking slightly, while Maggie cried. After a while, when she calmed, she pulled away from them and settled on the edge of the bed. “Tell me.”
“It wasn’t what I expected,” Ronan said. “He took so much morphine. I thought he’d just lie there.” Now Ronan started crying. “But he didn’t. Jessie had to . . . she had to hold him down, so she just kind of laid on top of him in a hug saying ‘It’s okay Leonard’ over and over. And then it was like, Leonard just gave up fighting.”
“Where is she?”
“Jessie?” said Simone. “She went downstairs. I think we all need a drink.”
“I’ll bring some up,” Maggie said.
Downstairs, Rachel was sitting on one of the nubby blue living room sofas with a glass of scotch in her hand.
“Where’s Jessie?”
Rachel didn’t answer. She just turned her chin towards the sliding glass door that led onto the deck.
Maggie went out. Jessie sat in a chair, her elbows resting on her knees, her head in her hands. Maggie touched Jessie’s shoulder. “Hey, Jess, you okay?”
Jessie wouldn’t look at her. “I killed a man.”
“You didn’t,” she said. “You were the only one brave enough to do what Leonard wanted.”
“I feel sick,” Jessie said, all her bravado gone. “What was I thinking? Oh, God. I never thought I could kill. What kind of person am I?” She shook with sobs, this tall, unselfconscious, powerhouse of a woman.
“You didn’t kill him. He was dying already. You just helped it to happen the way he wanted it.”
Jessie stood, grabbed Maggie and held her tight––so tight it hurt.
Maggie let Jessie hold her that way for several minutes. When Jessie finally let go, Maggie said, “Jessie. Thank you. It was brave.”
“Brave?” Rachel was standing in the doorway.
Jessie faced her wife.
“Brave?” Rachel shouted. “Are you kidding me? After everything we talked about? After I told you . . . Oh, God! Then you do this? Do you understand what you’ve done?”
“Ray,” Maggie said.
“I could lose my–. It’s not like you can support us. How could you do this? To us?”
“Ray, she did it for Leonard. For Mom. And anyway, even I know that a person can’t be forced to incriminate their spouse.”
“Are you kidding me, Maggie? We’re queer, remember? We can’t marry. Not legally.”
“Fuck,” Maggie said. “I’m an idiot.”
“Dammit, Ray,” Jessie yelled. “Don’t you think it’s a bigger problem for me than you? How do you think I feel?”
“Well, you should. You should feel like shit. I wish for once you would think about how your actions affect others.”
“My actions? My actions? For god’s sake, Ray. I can’t believe you.”
“I’m getting out of here.” Rachel said. “Maggie, you tell Ronan and Mom I left. And make sure they know not to talk about this. Ever.”
Simone called the number on the card Leonard had given her. He had donated his body “to science” and asked that whatever was left of him be thrown into the sea.
Around one in the morning, someone knocked. Ronan opened the door to two tall, heavyset men in black suits. Both men bowed their heads. “We are very sorry for your loss,” one of them said in heavily accented English, then went to get the stretcher.
Upstairs, they waited.
“Where are they going to take him?” Jessie asked.
“To the medical school,” Simone said.
“They’re doing an autopsy?”
“No, the doctor certified he was terminal. Once they’ve taken him away, no one will know who he is.”
Jessie let out a sigh of relief. Simone sat by the hospital bed, took Leonard’s hand, and whispered goodbyes.
There was a bang and clatter at the bottom of the stairs. Someone yelled what sounded like an expletive. One undertaker bounded the stairs, breathless. “I am very sorry. The stairs, too narrow. Stretcher will not fit. It is necessary to wrap him. Do you have a bedsheet that we may use?” He lifted the corner of the sheet-music covering Leonard’s body. “This one, too nice. You want to keep it, no?”
“No.”
“You maybe want to turn away while we prepare him?”
“No, it’s quite alright,” Simone said. “I’m a doctor.”
Simone sat on her bed, facing Leonard and the men, Jessie by her side, gripping her hand. Ronan watched from the far end of the room. Maggie faced Ronan, holding his hand and gazing out the window at the distant moonlit waves, determined not to watch. But she couldn’t escape the reflections––Leonard and the men blurred across the sea. So she focused instead on Ronan’s face. The men grunted. Ronan’s eyes widened. A thump. Ronan winced, scrunched up his nose. He was clowning like his child-self, trying to cheer her. Maggie felt the tensions of the day bubble into laughter. She couldn’t stand it anymore. She had to see clearly what was happening. She turned around.
On the floor in the middle of the room, Leonard’s body was rolled up in the sheet twisted at each end, like a giant candy wrapper. “One. . .two. . .three.” The men heaved their package a few inches off the floor and shuffled across the carpet, towards the stairs. The body wrapped in musical notes began to sway, twisted, and one stiff arm fell out. Maggie took in a sharp breath. The undertakers righted the body. As they carried Leonard through the door, his arm slammed on the frame.
Ronan blurted, “Ouch!” and he and Maggie stifled their uncomfortable hilarity.
The men bumped down the narrow staircase. The front door banged closed.
“Is that it?” Maggie said. “Don’t we need to sign for him or something?”
“I don’t know,” Simone laughed, shaking her head. “Maybe someone should go and see.”
Before Maggie had a chance to leave the bedroom, the head undertaker bounded up the stairs and pushed past her towards Simone. He reached into his coat pocket, handed Simone something, bowed deeply, and left the room.
Simone held up a red rose. Everyone stared at the flower. “Wait,” Ronan said. “He just pulled that out of his coat?”
Simone burst out laughing. “It’s plastic.”
Maggie woke at dawn and went downstairs. Jessie was asleep on the sofa. Rachel hadn’t returned. Maggie looked at Jessie with a combination of irritation, gratitude, and sorrow. Jess had chosen Simone over Rachel, and Rachel was unlikely to forgive her for that.
Out on the deck, Maggie stretched her arms high and gazed at the dawn. The tide was out, and a great blue heron was wading in the shallows. “Leonard is dead,” she said to the bird. She watched it lift a grey leg out of the water, its steps weighted with sorrow. Then, with a sudden thrust of the head, the heron pulled out a fish, swallowed it down. She walked over to the far side of the deck and looked up. The seagull stood on the upstairs railing, staring at the window.