Bonus Epilogue
I float in the turquoise warmth of Saint Eligius’s sea. The warm water curves around me, as soft as air. A school of tiny silver fish darts past, the current of their passing tickling my skin. Above, a lacy umbrella of sunrise pink clouds shields me from the golden sun.
There’s the gentle sigh of morning waves rolling over the beach and the answering tinkle of shells dancing in the surf. It’s a beautiful, wonderful, perfect day on the island.
“I’m never leaving the water,” I say, turning my head toward Aaron. “I’ll float here forever, thank you very much.”
The smile lines at the corner of his eyes crinkle and a hint of laughter lights on the edge of his mouth. “Forever?” He ponders this. “Could I stay with you?”
He stands on the sand bar, the water is too deep for me to touch bottom, but his tattooed chest and shoulders rise above the gentle waves. His hands gently stretch over my back and trace over the slope of my abdomen.
It’s painted gold in the sunrise and water sluices over it. In two months we’ll be meeting our little girl, but until then I’m hot, my ankles are swollen, and my back hurts. All I want to do is float in the cradle of the sea.
I pretend to think about Aaron’s question and his smile grows.
“I suppose you can. But only because I’ll need someone to fetch me food. Drinks. Entertain me. Hold me while I sleep. Also, swim to shore and call Geneva when I’m needed. Remind Daniel he promised to bring Jillian and Beau next weekend and—”
Aaron springs at me, twirling me around so I land in his arms. I laugh, sputter, and then wrap my legs around his waist. A wave lifts us, and buoyed, I wrap my arms around his shoulders.
“You don’t like my plan?”
His brown eyes light with humor and he presses his lips to a drop of salt water trailing down my neck. “I like it very much,” he says, “but I think the kids might not want their mom to live in the sea.”
I have a response, but I’m distracted by the gentle pressure of his mouth on my throat. My pulse gallops at the heat of his lips and the way his hands stroke the curve of my back as he holds me against him.
“Just until the baby’s born,” I say, tilting my head back. “I’ll come out after that.”
Floating in the sea is heaven. It soothes all the aches, and twinges, and pressure. It’s divine.
Aaron makes a sound of ascent, a low rumble in his throat. His hands knead over my hips and back, and the waves roll us closer. I sense more than feel him growing hungry for me.
I smile and bury my face into the sun-warm plane of his shoulders. It’s not yet six a.m.—Aaron still doesn’t often sleep past 5:00—but I’ve found that sunrise is one of the best times for a swim.
We fly between Geneva and Saint Eligius often, but this will be our last trip for some time. After this week we’ll stay in Geneva until after the baby’s born. She’s due Christmas Day and none of us could ask for a better gift.
Everyone is here, cozy in our cottage. Amy and Mila stayed up late—we could hear them giggling in their room until the early hours. Sean wanted to stay up with them (Amy was telling ghost stories) but he fell asleep before ten, tired out from swimming and sun. Aaron carried him to his room and tucked him into bed.
I think we have at least an hour before they wake up. Maybe we have an hour before everyone else on the island wakes up too.
At this moment it’s just me, Aaron, the frigate bird soaring above, and the fish swimming below.
“What are you thinking?” I whisper.
Aaron grins. “You know exactly what I’m thinking.”
I snort. “That you want banana pancakes for breakfast?”
He laughs and the sound of his happiness melds with the gentle roll of the sea. “This moment…”
He trails off and I nod, asking, “This moment?”
“I’d wish it could last forever, but then I wouldn’t be able to see what happens next. I really want all my nexts with you, Fi.”
He cups my cheeks in his hands and then pulls me close. His mouth brushes across mine, tasting the salt and the sea.
I lose myself, luxuriating in the stroke of his mouth on mine, the roll of his hips, the plunge of his tongue, the rhythm of our love. There’s a way we move together; sometimes it’s a crashing roar, other times it’s a gentle tide, often it’s an endless, timeless wave. But it’s always us—the way we move. I glide my hands over his shoulders and send my fingers through the wet, thick locks of his hair. Then I grip him tightly and pull him closer.
He stands firmly in the sand, holding me close in the rocking waves, and loves me. We love as the morning sun rolls higher in the sky and the lacy pink clouds dapple us with gentle light. Then for another hour, until I’m kissed pink by the sun and the salt, I lie peacefully in the water, Aaron making plans next to me.
Christmas plans. Baby plans. New routes to swim. New watches to design. What university Amy will attend. Where Mila will go to summer camp. Where to take Sean for his first ski lesson.
The rumble of his voice relaxes me and my eyes drift shut.
Then there’s a shout from the beach—“Mom! Dad!”
I flip, jerking upright, and Aaron catches me to him. A salty wave splashes over me, and I shield my eyes against the diamond-bright sparkle of the water.
Amy waves at us from the sand. Her curly hair is sleep-mussed and she’s barefoot and still in her pajamas. Mila’s next to her, jumping up and down. Her red hair is in braids, and her pale skin is pink from too much sun yesterday.
Sean crouches nearby in the shade of a palm, following the progress of a large hermit crab.
Aaron lifts his hand and waves.
Amy cups her mouth and shouts, “We’re hungry!”
Aaron hides a grin, and looks at me from the corner of his eyes. “What do you say?”
Mila waves her arms, “Mum! May I have waffles? May Sean have banana pancakes?”
“I don’t want that,” Amy calls, “I want a latte! I’ll make you one!”
I smile back at Aaron.
“Should we go back to land? Come out of the sea?” he asks.
I pretend to think about it. I’m the one who said I wanted to stay in here forever.
“I suppose,” I say, waving back at our family, “being on land has a lot of perks. Waffles. Pancakes. Our family. Love.”
I start to swim toward the beach. “A lot of nexts,” I say, finding the sand beneath my feet, “a whole lifetime of nexts.”
Aaron grabs my hand as the surf pushes us out onto the soft-sanded beach.
Sean runs toward us, the hermit crab cupped in his hands. “Mom. Dad! Look what I found. Have you ever seen a hermit crab this big?”
Aaron bends down to appreciate the crab and Mila grabs my hand. “Mum, do you think when the baby’s born, I’ll be able to teach her about watches? Do you think she’ll like me? Do you think she’ll like me right away?”
She’s excited, but also a tiny bit worried.
I squeeze her tight and say, “Of course. I think she already likes you. When you talk to her she always kicks. Remember?”
Mila nods and Amy threads her arm through Mila’s and ruffles her hair.
“What’re you thinking, Mila? How can’t she like you? We’re family and we’re friends. Remember the moment I first saw you? I liked you right away. Like Dostoevsky says, ‘We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken.’ We’ve been waiting a long time to meet her. Same as she’s been waiting to meet us. It’s going to be great.”
Then with those words of wisdom, Mila and Amy race across the sand toward the cottage. Sean runs after them, the hermit crab cupped in his hands. Aaron laughs, loving the sight of the island waking, and the joy of our family.
At the threshold of our cottage he cups my face, drags his fingers across my cheeks, and gives me one more kiss.
From inside, there’s the sound of pots clanging, bowls being pulled down from cupboards, and plates being set on the table.
And then, Aaron smiles against my lips, and whispers, “Ready for the day?”
I nod. I am. I’m ready for this day. The next. And every next after.
