Page 87 of The Wild Beneath

“What if you’re supposed to be here?” Ruth straightens the blanket over her lap, then looks into Annie’s eyes. “We’re allowed to change, Annie.”

A trolley creaks in the hallway. Someone is pulling at the curtain around Ruth’s bed, sweeping it aside.

“One step after another. Focus on small things. You’ll see how strong you are,” Ruth finishes.

Annie wipes away her tears, as an orderly slides a breakfast tray in front of Ruth.

The phone call arrives two mornings later.

It happens at 7:26 a.m. while Annie pages through a physiology chapter on the heart, reading about the first embryonic spark and the beat of its cells. Chambers constructed from emptiness itself. A collection of muscles activated in synchrony. The way the heart continues to pump its circular signals all by itself.

Until it is the end.

The trill of the phone startles her as it does every time. A doctor from the inpatient unit offers flat pleasantries.

And then: “I’m so sorry to let you know that Ruth passed away overnight.”

Annie drops the receiver. She just saw her. Ruth looked well, she looked herself.

The words on the page below her smear into a tidal wave.

They put Ruth’s ashes into the sea.

Henry is the one who does it. He stands in the shallows of low tide and sprinkles them from a grey ceramic urn. Wind presses against their faces, as a flock of gulls lift off, suspended in the breeze. Annie stares at Henry’s hands, his calloused palms, his white eyebrows furry like caterpillars. Evan stands sentinel, inches from Annie, as if she might fall, as if he might catch her.

“We could go back to Hale’s if you want,” he says later that night, sitting on the edge of her bed before he goes to his own. “We could live at Ruth’s.”

Annie stares blankly at the wall. “I’ve got class in the morning.”

The week that follows is empty and hard to remember.

Henry stocks up on supplies and returns to Hale’s on a fishing boat heading north. Before his departure, he empties his bank account. On the dock, he hands a thick stack of bills to Annie, then pulls her into a fierce hug. For an instant, it blocks out the whole world. “Keep listening to yourself, little fish,” he says.

And then he lets go.

Flood

The flood tide rejuvenates. The pace picks up. Water circulates through previously stagnant areas as marine life awakens.

Chapter 32

Six years after

Annie stands at the edge of the sea.

She waits for news on an early, mid-January afternoon. The water is restless, pushing and pulling against the rocks with its ragged breath. The landing pad lights buzz against the stormy sky. Damp wind permeates everything: her jacket, her crumpled green scrubs.

It’s been too long.

“This is some weather,” says the flight paramedic waiting beside her. His vest radio cackles with empty static. Is his name Chris? She can’t remember. ARMSTRONG is printed on his reflective vest. “You don’t have to stand out here, Dr. MacLeod.”

“Can you turn down the squelch?” she asks.

Armstrong adjusts the radio knob, but the static does not ease. Still, Annie wants to stand out here; ever since she saw the ocean from the helicopter earlier, it’s been hard to tear herself away. The sea is dark and thick. It sprays against her face, catches in her eyelashes.

The radio beeps. “This is Coast Guard Six-Five-Seven-Niner. Get MacLeod on the line.”

Armstrong passes her the handset. “It’s Annie, over.”