Chapter 9: Counting

Jonah woke with her name still in his mouth and knew at once that she had heard it.

He lay on the floor of the cabin with his arm over his eyes and did not move.

The stove had burned low. The window above the bed was going grey.

Maren sat up against the headboard with the quilt around her knees, watching him.

"You were counting," she said.

"Bad habit."

"You said my name."

"I know," Jonah said. "I'm sorry."

He sat up, slowly, and turned his face from her.

She did not ask anything else. After a while she lay down again and pulled the quilt over her shoulder, and he listened to her pretend to sleep.

He got up and went out onto the porch.

The sky over the Pacific was the color of slate. Rain had stopped. The air tasted of salt.

He put both hands on the rail and made himself breathe.

Two weeks ago he had woken counting out loud, and he had not stopped since.

Below the bluff a wave broke and drew back over the stones. He counted it without meaning to.

Behind him the cabin was quiet, and he listened for her breathing through the wall of the door.

He heard the door behind him.

Maren came out onto the porch with the quilt over her shoulders and two chipped mugs.

She held one out.

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