Chapter 5: The Dock

I went out to meet them on the station dock, because I would not be fetched from a doorway.

Tilda was on my hip with the rabbit tucked under her chin, and my stitched hand was wrapped in white gauze.

Behind me the night crew had come out to the rail, and two fishermen stood on their overturned boat with their arms folded.

Fraser stayed in the doorway with his hands in his jacket pockets and said nothing.

Damon came up the wet boards with long steps.

"Lena."

He stopped an arm's length from me and looked at my hand, at the baby, at the water still dripping from my hair.

His eyes filled.

"I thought I'd lost you both," he said.

"You were on the same island as the helicopter you sent away, Damon. You didn't lose anything."

"Please. Not here."

"Here is where I am."

Corinna reached us then, a little breathless, the thermos clutched to her chest.

"Lena, thank God," she said. "Oh, look at her, she's perfect. I brought warm milk, I didn't know if you'd have any left."

She held out a small insulated bottle with Tilda's name written on the lid in marker.

It was her handwriting. It was always her handwriting, on the lunch boxes, the gift tags, the labels in my kitchen.

"That's kind," I said.

"It's nothing, it's the least. I've felt sick all night about the contractor, I got the wrong time from the field. I should have checked it twice."

She pressed two fingers to the side of her head, under the scarf, and winced.

"Did you get hurt?" I asked.

"Oh, just a bump. It's nothing. Everyone's fine."

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