"What did you dream of on the island?"
His eyes cloud over. He looks out onto the harbor, tugging at the sleeve of his jacket. She notices this, how he seems to be reaching for something that isn't there, but stays quiet.
"I didn't," he answers. He bows his head. "I didn't dream of anything. There was nothing to dream of. There was no imagination there. If you had been there-" He sighs and coughs into his palm. "It was hard just to think. People could lose themselves in that place. I know I did.
"If I had dreamed, I would have dreamed of something to make it better. To keep my dad from leaving." He shrugs. "My mom, you know, she still can't bring herself to wear anything with short sleeves. Still ashamed. Couldn't stand having a dead son and a husband who drank and chased after other girls all the time. I would've made us whole again."
Gently, she reaches out and takes his hand in her hand, laying her head against his shoulder. "I'm sorry."
"'S not your fault."
They rock against each other, bodies facing the harbor.
"She never came, even when my mom called out to her. Bought all the herbs, the talismans, the special pouches. Lots of those feathers they sell on Sunday. She stayed quiet. And everyone wonders why I never go to the temple anymore. It's because we asked her for help, invoked her in our hour of need. She was supposed to come whenever a truly needful person called, but she didn't."
He is crying. "She let me stay afraid."