"I'm home!" Monica announced into the entryway as she pushed through the threshold of her home and allowed the door to swing shut behind her. She trudged heavily up the stairs, arms laden with four shopping bags which she very quickly shed onto the kitchen island. Taking a breath, Monica straightened and, for what felt like the first time that day, stood still. She listened for the distant crash of waves against the headland, and the soft trill of birds in trees, and she heaved a great sigh of contentment as her bones began to settle.
There was a creek on the staircase, and Monica's eyes met Wendell's as he descended from the top floor of the home to help with the unpacking. She smiled softly as she reached for the bananas and the apples before depositing them in the fruit bowl on the counter. Two sets of hands made light work of the shopping, and before long everything was packed away neatly , and Wendell and Monica were curled up on the sofa, staring out at the ocean.
Often, at this time of day, the two of them would retire to the sitting room to read before dinner (Monica was currently making her way through a volume she'd found about alternative medicine, and Wendell had just finished a novel about Napoleon). Today, however, though their books sat within reach on the driftwood coffee table, neither seemed able to tear their eyes from the ocean. It was like they were looking for something there, and they could almost see it, but not quite.
She's somewhere out there. The thought came unbidden and took Monica by surprise. When she tried to focus on it, the thought was already gone, replaced by the tide on the beach below. Washed away and swallowed by the sea. Wendell was also caught up by the waves. Occasionally, he thought he felt them staring back at him, but when he looked harder, all he could see was sea foam.
Though not usual, evenings spent like this were not entirely uncommon for the Wilkins family. They would sit there, in their house on a cliff at the seeming edge of the world and stare, as if daring the world to make its next move. It was their sometimes-ritual. They used to talk during this time, when they'd first moved to Avalon over a year ago. Monica would try to articulate the feeling of emptiness that nibbled just below her ribcage, and Wendell would silently agree, but audible comfort.
"Look at this view," He'd say, softly. "Look at the sun shining on the waves just so that we can watch them glisten. Listen to the birds that sing just for us."
Monica would give him a look that said she appreciated his efforts, but he knew his words weren't healing, they were just trying to warm the space between them. And they did warm. The Wilkinses lived a nice life, and they loved each other dearly. But occasionally they had nights like this where they imagined there was something more.
Monica imagined a young girl with bright brown eyes, Wendell's eyes, standing in a red-and-white chequered uniform standing on her tallest tiptoes trying to reach a fresh tray of brownies before school. She imagined scooping the little girl up in her arms and swinging her around their old kitchen in London, laughing. Not for the first time, she questioned her decision to leave London. It had been the logical choice, to move to Australia, when the job offer had come from her old university friend. There had been nothing keeping her and Wendell in London, and Australia was warmer for more of the year, and they could live by the beach (and, her friend had wheedled, the beaches in Australia were like Cornish beaches, except the water was warmer and more fun to swim in), so they'd said of course we'll come. But in these moments Monica envisioned for herself such a vivid alternative life in London that she felt maybe she'd made the wrong decision. Or that maybe she'd made a few wrong decisions culminating in this one.
But then, as the sun dipped over the horizon, Monica would look over to Wendell and the trance would lift, and she'd remember the decision had been the right one after all. They were happy, together, at the edge of the world.
Until the knock on the door came, and it all fell apart once more.