Chapter 15: Growing, and Then Not

Michael was sad with the news that I brought him. He was very, very fond of my mother. He insisted on going to her house alone to talk her. I made dinner while he was gone.

He came back with tears streaked on his cheeks. "Oh God."

I nodded, stirring the pot. "I told you about my odd connection with the sea goddess, right?"

"Yeah, why?" He stared at me, eyes empty.

"She came this morning. Woke me up."

"What did she say?"

I laughed quietly. "Nothing new, really. She told me to talk to my mother, and tell her to hold on for another year." I sighed, not pleased.

"What happens in a year?" Michael eyes widened when I spun around and pointed my wet wooden spoon at him.

"What happens? What happens?" I was surprised that he didn't remember. "I'm turning twenty, and my father is coming!"

"Oh."

I rolled my eyes, exasperated. "And by that time, we'll have a child of our own to raise. I was thinking of naming him William, if that's all right with you?"

"Wait wait wait!… what? You're pregnant?" He sounded doubtful, but excited at the same time. He came up behind me and hugged me from behind, kissing my neck. "Are you serious?"

I nodded, leaning into him. "Yes."

"Oh Calypso! A child!"

I laughed, then brushed him off. "If you want to eat, you better let me finish this."

He just smiled, kissed me, then went to wash his hands, whistling an aimless tune. He was pleased, I could tell.

I sighed, an odd mix of emotions circulating through me. My mother was dying, and I had a speck of life growing inside me. I hoped, hoped that she would be able to see her grandchild, at least once.

Five months later …

The sunset was beautiful, I noted as I fell to my knees. Michael shouted my name, but the shout faded. I could feel the sand beneath my cheek, and my eyes were filled with redness. With a chocked sigh of relief, I slid happily into the darkness of my mind.

I did not think. I did not feel. I did not want to do either.

There was darkness, and there was no pain. There was freedom.

I woke slowly in my own bed, feeling strangely empty. Michael's face swam in front of my eyes, blurry and indistinct.

"What happened?" I managed to croak out quietly. I could barely hear myself.

"Oh Calypso," Michael whispered, cupping my cheek with one large hand. "The child …"

Franticly, I put my hand on my stomach. To my imeance horror, it was flat.

"No. No, no, no, nonononononononono," I whispered, patting my sore abdomen. "No."

"I'm so sorry, love. Our little William didn't make it."

Tears chocked me, and I let out a sob. Its intensity startled Michael, but he lay down next to me as I cried myself to sleep.

The oblivion was bittersweet. The child, our William, featured in many of my dreams for a very long time.