Southward, a ridge of land bulged up from the mud flats. From here, it was little more than a smudge of gray, indistinct in the boiling haze. She was pretty sure that was the hill the Estuary settlement was built on. She hadn’t realized she’d traveled so far from the river.
It would take a long, hot trek to get there, and she didn’t have much choice but to get started. Sooner she got back, sooner she could clean all this up. Seemed impossible and amazing, that she might actually get to leave this place.
Distance on these mud flats was deceptive. The ridge she aimed for somehow kept receding. Or her steps were getting slower. Distinct possibility there. She hadn’t brought water with her from the camp, hadn’t had a drink since leaving the stream’s track, and her mouth had become swollen and sticky.
The problem grew worse in the heat of the lowlands. Her shirt and tunic stuck to her, and mud had splashed her trousers up to her knees. Her head pounded from the sun’s glare. She wasn’t sure when the headache had started, but it was getting worse. She wanted her hat.
Would have been better to come down from the hills and find that nice path that led straight to Last House. Of course it would have. But she was probably lucky she’d left the hills in anywhere near the right place. Stubborn as she was, she’d have made it back one way or another. Some days, seemed like being stubborn was all she had.
Well then, she’d have to use it.
But she was tired and thirsty, and this was turning into a hard march. She never seemed to get any closer to that hazy ridge and the settlement. Or she was walking in circles. She was sure it couldn’t have been that, though; the ocean stayed to her right. That should have kept her going in a straight line. Suddenly she couldn’t be sure anything she did was right. The air kept growing hotter, her feet kept sticking to the ground.
She stopped a moment to catch her breath but had trouble pulling air into her lungs. Realized with a shock that if she didn’t keep moving, she might not survive. As long as she was walking, she’d be fine.
But a blackness, full of exhaustion, was collapsing around her vision.
She had trouble seeing the ridge at all anymore, and she definitely couldn’t make out the shape of the bridge over the river, the edges of those houses on the road.
Maybe if she squinted.
Then, she knew she was falling but couldn’t do anything to stop it.
Chapter Nineteen • the estuary
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Mother
Olive’s first pregnancy ended almost before it had begun. She’d been pregnant long enough to know that she was, to confirm the news, to begin planning, celebrating, settling into the new condition. And then it was over, in pain and mess. Enid’s mother, Peri, was the medic who treated her.
Her gray hair pushed back with a headband, Peri was vibrant, had a kind smile and gentle hands. Olive was fine, she determined. Or would be. She insisted this wasn’t unusual.
“I know it’s small comfort, but this is common. This is normal. You’re healthy, you’ll get pregnant again, you’ll have plenty of chances. Rest for now, think about the rest of it later.”
Peri kissed the top of Enid’s head, squeezed her shoulder, and left them at home. Enid heard her speak to Sam and Berol out in the front room, but didn’t hear exactly what they said. She focused on Olive, who’d cried herself out long ago, exhausted but still shuddering with grief.
Miscarriage might be common, but Olive said she could feel the loss inside her, that something had been there and was now gone. Through most of the night they sat in bed, Enid propped against the wall, Olive clinging to her. Enid held her, not really understanding but still aching for her. Aching for the missed chance, and from witnessing a process she couldn’t comprehend.
Enid looked up once to see Sam standing at the doorway, his expression drawn, concerned. Their gazes met—was there anything he could do? She shook her head. No, not at the moment. Sam went to the front room to sit with Berol, who must have been feeling wretched. Berol would take the next shift with Olive, but for now Olive wanted Enid to sit with her, so here she was.
Enid’s arms circled Olive, blanketing her. “You want something to drink? You should drink some water,” Enid said. “Want me to make some tea?”
Olive shook her head, tightened her grip.
“I must be broken,” she choked out. “Am I broken?”
“No, didn’t you hear Peri? She said you’re fine, everything’s going to be fine.”
“Doesn’t feel fine.”
“I know, love. I know.”
“Maybe . . . maybe . . . you should try. Maybe I wasn’t meant to—”
Over the next few weeks, she’d repeat that. Maybe it should be you, she’d tell Enid, who hushed her fast every time. There’d be plenty of chances. Olive had no business giving up so soon. Besides, her implant was out; it would be wasteful to put in a new one so soon.
Enid leaned in close and squeezed her eyes shut to keep tears from falling. “It’s too early for that. You’ll try again. It’ll be fine.”