Dany’s mind is an old bookstore, crammed floor to ceiling with old almanacs and books. All of everything is in there, she’s sure of it. But try finding a particular book – try finding a passage – Jesus, it might take years.
Dany sorts through the mess, combing through the memories closest to the surface. She calls up a picture of her aunt and Eva and her sister. Then she adds Faraday at the edge of the group, a human afterthought. She tries to picture them landing on the shore. But it’s impossible. Already, the image she once held of the faces of those she loves has begun to fade.
When Antoine is done with the door to the marina clubhouse, it’s hanging from one hinge.
“Think we can get in now?” she asks dryly.
Antoine nods. “Oui, bien sûr,” he says and chuckles.
In the front lobb
