In Every Way by Nic Brown Page B

clear at first. Is this really her daughter? Maria cannot remember exactly what her daughter looks like. She opens her phone to the photos Jack took of the child in those first few hours, as Maria held her closeto her chest, a small stocking cap stuck on her head, eyes squeezed shut, her face puffy and yellow. What does Bonacieux look like now? Maria does not know. In these photos, here for anyone to see, someone’s child wears bright red socks knit to resemble high-top sneakers. Someone’s child sleeps in a white basinet that looks like it was made even before the ancient house in which she now lives. Someone’s child bathes in the depths of a chipped enamel sink deep enough for four babies, presided over by an antique silver spigot and a dirty russet brush. And then Maria knows that this is not just any child, but her own. Because she sees the child’s parents, and they are Philip and Nina. Together they have taken Bonacieux to a dock, to the beach, and to a restaurant near Beaufort that Maria recognizes: the Sanitary Fish Market. Maria has slept in a T-shirt from that restaurant for years, its cotton now tissue-thin and translucent. It worked, she thinks. She has constructed a family that will traffic in the same seafood buffets of her own childhood, that will drive the same streets, know the same weather. And this, these photos here before her, they have suddenly allowed Maria to enter their house, to see the cracks that line their sink, enjoy the art on the walls of the nursery, and to look into the silvery-gray eyes of her child. She knows already it will not be enough. She wants to see it firsthand.
    IN THE LIVING room, Maria’s mother listens to Patti Smith, a copy of The New York Times held close to her face and a red rubber water bottle perched atop her head. “The head is like a limb in Africa,” she says, lowering the paper to her lap. “They carry laundry, groceries. Children. But I can barely keep this on, and I’m just sitting here.”
    â€œYou cold?” Maria says.
    Her mother nods and the water bottle flops into her lap.
    â€œLet’s go to Beaufort,” Maria says.
    â€œYes,” her mother says. “Right now.”
    Maria knows her mother cannot read anything further into Maria’s suggestion. She does not know that Bonacieux is there. But it doesn’t matter, Maria thinks, because her mother wants to go there anyway. She’s been talking about it for months, for the same reason Maria chose Philip and Nina to begin with—because she loves the place. The only thing keeping them in Chapel Hill has been treatment, and the most recent run of chemo has now ceased. They should go, Maria tells herself, not for her, not for the child, but for her mother. She tries to convince herself that this is the real reason she wants to leave. She can almost believe it.
    â€œI’m serious,” Maria says.
    â€œMe too,” her mother says. She sighs and balances the water bottle back on her head. “There are so many stupid people there, but God I love that place.”
    â€œMe too,” Maria says.
    â€œLet’s do it. I’m getting better.”
    Maria’s mother is not getting better. At least she shouldn’t be. But Maria cannot completely disagree with her assessment. Her mother’s hair has begun to reappear in a fine blond stubble. She has begun to eat. She has begun to walk. Hank no longer spends each day on deathwatch.
    Maria sits beside her and takes part of the paper for herself. She will say no more about Beaufort tonight. Instead, she will sit with her mother and help her finish the crossword. Because this is how they make plans. An option is introduced, like a seed in soil, then left to germinate in silence. Over the next few days, Maria watches this one take root.

CHAPTER 5
    I SN’T BONNY BONNY? She is. Each day, Nina posts a new photo, and each day, Maria inspects it closely. Milkweed has been tucked between