crept upward and folded into serpentines. The road was cut into the mountainside, a thin ribbon of pavement between a sheer rock face and limestone cliffs that plunged hundreds of feet to the sea.
When they had gone some distance, they passed a sign that indicated an overlook.
“Stop here!” Jadranka ordered.
“It’s freezing,” Magdalena said even as she pulled over. “And it’s nighttime.”
Jadranka still cradled the second wine bottle from dinner in her lap, and when she got out of the car, she tucked it beneath her arm like an umbrella. For a moment Magdalena watched her sister walk backward in the headlights. She was smiling, and the wind blew with such force that it whipped her hair upward, as if Jadranka were no longer subject to the laws of gravity. She threw her head back and howled, a sound Magdalena could just make out above the wind.
She sighed and turned off the engine, watching for a few moments more before opening her car door. There was a dangerous quality about Jadranka tonight, like something preparing to explode.
But the cold outside nearly drove her back into the car. “You’re crazy!” she shouted at her sister’s retreating back.
Jadranka was right, however, for although the wind was punishing, the view was achingly clear. Along the coast in either direction, Magdalena could see the cold lights of several towns and, behind them, the black weight of the mountains. Island after island lay in front of her, their shorelines glowing like Christmas trees, and when she made out a soft light on the horizon, she wondered if it was Rosmarina.
“Come on!” her sister shouted, and Magdalena jogged towards the place where she was standing, at the very edge of the pavement. Jadranka stepped forward a little unsteadily so that Magdalena grabbed the back of her coat, not trusting the railing that separated them from the edge.
“No you don’t,” she said with a short laugh. “Unless you want to go to the hospital instead of America.” She could not see the point below them where the waves broke upon the rocks, but she could hear the crash of water above the wind.
Jadranka appeared not to have heard her. “Look at the stars,” she insisted happily. “How often do you see stars that bright?”
Her sister began to sway slightly, and Magdalena hid a smile. “All the time,” she answered.
But Jadranka ignored this, too. “There’s Sirius,” she said so softly that Magdalena strained to hear her. “And Orion.”
Magdalena looked up. “You haven’t forgotten,” she said.
Jadranka snorted. “How could I forget? The number of nights I spent in Dida’s boat when all I wanted to do was sleep.”
Magdalena’s heart jumped painfully at this because she knew that while they drove around, their grandmother would be watching his face for signs of life.
Luka Mori ć had always hated the way the island hemorrhaged its population to the mainland. He regarded with melancholy the fact that in a decade or two, there might no longer be working fishermen on Rosmarina, nor enough hands to combat fires after the tourist season ended. Most of all, Magdalena knew, he hated the glass cabinet in the kitchen where his wife kept a shrine to family members who had died or emigrated.
Over the years, the cabinet’s shelves had become filled with photographs as Luka’s sisters had died one by one or, as in the case of Vinka, left for good. His only daughter wanted nothing to do with Rosmarina, and his only son had disappeared, sending no word even after the end of communism. This silence had prompted Magdalena’s grandmother to add the pictures of saints to Marin Mori ć ’s shelf, a blessed rosary from some cousin who had visited the Vatican, and a medal of Saint Christopher.
Magdalena knew that their grandmother prayed in front of the cabinet when she thought no one was watching, but that before his stroke Luka could barely stand to look at it when passing through the kitchen. He had once confided to
When they had gone some distance, they passed a sign that indicated an overlook.
“Stop here!” Jadranka ordered.
“It’s freezing,” Magdalena said even as she pulled over. “And it’s nighttime.”
Jadranka still cradled the second wine bottle from dinner in her lap, and when she got out of the car, she tucked it beneath her arm like an umbrella. For a moment Magdalena watched her sister walk backward in the headlights. She was smiling, and the wind blew with such force that it whipped her hair upward, as if Jadranka were no longer subject to the laws of gravity. She threw her head back and howled, a sound Magdalena could just make out above the wind.
She sighed and turned off the engine, watching for a few moments more before opening her car door. There was a dangerous quality about Jadranka tonight, like something preparing to explode.
But the cold outside nearly drove her back into the car. “You’re crazy!” she shouted at her sister’s retreating back.
Jadranka was right, however, for although the wind was punishing, the view was achingly clear. Along the coast in either direction, Magdalena could see the cold lights of several towns and, behind them, the black weight of the mountains. Island after island lay in front of her, their shorelines glowing like Christmas trees, and when she made out a soft light on the horizon, she wondered if it was Rosmarina.
“Come on!” her sister shouted, and Magdalena jogged towards the place where she was standing, at the very edge of the pavement. Jadranka stepped forward a little unsteadily so that Magdalena grabbed the back of her coat, not trusting the railing that separated them from the edge.
“No you don’t,” she said with a short laugh. “Unless you want to go to the hospital instead of America.” She could not see the point below them where the waves broke upon the rocks, but she could hear the crash of water above the wind.
Jadranka appeared not to have heard her. “Look at the stars,” she insisted happily. “How often do you see stars that bright?”
Her sister began to sway slightly, and Magdalena hid a smile. “All the time,” she answered.
But Jadranka ignored this, too. “There’s Sirius,” she said so softly that Magdalena strained to hear her. “And Orion.”
Magdalena looked up. “You haven’t forgotten,” she said.
Jadranka snorted. “How could I forget? The number of nights I spent in Dida’s boat when all I wanted to do was sleep.”
Magdalena’s heart jumped painfully at this because she knew that while they drove around, their grandmother would be watching his face for signs of life.
Luka Mori ć had always hated the way the island hemorrhaged its population to the mainland. He regarded with melancholy the fact that in a decade or two, there might no longer be working fishermen on Rosmarina, nor enough hands to combat fires after the tourist season ended. Most of all, Magdalena knew, he hated the glass cabinet in the kitchen where his wife kept a shrine to family members who had died or emigrated.
Over the years, the cabinet’s shelves had become filled with photographs as Luka’s sisters had died one by one or, as in the case of Vinka, left for good. His only daughter wanted nothing to do with Rosmarina, and his only son had disappeared, sending no word even after the end of communism. This silence had prompted Magdalena’s grandmother to add the pictures of saints to Marin Mori ć ’s shelf, a blessed rosary from some cousin who had visited the Vatican, and a medal of Saint Christopher.
Magdalena knew that their grandmother prayed in front of the cabinet when she thought no one was watching, but that before his stroke Luka could barely stand to look at it when passing through the kitchen. He had once confided to
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