She squinted into the hard wind. The tape flapped; the ocean glittered like sheet metal. A few miles out to sea, ships moved back and forth below buttery clouds. How ordinary, how insignificant it seemed, the spot itself, out there, two, three miles offshore. Even as late as the day before, Ana had held out the smallest titer of irrational hope, but now, seeing the spot on the ocean, the rescue boats, the helicopters, the rows of naval officers saluting her (as if she’d done something heroic), the teddy bears and bouquets of flowers, Ana felt something crack inside her, something she hadn’t even known was still there: a last holdout of hope. A tiny twig, a bird bone, toothpick-thin; and it was as if just then, standing on the boulders, she heard it snap.

She ducked under the police tape. Pars called after her. She made a dash for the water. How liberating it would be. How easy. She wanted to get closer, to feel what Russell had felt (perhaps he was feeling it still), the temperature, the taste of salt, the bone chill. Bulbets of green moss clung to the slick rocks, barnacles, and mussel clusters. Already she felt the icy spray. A wave exploded two stories high—malachite, bottle glass green—and rained down on her. One of the Mounties shouted from above, his two hands parentheses around the O of his open mouth. The spray hit her broadside, nearly knocking her over. What would it be like underneath? One leap could take her there, inside the ocean, closer to Russell. A gull shot past, a Great Black-backed. The Mountie was suddenly at her side, gripping her arm.

Ma’am! he shouted. You can’t stay here!

He had a stubborn, pleading look. His hat was off, his head shaven, peach-fuzzed like a toddler’s. She let him drag her up the rocks. The surf boomed below. She felt giddy; she wanted to scream.

When she returned under the yellow tape, Pars had a half smile on his face. He held out the blue windbreaker.

I think you’ll need this now.

She didn’t argue; she let him help her put it on and she told the Mountie she’d be good now, she’d stay put. Pars looked at him and said he’d watch her.

Ana’s teeth chattered. Her jeans were partially drenched.

You’re baptized, Pars observed.

I found out why only the black rocks.

So did I, Pars responded.

They both said at the same time: Because they are slippery.