The water crashed over the railing, a wave passing between her and her parents. When it cleared, they were gone.

She ran to where they had been, looked over the river railing, screaming without sound, trying to find them in the calming, tricky waves.

chapter six: Letting Go

Marta was on the porch steps.

Dune had been visiting her mother in the same way she visited her father, sitting in the bedroom so full of Kama’s energy, half waiting, half longing. There was no way of knowing how long Marta’d been out there in the ninety-degree heat, Dune just happened to see her through the front window when she stood to leave Kama’s room.

Dune moved too quickly to the front door, pausing only once her hand was on the doorknob, trying to remember what boundary she’d set with Marta. She couldn’t remember the last thing she’d said, but she knew it was in anger. Maybe it didn’t have to matter. Marta was here now.

Dune stepped out. Marta didn’t turn around, but she shifted over on the stairs, making room. Marta was smoking a real cigarette, which she only did when they were fighting or her parents had had another violent argument.

Dune sat down. Marta blew smoke in the other direction, but it doubled back and streamed over them. She looked over briefly, vulnerability shadowing her soft face.

When their eyes met, Marta leaned over and hugged Dune, awkwardly, sideways, hard. Soon, Dune felt Marta shaking with tears, breath hitching against her neck. Her face tightened into a mask as she put her arm around Marta’s shoulders, holding her ex until the initial wave of emotion settled. Dune offered this grudging comfort with a small voice in the back of her head weighing in, of course you have to hold her when it’s your mother who’s died.

They adjusted in slight ways that reminded them of how well these bodies knew each other. They sat for a while, in the heat, Marta’s arms around Dune’s waist, like they still belonged to each other. Five years; they’d been together since they were teenagers.

Gladiolas bloomed in the yard, the warrior flower. The street was empty, heat rippling off the tar. There were fat, slow bees hovering, tasting; dragonfly pairs mating midair. Dune wondered if they were enemies now, carriers.

Eventually, Marta straightened against Dune and pulled away a bit. They contemplated each other.

Marta’s face was lush in every way Dune’s was spare—full lips, round eyes, childlike buttony nose, pillowy cheeks. Her hair was curly, brown, her skin golden, underlit with a blushed pink tone. Full heavy breasts, rolling belly, thick thighs bare under denim cutoffs.

Dune felt an absence of desire fill her up. She started the conversation to get it over with, knowing Marta could easily sit there for hours, quiet, seeping.