At the slipway people were scattering their flowers onto the surface of the fjord: tulips and roses, chrysanthemums and lilies. The current today was strong. The flowers fanned out in a swath that reached halfway across the sound. I sat, my legs overhanging the water, watching as others paid their respects. Five hundred of us, maybe more.

Grief welled up in me. The tears seemed to come from nowhere, huge racking sobs from a place deep within.

My Licia.

My little girl.

I thought of the time on the mountain at Whistler, and of the moment when Licia returned, laughing, full of joy at surviving the snowstorm. I thought of the mirror in her bedroom, of her empty bed, of the dust that had settled over the fingerprint powder in the year since she had gone. . . .

I don’t know how long I sat there, at the edge of the slipway, hands pressed hard against my eyes. When I could cry no more I took off my clothes and folded them beside me.

I filled my lungs with air. I stepped toward the water’s edge. How long since I last felt the sun on my skin?

I stopped. I was naked. I looked about me, self-conscious, foolish and out of place. But no one was paying me any mind. I took another breath.

I jumped, piked in the air, straightened first my arms, then my legs. I felt the shock hit my torso as I dropped below the surface. I pulled myself downward—one stroke, then the next—into the chill peaty dark, tasting salt on my lips. After a time I sensed a darker shade of black. I slowed. My fingers found the branch of a tree. I gripped it gently.

I turned on my back, looked up. I could not see the surface, though I could sense light far above. I exhaled, watched as my breath gathered in a bubble that rose slowly away from me, contours disappearing into the gloom.

My calf muscles brushed against rock. My back came to rest in the soft silt. I was calm now, calmer than I’d been in months.

I emptied my lungs, saw my breath plume and join into a single vast bubble, watched as it rose directly above me, softening and disappearing as it went. If I did nothing, if I did not push myself toward the surface, then I would stay here. I would merge with the water, become one with the fjord.

Calm.

I could feel the beginning of the ache in my stomach, and in my throat, could feel my body preparing to inhale.

Perhaps Licia was down here? Perhaps Licia too had merged with the water? Perhaps she was waiting for me, just out of sight. Perhaps she wanted me to stay.

I was very, very calm, though I could feel my body fighting me, trying to force me to open my lungs and breathe.

Calm.