I imagine telling Henri in my dreams to come back so that we can start afresh, saying that everything will turn out fine and we’ll have each other forever. I imagine his overcoming every obstacle—cerebral contusions, clamping, bruising, fear, coma, rehabilitation—and learning to speak and walk and love.

At long last, for one wonderful moment, I’m able to draw a deep breath that isn’t obstructed by the worry constricting my throat.

I sit on the bed and, taking great care, lie down beside Henri on top of the sheet with my face against his shoulder. I take his hand and stare up at the ceiling above, wondering if he can also see it. Can he see the dimmed lights, the oblique lamps, the reflected red, blue, and green dots from the computer-gray monitoring devices stacked on top of one another on the wheeled trolleys alongside each bed?

Planting a gentle kiss on his shoulder, I whisper into his ear, “I’ve seen photos of Saint Samson, Henri. I’d love to go there and to Saint Laurent and to Melon, where the winter storms batter the bay like nowhere else on earth.”

I think of the lighthouses. A quarter of France’s lighthouses stand on the cragged rocks and enormous stone islands of the raging Iroise Sea. There’s no sea as hungry, no sea in the world that demands such a heavy tribute in people and ships. “So that’s your home.”

Despite having been there, my father never told me anything about Brittany. Even many years later, lighthouse keepers refuse to speak about what they’ve seen at night, out at sea. They say nothing, and their silence is as deep as the sea around them.

“Shall we meet there, Henri? In Saint Samson or the place where you were born, Ty Kerk? You showed it to me once on the globe in Café Campania. I’ll be able to find it, the house between heaven and earth. I’ll take Sam.”

I notice I’m growing calmer in Henri’s presence, lulled to sleep by the rhythm of his ventilator, with which, as always, my breathing keeps time. I feel very drowsy. Still squeezing his hand, I lay mine on his heart and fall asleep by his side.

Henri

I can feel Sam’s incredible yearning and concern tugging at me like an invisible hand, reaching out with multiple feelers to check whether I’m here. However, most of his attention is focused on Madelyn.

I sense Eddie by my side. She’s taking care of my son. She’s stronger than she realizes. My child’s fear, my wife’s affection: one tears me apart, the other holds me together.

Eddie has just told me about Melon and Saint Laurent and the color of the waves that break against the shores of the land I call home. She’s asleep, but I’m not.