Life and Other Near-Death Experiences(36)

“When Spanish explorers first came to Vieques, they thought the glowing meant the bay was possessed by the devil, so they tried to block it off,” he said, pointing toward a narrow passage at the far end of the bay. “That trapped the leaves of the mangrove trees lining the bay, which the dinoflagellates feed off. So the organism grew stronger and brighter, and the Spanish left the whole area untouched. That’s why it’s still like this today.”

“That’s amazing,” I murmured, watching my hands glow as I lazily dog-paddled in place.

“I didn’t want you to miss it, and if you go when the moon is too full, you don’t get the full effect. Now,” he said, swimming even closer, “lie back and look up.”

As I leaned back, my legs floated to the surface, as though my entire body had been rendered weightless by this magical water. I gasped as the sky came into view. It was a deep black carpet blinking with some of the brightest, whitest stars I’d ever seen.

“Not a lot of light pollution out here,” Shiloh said. I could tell from his tone that he was pleased that I was wowed.

“And to think that they’re not even there,” I said, mostly to myself. It was my dad who first told me it was likely many, if not most, stars burn up long before we see them; all that’s really left is their light, making its way through the ether.

“That depends on how you look at it,” Shiloh said.

“How’s that?”

“Well, technically, we’re seeing balls of nuclear fusion from billions of years before we were born. But as far as I’m concerned, I’m experiencing them at this very moment, so they exist in the present. They happened in the past, but they’re still real now.”

“Huh.” I stared at the sky, thinking about space and time and my mother, who was both my past and my present, and who, for all I knew, was up there twinkling somewhere.

He asked if I knew why stars shine. I confessed that I did not.

“They’re big clusters of plasma held together by their own gravity, and they can’t help but continually crush themselves inward. Their self-destruction creates friction. Which comes to us as light.”

“I didn’t know you were into science.”

“I do make my living testing Newton’s laws of motion.”

“Touché.”

“Anyway, I like astronomy. It has a lot to tell us about the human condition.”

I wasn’t sure what he was trying to get at, though I suspected it had something to do with my cancer. But I didn’t want to ruin the moment with an explanation I didn’t want to hear, so I swam around on my back, and soon forgot all about it.

Which was incredibly easy to do. Around me, my skin glowed; above me, the sky was lit with remnants of the past. And to think that my mother had been here—she had swum in this water and seen this very sky! I could not help but feel incredibly grateful that I’d stayed alive long enough to experience it.

“Thank you for this,” I said to Shiloh quietly.

“You’re most welcome,” he said, and when he reached through the water for my hand, I gave it willingly.

I was slightly disappointed when he released my hand a few minutes later and suggested we head back. Disguising my reluctance, I agreed, and we paddled to the shore, toweled off, and got in the Jeep as though we hadn’t just had a moment. (Which might be exactly how he was viewing the situation, I told myself.)

“Thanks again,” I said as he pulled up in front of the beach house.

“No problem. Thanks for coming with me.” He looked at me, then back at his steering wheel.

“Okay. I’ll see you around,” I said, and let myself out before he could reach across to open my door.

“Sounds good,” he said behind me.

I could hear his Jeep idling in the driveway as I unlocked the front door, but I didn’t turn around to wave good-bye. I was tough! I was a diamond encased in an impermeable layer of shellac! I did not need a forty-two-year-old half-baked crush to make sweet, sweet love to me, gosh darn it.

These affirmations did not stop the tears from coming as I let myself into the empty beach house. It wasn’t even Shiloh, per se, who was the problem. It was the whole of it: the once-in-a-lifetime experience at the bay. The aching loneliness of being discarded by a husband who couldn’t even admit he’d discarded me. The end of my life, drawing nearer and nearer still.

I walked to the porch, my sandals slapping against the tile as if to remind me I was alone. I did not bother turning the lights on.

I threw myself down on the wicker sofa and watched the waves through the glass.

I put my arm across my forehead like the heroine of a Victorian novel and cried.

I cried and cried; and when that was through, I cried some more. I could feel my face swell with salt and sorrow, but I could sooner lasso a star than stop.

Then I heard a rapping on the glass window, and I peed myself—just a little.

I wiped my eyes and opened the door. “Damn it, Shiloh,” I said, trying not to sound choked up.

“Libby,” he said, and he took my puffy face between his callused hands and kissed me in a way that I had never been kissed before. It was rough. It was tender. It was absolutely, undeniably not the kiss of a man who didn’t truly like women.

Now, I know, I know: it’s not fair to compare the men you sleep with. Really, it’s not, even if one of those men turned out to not prefer your particular gender.