Page 24 of The Cartographer

Cris must have a hundred thousand conversations running through his head. Every time he steps into the kitchen, he must hear Mal’s ghost whispering in his ear. Maybe about how to perfectly poach an egg or wisdom about something more fundamental. Whatever it is, the pain of never being able to hear his real voice again can’t have dulled enough for the memories to inspire fondness and nostalgia. It must be excruciating.

“Well, I thought he was getting better, but then he got worse. I hated it, Rey. He seemed so lost and listless.”

It’s funny sometimes to watch the two of them together—India such a high-strung, busy little bee who can’t sit still as opposed to Cris, who’s slow and easy, like a sloth. Or moss even. His ease isn’t ever directionless, though. It’s always intentional. He’s very present, Cris. One reason he makes such a good anchor for India. He can chain her up and hold her down, and she’ll stay because he’s so rock-solid. India must feel like her bedrock’s shattered, and I cringe because that must hurt them both.

Then something occurs to me. She’s been using the past tense. Something must have gotten even worse, and that’s why she called me. “Then what happened?”

She makes a strangled noise. “He was all manic when he picked me up last night. When we got home, he’d made all this food. Like he’d spent all day in the kitchen. I don’t even know how we’re going to eat it all.”

“You’re rambling.” If it sounded like clinical mania, I’d be concerned. Grief can manifest in some strange ways. But she would’ve called last night, no matter what the hour here, if she were that worried. So instead I wait. Also, I’m not worried about the food. For such a tiny girl, India eats like a garbage disposal. Especially if Cris is putting her through her paces. If he’s all worked up, he probably will, for both their sakes.

“He told me he wants to have a baby.”

Holy what the ever-living fuck now? That’s what my brain screams, but what comes out of my mouth is, “Oh?”

“You can take your fuckingohand shove it, Rey Walter. You heard me. Ababy. What the fuck am I supposed to do with a baby?”

“I have some ideas…”

“Seriously, Rey.”

Yes, seriously. I curse myself when I suck air through my teeth. I don’t have a lot of tells, but that’s one of them. She’ll have heard it, and it’ll freak her out I’m at a loss too.Get yourself under control, Walter.Dammit. If Cris has gone off the deep end, then I’m the only one she’s got.

I’d been under the impression Cris didn’t want to procreate, and for as long as I’ve known her, India’s been scared shitless of the idea. Not that people never change their minds about these things, but Cris is the polar opposite of fickle. Especially about something literally life-altering. A baby? Jesus.

“What did you say?” I cross mental fingers, hoping she didn’t respond with a stream of expletives, though that’s the most likely scenario.

“After I started breathing again, I told him I thought he was probably reacting to losing his dad.”

Huh. India is…not the most astute person when it comes to human psychology, but her reasoning makes sense. The whole mortality thing can really shake a person up, and at forty-five, Cris isn’t the springiest of chickens. Plus, he spends a lot of time by himself. Maybe the loneliness of having a part-time spouse is grating on him after it being the status quo for years, though India’s made an effort to go to Kona more often since Mal died. I suppose a baby could seem like a reasonable fix for all those problems: carrying on the genetic line and a companion, all in one squalling, if adorable, package.

“That sounds like a distinct possibility. What did he say?”

“He got huffy and went to clean up the kitchen.”

“Okay…” I’m not one of those “never go to bed angry” types. Sometimes you need time, and things can look infinitely better in the morning, when you’re not so cranky because you’ve actually had a good night’s sleep instead of staying up to the wee hours hashing something out with your partner. That doesn’t explain why she’s calling. “I’m not seeing what the problem is.”

“There wasn’t a problem. Until this afternoon.”

She sounds guilty. For India to actually feel guilty… “What did you do?”

“I went to Kona. To the animal shelter.”

Her small sentences and the reluctant way she’s dragging the words out of her mouth make the alarm bells go off in my head. Animal shelter? Dread is echoing loudly through my skull. “You didn’t.”

“He can’t replace Mal with a baby!”

Oh, she did.

“I know that, and so does he, somewhere deep down. But you tried to replace his dead father with a dog, India.” My disbelief has gotten the better of me. I try not to show any strong reactions when I’m dealing with India at all, because that rarely goes well, but come on. India might be one of the smartest people I know, but sometimes her lack of common sense is utterly astounding.

“I know!” she wails. “That’s what he said when I came home.”

“When was that?”

“Like an hour ago.”

“Where is he now?”

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