Neptune's Tears (13 page)

Zee thought because he was older he knew about all the things she didn’t – he saw it in her eyes. But really, they were so much alike. He’d never been in love before either.
Now, looking down at her, he wondered how he could ever love someone this much again. And he wondered what she would say if she knew the truth – the
real
truth – about him, and
why he was visiting her world.

Zee knew David was gone the minute she woke up. She no longer felt his warmth at her back, or the weight of his arm across her hip. When she slid one foot backwards, it found
only cool, empty sheets. Opening her eyes, she saw her orbiting pearl earrings on the nightstand, but the eagle talisman beside them was gone. Seeing the empty space was like hearing a door
closing.

She searched the sitting room hoping to find even the smallest sign that he meant to return. She’d hoped that spending the night together would change things. It had for her. Nestled in
the circle of his arms, waking and turning to find him always there, she’d never felt so close to anyone in her life, or so safe. It made her believe that together they could overcome any
obstacle.

And it broke her heart to know he would never feel the same. The night hadn’t changed anything for him. He’d left because he’d decided it was too dangerous for them to be
together. If he’d meant to come back, he wouldn’t have taken the eagle talisman.

Slowly, Zee sat down on the sofa and drew herself into a tight ball. She already ached to feel his arms around her again. How, she wondered, was she going to live the rest of her life without
him?

A few days before her birthday, lines of an old song had come to her and been playing over and over in her head ever since.

I’m not a girl who loves forever

Just until the sun leaves the sky

Just until the sea runs dry . . .

She hadn’t heard it since she’d come to London and had no idea why she was thinking of it now, except the ‘just untils’ were how she felt about David. Whether he was
there or not, she would love him forever. Knowing it was foolish and superstitious, she made the song her ringtone.

For the next few weeks, Zee felt as if she were sleep walking. Work was the only place she felt alive, and she volunteered for so many extra shifts her adviser became concerned. Rani was
concerned too, but fell silent when Zee said she wasn’t ready to talk about it. Instead, Rani defused questions from others about her friend by saying Zee was still embarrassed about binge
drinking the night of her birthday.

Then, one evening, Zee came home to find a note under her door, hand printed in block letters with no signature.

I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE GOING THROUGH

AND I CAN HELP.

MEET ME TOMORROW

AT THE SUNRISE CAFÉ.

SEVEN A.M.

The rush of elation was instant. The note could only be from David, or from Mia delivering David’s message. It certainly wasn’t from Rani, and they were the only ones who knew what
had happened the night of her birthday. To eliminate any doubt, he’d chosen the café he took her to that first morning.

When she thought about it, she wasn’t even surprised. Part of her had known all along that he wouldn’t be able to give her up, any more than she could give him up. They were meant to
be together. Nothing would ever change that. For the first time since he’d left, she felt like she had her life back.

The next morning, she arrived at the café early. She wanted to make sure she got the same booth they’d had before, and ignored several empty ones until it was free. Settling herself
with ten minutes to spare, she let herself look forward to the day ahead. Her shift didn’t start until three that afternoon, an eternity away. She and David could stroll all over the city,
hand in hand. They could buy a picnic lunch and find someplace romantic to eat it. They could go to a museum or a movie or —

‘Zee! I almost didn’t see you here!’

Zee looked up to find Piper staring down at her. The last person she wanted to bump into. She looked around quickly and was relieved to see that David hadn’t arrived yet.

‘Piper. I’m actually um, wai—’ Before she could finish her sentence, Piper sat down across from her.

‘Why did you pick a booth so far back? I couldn’t even see you at first.’

It was at that moment Zee realised where the note had come from.

‘You?
You
left the note under my door?’

‘I know all the signs of lovesickness,’ she said, ‘a certain kind of lovesickness in particular. Believe me, I’m an expert. So I thought if we could talk
—’

Zee heard nothing past ‘lovesickness’. A red veil of disappointment and anger descended. Piper had taken the most private thing in her life and dragged it out in the open. Piper, who
claimed to be sorry for setting her up with David in the first place, as a kind of joke, now proved she wasn’t sorry at all.

‘I can’t believe you’re doing this,’ Zee said, leaping to her feet and gathering her things. ‘Are you that bitter about your own life? Do you
enjoy
doing
this? What have I ever done to you, anyway?’

‘No, wait, you’ve got it wrong, Zee. I only want to help. You don’t understand, please —’

Zee was on her way out the door. She didn’t feel like understanding, but stopped to look back over her shoulder at Piper.

‘The only way you can help is by leaving me alone!’ she cried, and rushed out of the café and back to the safety of her rooms at the residence hall. Only then, lying on her
bed, could she face the real source of her anger and despair – that the note hadn’t been from David at all, and she’d been mistaken in thinking he couldn’t give her up.

Once again, Zee threw herself into her work. She especially looked forward to seeing Mrs Hart, even though each time she visited the Hampstead house, she confronted changes.
Mrs Hart was definitely losing weight, and often leaned on Zee to take more than a few steps. Yet despite the weight loss and the weakness, Mrs Hart seemed more herself than ever, and still greeted
Zee in her Neptune’s Tears. ‘They came at such a great price, you see,’ she commented one day, ‘it seems an insult to hide them away.’

Their sessions divided into two parts, which Mrs Hart referred to as homework and bunking off. During the homework part, Zee helped Mrs Hart with images that allowed her body to relax and tap
into its reserves. What they both liked best, though, was bunking off. Zee loved sitting in Mrs Hart’s kitchen and talking about whatever came to mind. The kitchen, like the rest of the
house, seemed like an extension of Mrs Hart herself. One day Mrs Hart served chocolate biscuits on plates shaped like autumn leaves and poured tea from a pot shaped like a gourd.

‘I wanted to use these one last time,’ she said. ‘I made them while I was pregnant with my first daughter, and they’ve always been my favourites.’

After Neptune’s Tears, Ellie Hart’s name became as famous – and as unlucky – as the diamonds her name would be forever linked to. No one would hire her as a designer, yet
her house was full of beautiful things she had made for the pure joy of making them. Studying the delicate glaze on her maple-leaf dish, Zee said, ‘I’m sorry you never got your design
career.’

Mrs Hart’s eyes flashed. ‘Are you?’ she asked tartly. ‘Don’t be. I’m not.’

Zee had never seen Mrs Hart show irritation before, and realised she’d said the wrong thing. ‘I didn’t mean —’

‘Never mind, dear. I’m just having a whinge because of the pain today.’ Mrs Hart was thoughtful for a moment. ‘I was a newlywed in America when I won the Neptune
competition. My husband got a job promotion to come here to London. If everything had worked out, I was going to stay in the US without him. When you’re young, you take love for granted. You
think that if it is meant to be, it will take care of itself. That isn’t so at all. Looking back, I’m sure that if things had gone according to plan with the diamonds, my marriage would
have paid the price. It’s true that I never had the career I thought I’d won, but I had a long, happy marriage, and I had my daughters. That’s been one of the nicer surprises
about life, that no matter what you lose, there are always good things to be had.’

She knew Mrs Hart was telling her this for a reason. Just a few minutes ago, Zee had given her a slightly sugar-coated version of what had happened with David, tears and all.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Mrs Hart continued. ‘You’re thinking it’s easy for me to say because everything is settled. Well, you’re right in that.
It’s been a century since I was your age, but I do remember what it’s like, all that uncertainty and doubt. And you’re thinking of that young man of yours, aren’t you? The
one who ran off without a trace?’

Zee nodded. ‘I can’t imagine never seeing him again.’
Even if it costs my life,
she added silently.

Ellie Hart laid her hand over Zee’s. ‘There are times, dear, where nothing short of following one’s heart will do. Give your heart time, Zee. It will tell you what to
do.’

Time? Zee couldn’t imagine spending more days in the turmoil she’d been in since David left. ‘What do I do until then?’

‘Ah,’ said Mrs Hart. ‘That one’s easy. When you can’t be of use to yourself, be useful to others. Keeps the forward momentum going.’

Two nights later was Zee’s regular Friday overnight shift. Halfway through her three a.m. break, her handheld began to vibrate.

Want 2 assist o.b. case?

It was from Dr Onyango, whom she’d done a maternity rotation with. Though empaths all did a stint in obstetrics, they seldom got called in on cases until they had more experience and
advanced training. Births were tricky because two lives were involved, and it wasn’t always easy to separate the tangled impulses of mother and child. Zee lost no time.
B there in 5,
she replied.

‘I was relieved to see your name on the duty list tonight, Zee,’ Dr Onyango said. ‘We only have one O.B. empath on, and she’s handling a complicated multiple birth.
Here’s the bullet. Patient is two or three hours away from delivery and proceeding fine, except she’s literally terrified of giving birth. She’s so afraid of damage that
she’s guaranteeing herself just that unless she can relax. You remember how the tissues have to stretch and relax to let the baby’s head emerge?’ Zee nodded. ‘Good.
That’s what we need to let happen here. I sent her patient notes to your handheld. See what you can do and I’ll stop by in twenty minutes or so to check progress.’

Zee loved the way Dr Onyango could convey information so rapidly without seeming rushed or impatient. It was her voice, Zee decided, low and musical and calm. It made her want to visit Kenya,
where Dr Onyango was from, to see if everyone talked like that.

She did a double take when she saw the patient’s name: Clara Miller. Of course, there must be dozens of Clara Millers in the UK, probably at least a dozen in London alone. But the case
notes made it clear – this was
the
Clara Miller, the first female swimmer to win five gold medals in a single Olympics. Zee had been eleven at the time and idolised her. Now she was
going to help her deliver her baby.

Dr Onyango hadn’t exaggerated. Clara Miller’s short, dark hair framed her white, clenched face against the pillow and her knuckles, gripping the bed rail, were blotched with white.
The only spot of colour in the room was a vase of fucshia-pink gladioli.

‘Beautiful flowers,’ Zee said, trying to gauge the vibe in the room. Obstetric empaths seldom met their patients in advance. They had to build a connection quickly and get to work as
fast as possible.

‘They’re from my husband,’ Clara said. ‘He’s on his way, but he was coaching at the South African world finals and won’t be here in time. I can’t . . .
I don’t think I can do this without him.’

Zee didn’t argue. She already had a different strategy in mind. ‘The world
swimming
finals? Oh my God, is your husband Jeff McDonald? And you’re Clara Miller?’ She
sounded surprised, even to herself. Some patients felt spied on if they knew you’d read their records, and letting a natural conversation unfold built trust. ‘I can’t believe it!
I had a Clara Miller gym bag and a Clara Miller swimsuit and goggles, even a towel, I think. I had everything Clara Miller – except your backstroke. I never could do it. My dad was so patient
– he’d float me on the water and I’d be flying along – then I’d realise his hands weren’t under me any more and I’d go down like a stone.’

Clara’s face brightened as if to say,
Oh this
–
THIS – is something I understand!
‘Common scenario,’ Clara said. ‘And it’s not too late,
you know.’

‘I think it might be,’ Zee said. ‘I tend to panic on my back.’

‘Let me guess – your hips go down first, right? And you kind of fold up?’

‘You’ve got it,’ Zee said, though nothing like that had ever happened to her. She’d taken to the backstroke like a duck to water. ‘That’s just what happens.
What am I doing wrong?’

‘You’re fighting the water,’ Clara said. ‘When you were a kid and thought your dad was supporting you, it was really the water. You relaxed into it and let it carry you.
But when you realised your dad wasn’t there, you fought the water, and the instinctive move then is to fold up like a clam.’ A bit of colour had come back into Clara’s face.
‘You can never win fighting the water. You have to go with it.’