“Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit,” she said upon waking, a childhood ritual taught to her by her English grandmother. Folklore stated that saying rabbit thrice on the morning of the first day of the month would bring good luck. She was no longer a child but figured it couldn’t hurt and she could use some good juju on the long drive ahead.
She was playing her harp at a wedding gig in Napa and decided to drive up the night before so she’d be rested before the mid-morning ceremony. The highway was clogged with weekend travelers and she was barely moving. The mechanical voice on her navigation app notified her of another route and she took the next exit to follow it.
It was a difficult pregnancy with morning sickness well into the third trimester, swollen ankles and constant back pain. The labor was hard and lasted almost 24 hours before the baby girl came screaming into the world. She didn’t take to the breast easily and fussed the entire stay in hospital.
Another day with not even a whisper of wind. Mariah gazed at the mirror-like surface of the expanse of clear, blue water all around her, shielding her eyes from the glare of the unrelenting sun. It was the hottest time of the day, between high noon and sunset. She sighed and picked up her journal.
Hilary McKittrick was a precocious child. She had the run of her grandparent’s Belfast farm and loved exploring the large piece of land. She often told her parents about her friends and their adventures and they laughed at her vivid imagination.
Lack of food and water had taken a swift toll. She lay naked on the hospital bed, soft fleece blankets draped over her private bits and the white wisps of her hair surrounding her face like a halo. A fan gently blew cool air on her feverish body and damp cloths draped her forehead and neck. Her limbs were mere sticks and she had to be turned every few hours to prevent bed sores. The vibrant, quirky woman of only 63 was now reduced to barely more than a skeleton, eyes sunken in her face and breathing so shallow that one had to watch closely to see that she was actually still alive.
He tied the rubber tube around his upper arm, holding one end with his teeth to pull it taut. He made a tight fist, took in a breath and jammed the needle into the bulging muscle. Breathing out and releasing the tourniquet, he stared at the reflection in his bedroom mirror. Not big enough.
It was her birthday and she had gone for a morning summer sail alone. She dropped the anchor in a cove off her favorite beach at Angel Island, stretched out in the sunshine and fell asleep. She dreamt of pristine white sand beaches and clear, turquoise water, delicate coral waving from rocky reefs teeming with rainbow-hued fish and dolphins playing tag with each other. She swam for hours in her dream, at ease with the sea creatures swirling around her and never needing to come up for air.
“I hate school. I don’t know why I have to go,” she pouted, sitting in the passenger seat next to her mother and looking out the window.”
