Sasha
Sasha made a point of visiting Jay every few days after Daphne’s death. “He’s not doing well,” Sasha’s mother said, following one of her own visits. Sasha snapped at her mother then: “Well, of course he’s not fucking doing well!”
The fire department offered just a three-day bereavement leave, as if it was possible to resume functioning three days after losing a spouse and child. When Jay came back after the three days, he was such a mess that they insisted he take an additional month of leave. It was unpaid, which was a concern, since Jay had spent most of his savings on the funeral service. He and Daphne hadn’t had a ton of savings to begin with, had earmarked what they did have for the baby. It seemed cruel to have to use that money to survive in the wake of the destruction of their dream.
Sasha worried about him, alone in the house he’d shared with Daphne, the house where she and their son had died. She texted him several times a day, always starting with a “good morning” text and ending with a “sleep well” text. She held her breath after the “good morning” texts, awaiting his response. She knew he was drinking a lot at night. She worried that after a few beers, he would do something stupid. She knew they owned a gun. Daphne had mentioned it once,saying she wasn’t sure how she felt about “the thing” being in their house. Jay had taken her to the shooting range once in an attempt to get her comfortable using it, and she had said, “No way. If there’s an intruder, you’re in charge.”
Sasha didn’t know if she was the best person to be offering support to Jay. She, herself, was not doing well. On the days depression began to descend upon her, she distracted herself with her ongoing rage toward Angeni Luna. After all, she had to direct her anger at something. It couldn’t just ... fester.
She kept having this fantasy of taking the ferry over to Bainbridge Island and finding Angeni Luna. She would confront her, tell her what had happened to Daphne. She would record the interaction on her phone, post it later for all the world to hear. Angeni would receive an avalanche of vitriol in response. It would be justice—not enough, but some. She decided to talk to Jay about the idea. He would talk her out of it or into it, she wasn’t sure which.
When Sasha got to the house, a disheveled Jay opened the door wearing the same hooded sweatshirt he’d worn the last time she saw him, the fuzz on his chin thickening into a beard. The living room was littered with beer cans. She had told him she was coming by, but he clearly hadn’t felt the need to tidy up. She figured the cans were his way of telling her, without telling her, how awful he was feeling:Look, here is evidence of me trying to numb this unbearable pain.
“Hey, sis,” he said.
It was his usual greeting, previously said with enthusiasm and accompanied by a fist bump, now said slowly and softly, as if it were a struggle to manufacture the two words.
“Hey,” she said, walking past him into the living room.
Someone—Sasha’s mother, most likely—had collected all the baby-related items and put them in piles by the front door. It would be like her mother to arrange for Goodwill to come do a pickup. Sasha assumed the crib was still in the nursery, too big for her mother tomove without assistance. Jay was not in a place to offer assistance with much of anything, but especially with that task.
They sat on the couch, the same couch they’d sat on with Daphne so many times before.
“You said you wanted to ask me about something?” he said.
“Yeah. Basically, I need you to tell me if I’m crazy.”
He managed a smile and said, “You definitely are.”
It felt good to tease each other like they usually did.
“For real, though. I have this idea,” she said.
“Oh no. It’s never good when you have an idea.”
“I want to go to Bainbridge Island and see Angeni Luna.”
He sighed and threw his head back so it hit the back of the couch.
“God, I’d be happy to never again hear that woman’s name,” he said. “Is that even her real name?”
Sasha had gone down rabbit holes trying to decipher the real Angeni Luna, who was as white as white could be but said that her name had beenbestowedupon her, presumably by Indigenous people. Angeni was not even a true tribal name—just the Algonquian pronunciation of “angel.” Luna was of Latin origin, meaning “moon.” This woman was as inauthentic as you could get.
“I don’t know. It’s probably Karen.”
He didn’t laugh. With his head still tilted back, he said, “Sis, that woman can’t bring Daph back.”
“I know,” Sasha said.
“So what are you trying to accomplish?”
“I want to confront her about Daphne’s death. I want people to know what happened. She can’t just go on living her smug little life as if nothing happened.”
He lifted his head so he was sitting upright again.
“I mean, who am I to judge? If it helps you feel better, do it,” he said. “Just don’t end up in jail over there, okay? If I have to come over on that fucking ferry, I’m gonna be pissed.”
He stood from the couch and went to the kitchen. Sasha followed him.
