Page 41 of Florescentia

I lost sight of him upon exiting the room, led by my brother.

“You are unwell,” he said, guiding me to the hallway.

“Am I supposed to be well? How well am I supposed to be when I’ve just lost my husband?”

“Lucia, I am not judging you,” he said carefully, “but I think you need to get some help. A doctor. Help from a doctor.”

“I don’t have the time. When would I have had a single moment to do that?” I used my arms to gesture around me. “All I’ve been doing is what everyone else wants me to do. I’m doing everything except what I want, and most importantly, what Dorian wanted!”

“He would have wanted you to push through,” he insisted. “I’m going to call a friend. I want you to make an appointment,” he muttered, digging into his inner jacket pocket for his calling card and a pen. He used the wall as a flat surface to scribble a number on the back. “Here.” He shoved the card into my hand and clasped that hand between his own. “Promise me you’ll try.”

“You’re starting to sound like my mother-in-law.” I took a deep breath, a full one so I could swallow whatever I wanted to say. “I will try.”

“Promise me.”

“Fine, fine. I promise.”

“Good.” He patted my hand before letting it go. “I can handle the rest of the service. I will bring you food later.”

“All right,” I said softly, realizing this meant I was relieved of my duties for now.

I flipped the card between my fingers, the typesetting becoming blurry.

Finally left alone.

Retreating to the bedroom might have helped if it weren’t for the mourning decor. I hadn’t touched anything in the room yet, just opening the windows and throwing a sheet over the standing mirror in the corner earlier. Crepe now covered the vanity, but everything else was untouched. In fact, a layer of dust had already collected on the sheets and pillows, the chaise, and the writing desk.

I hadn’t slept here since that day, only come and gone in passing. My inadequate moments of sleep were stolen in new places, like on the couches, a lounge chair, occasionally my desk, or in a moving carriage.

The only thing on my mind was the phantom that had appeared in Dorian’s casket and the unbelievably sad smile my mother had given me. But that was it—I wasn’t just sad. I didn’t have time to be sad.

I was afraid.

I was wrong before: I did have more to lose. Some people’s circumstances could have been worse because of my mistake. I wasn’t even sure if the family members who surrounded me had suffered any other misfortunes or unlucky strokes. There was no telling how far the dominoes would fall.

So far I had no reason to believe that anyone else was suffering, but I feared one affliction could take someone like my father just as swiftly as it had Dorian.

It was important to weigh the outcomes, but also to keep a level head. Sooner or later, things would work out.

I locked the door behind me, along with some pestering anxiety, and fully retreated for the night.

Chapter Twelve

The Nova

Once upon a time, maybe not even too long ago, a visit to the sea might have been healing. But now she was just as smoggy, sluggish, and ill as I.

The muggy mist left not even a seam of horizon over the waters. Murky sludge pushed up on the shore and collected with the foamy pus. Even the sand was acid washed, shell pieces and pebbles mixed with strips of metal, old worn glass, and ambiguous bits of rubber.

Cigarettes and coal power were illegal within the bounds of the city. But what good was it when we were breathing in the by-product of the stacks right over the border? The ocean was poisoned, the sky polluted, the air an incurable venom. Even when I’d come an hour north of the city shore for a prescribed ocean walk, it was in worse shape than the boroughs. That doctor friend of my brother’s was useless. This was not a remedy for anything.

Even a meditative deep breath was just as good as a dram of moonshine.

The cliffs along the shore whispered, their raggedy weeds waving high above, the only things holding the poor mounds together.

Once upon a time, you could see the stars on this very shore and know that you were not alone, that the sky opened up and allowed you to peek into it. People traveled hours to see them now, in places where the veil of the world grew thinner, relatively untouched by man. I used to understand the awe that came with witnessing the unknown, the things bigger than us. To make us strive to do better. But now I thought of stars and wondered, what does it matter? We were floating through something so vast and unknowable, at the mercy of chaos and surviving by pure luck.

I supposed there was no point in troubling myself with hypotheticals. The damage was done, there was no way to reverse it, not any way I could meaningfully contribute.