played poker, which was one of my mother’s favorite card games. I was never able
to understand why, because she played so badly. Helen proved to be even worse, her animated face giving away every draw, so
all you had to do was look at her to know exactly what was in her hand. The children found this so hilarious they were overcome
by giggles, and Neal finally ended up falling out of his chair with his pile of poker chips flying in all directions.
“It’s not always this wild around here,” I told Helen as we were preparing for bed.
“I enjoyed it,” she assured me. “I’m an only child, and things can be pretty boring around our house. You’re lucky to have
a brother and sister.” She paused and then added thoughtfully, “They don’t resemble you at all, do they? They’re both so fair.”
“Like Dad and Mom,” I said. “Heredity’s a funny thing, isn’t it?”
Dad had set up the air mattress with a pile of blankets and pillows. Even so, it didn’t look too comfortable, so I decided
to take it myself and give Helen the bed. She argued a little but gave in without too much pressure; we were both so tired
after our long bike ride that we were ready to settle anywhere.
Once in bed with the light off, we exchanged a few mumbled sentences. Helen commented about the roar of the surf—“It sounds
like it’s coming right in through the front door”—and I laughed and told her, “I’m so used to it, I never hear it.” Once I’d
said that, though, I did begin to hear it—the rush and the crash and the soft sucking sound as the waves moved in and out
against the rocks.
Somewhere once I had read a description of eternity—
If there were a mile-high mountain of granite, and once every ten thousand years a bird flew past and brushed it with a feather,
by the time that mountain was worn away, a fraction of a second would have passed in the context of Eternity .
That had stuck in my mind, and it came back to me now as I listened drowsily to the waves dragging upon the great black rocks
at the base of Cliff House. How many eons would pass before those rocks were gone? Cliff House itself, along with the people
who had lived there, would by then be long forgotten. The whole of Brighton Island would probably have been swept away by
winds and tides. Would there still be a mainland with people on it—and, if so, what sort of people? Humans like us, or a whole
new civilization straight out of the pages of one of Dad’s novels? “A fraction of a second . . . in the context of Eternity
. . .”
My mind rocked slowly back and forth at the edge of sleep, and I was just beginning to slip over and sink beneath the waves
when Helen spoke my name.
“Laurie,” she said, “what are you doing?”
My eyes flew open and I blinked hard into the darkness.
“What?”
“Please, get back! Don’t look at me that way! What is it?”
“Helen,” I said, “wake up! You’re having a dream.”
I reached over and groped for the bedside lamp and then realized that I was on the far side of the room, so I got up and went
to the door and flicked on the overhead. Helen was sitting bolt upright in bed. She raised her arm automatically to shield
her eyes from the influx of light, and then lowered it again as she focused on me.
“You’re over there,” she said.
“I had to get up to reach the light switch.”
“You were on the air mattress?”
“Of course. Where did you think I was?” I crossed over to the bed and sat down on the side of it and reached for her hand.
It was trembling. “You were having a nightmare.”
“No, I wasn’t,” Helen said. “I was wide awake. I had dozed off, and then I felt something brush against my cheek. I opened
my eyes, and you were here, standing next to the bed. You were looking down at me, and you had the strangest expression—not
like yourself at all.”
“I never moved from the floor,” I said. “Not until you called my
to understand why, because she played so badly. Helen proved to be even worse, her animated face giving away every draw, so
all you had to do was look at her to know exactly what was in her hand. The children found this so hilarious they were overcome
by giggles, and Neal finally ended up falling out of his chair with his pile of poker chips flying in all directions.
“It’s not always this wild around here,” I told Helen as we were preparing for bed.
“I enjoyed it,” she assured me. “I’m an only child, and things can be pretty boring around our house. You’re lucky to have
a brother and sister.” She paused and then added thoughtfully, “They don’t resemble you at all, do they? They’re both so fair.”
“Like Dad and Mom,” I said. “Heredity’s a funny thing, isn’t it?”
Dad had set up the air mattress with a pile of blankets and pillows. Even so, it didn’t look too comfortable, so I decided
to take it myself and give Helen the bed. She argued a little but gave in without too much pressure; we were both so tired
after our long bike ride that we were ready to settle anywhere.
Once in bed with the light off, we exchanged a few mumbled sentences. Helen commented about the roar of the surf—“It sounds
like it’s coming right in through the front door”—and I laughed and told her, “I’m so used to it, I never hear it.” Once I’d
said that, though, I did begin to hear it—the rush and the crash and the soft sucking sound as the waves moved in and out
against the rocks.
Somewhere once I had read a description of eternity—
If there were a mile-high mountain of granite, and once every ten thousand years a bird flew past and brushed it with a feather,
by the time that mountain was worn away, a fraction of a second would have passed in the context of Eternity .
That had stuck in my mind, and it came back to me now as I listened drowsily to the waves dragging upon the great black rocks
at the base of Cliff House. How many eons would pass before those rocks were gone? Cliff House itself, along with the people
who had lived there, would by then be long forgotten. The whole of Brighton Island would probably have been swept away by
winds and tides. Would there still be a mainland with people on it—and, if so, what sort of people? Humans like us, or a whole
new civilization straight out of the pages of one of Dad’s novels? “A fraction of a second . . . in the context of Eternity
. . .”
My mind rocked slowly back and forth at the edge of sleep, and I was just beginning to slip over and sink beneath the waves
when Helen spoke my name.
“Laurie,” she said, “what are you doing?”
My eyes flew open and I blinked hard into the darkness.
“What?”
“Please, get back! Don’t look at me that way! What is it?”
“Helen,” I said, “wake up! You’re having a dream.”
I reached over and groped for the bedside lamp and then realized that I was on the far side of the room, so I got up and went
to the door and flicked on the overhead. Helen was sitting bolt upright in bed. She raised her arm automatically to shield
her eyes from the influx of light, and then lowered it again as she focused on me.
“You’re over there,” she said.
“I had to get up to reach the light switch.”
“You were on the air mattress?”
“Of course. Where did you think I was?” I crossed over to the bed and sat down on the side of it and reached for her hand.
It was trembling. “You were having a nightmare.”
“No, I wasn’t,” Helen said. “I was wide awake. I had dozed off, and then I felt something brush against my cheek. I opened
my eyes, and you were here, standing next to the bed. You were looking down at me, and you had the strangest expression—not
like yourself at all.”
“I never moved from the floor,” I said. “Not until you called my
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