Twenty-One Days to Launch
Her cousin Etienne was waiting when Mal finally walked down to the road, looking much the same as he had nine years ago: three years older, his long dark hair left loose, his eyebrows low-set, broad like a bear in ever dimension. He was perched on half of a bike welded onto a small rickshaw, the whole affair painted a nauseating shade of pylon yellow.
She jokingly shielded her eyes as she approached. “Are you my chauffeur?”
He laughed, meeting her halfway for a hug. “Pa told me not to take no for an answer,” he said apologetically, trying to peer over her shoulder. He had drawn red-and-yellow chevrons along the border of his rubber mask, painted in crisp, straight lines, the only imperfection being a spot of smeared paint on the exhaust valve. “Is she sleeping?"
Mal snorted, turning to load the milk onto the rickshaw and let the two get acquainted. “Clover, this is your Uncle Etienne. Etienne, this is Clover.”
“Hello, Clover! Aren’t you a sweetheart — are these your pretty toys?” Clover cooed back sweetly. “Why, yes you are! Would you like another little toy?”
Mal craned her neck to see him unclasping a beaded necklace from his neck and tying it to the cradleboard’s arch, letting the copper anchor dangle in front of Clover’s eyes. “You don’t have to do that. Luck’s hard enough to keep without giving it away.”
“Babies can always use more luck,” he said matter-of-factly, climbing back onto the bike. “So, where to?”
“Back to your Pa’s place, first.” She climbed into the rickshaw and laid the cradleboard across her knees, thankful for the rest — her feet hadn’t ceased to ache in the night, and the muscles in her legs were jumping under the mildest strain. Etienne started the engine with a mighty wrench of a spooled cord; the electric motor's thin purr was lost beneath the rustling of gravel, and she spoke louder, “And then I need to find Dominik and Willow in Bay Ridge.”
“I can take you to the beach, there’s always someone rowing back and forth!” Etienne called back, trundling down the road at a pace that felt on the edge of too fast.
“Is that safe?” The heavily polluted water would be choppy while Niña was still fuelling for the journey ahead. “What about the bridge?”
“It’s condemned: we have maybe a year of light traffic before the girders start descending.” He turned a corner with the appropriate amount of caution, but Mal still felt as though her stomach was plastering against her ribs. “Don’t worry, I’ll find you someone with a motorboat — you’ll be in good hands!”
She forced a smile as he glanced back at her, pushing down her trepidation once more. The wind on her face was a pleasant reminder of times gone by, Etienne strapping salvaged motors to carts and bikes for her and Tai-Song to test, the two of them ripping around the island faster than anyone else. As they slowed down in front of Jay’s residence, she was now concluding that speed was best left to teenagers. Her legs wobbled as she climbed out, gratefully taking Etienne’s hand to steady herself. “How’s the war going?”
“They’re trying to hold the line — not sure how well.” He hefted the cradleboard against his chest, bouncing her daughter in his arms. Clover stared up at him with intense interest, cooing intermittently at the new pendant swinging over her face. “They’ve lost everything north of the old train tracks from a fire that started in Crown Heights. The blaze killed hundreds of people — a lot of them were part of the resistance. You probably saw Nicky’s grave when you came in.”
It was eerie, how old things were always made new. She pushed away thoughts of Little Caughnawaga, burying it beneath everything else she had to worry about. “But all’s well in the north, right?”
He didn’t notice that her witty observation was the slightest bit unsteady. “Not even a spark. Vultures are famously non-flammable.”
She hummed and glanced northeast, though she couldn’t see much of anything from this low spot of the island. She wasn’t second-guessing the journey ahead — she knew how to handle herself in times of war — but old anxieties were hard to quash, and she hadn’t been back to Bay Ridge since Gwenh’s death.
“Mal?”
She breathed in sharply, cringing at her sour breath. “I’m fine.” She grabbed the milk and turned to the house, awkwardly carrying the load down the steps and through the door that Jay was holding open for her. “Thank you for lending me Etienne, Uncle.”
“What are your elders for?” He eagerly took Clover from Etienne’s arms, removing her snorkel as the door hissed shut. “Let me get a good look at you, my girl — where’s Mama going today?”
“Across the bay.”
He glanced sharply at her. “Stay away from the fighting.”
“Of course.” Clover whined — she stepped closer and petted her hair absently. “She has a fresh diaper, she’s had breakfast, and I’ll show you how to get her out of this—“
“I’ve had lots of practise with that,” he told her firmly, gently rocking Clover in his arms — she was settling down uncommonly fast with her grand-uncle’s superior techniques. Mal pushed down the bitterness in the back of her throat, the confirmations that her daughter liked other people more than her own mother. “I half-raised you, after all.”
“Okay, but—“
“She’s in good hands, Mal.” He expertly shifted the cradleboard onto his shoulder to free up one hand, passing over a handful of pink cellophane-wrapped candies. Her mouth watered. “Go and do your work, we’ll be waiting right here when you get back.”
He was right — he was always right. If she was honest with herself, the prospect of a break was appealing: ever since news of the impending launch had reached Akwesasne, motherhood had flipped from half-rewarding to all-exhausting. She had spent almost every waking moment of the past three months thinking of a time before it all went bad, before she had lost the one person she ever wanted; every sleeping moment was spent dreaming of her daughter, now a teenager, screaming that Mal was the worst person to ever exist for leaving a friend to die. When she knew that Clover would eventually grow up to hate her, it was easy to feel as though they were already growing apart — some days, it felt like all she had of her daughter was a perfect, untouchable view behind a barrier she couldn't seem to breach.
Still, even through her burnout she had to fight against her instincts to turn away from her child, to swallow the hot coals that burned in her throat as she prepared to leave her behind. She managed to get her hand on the doorknob before Clover began to sniffle, and her resolve crumbled. Jay was already soothing her when she turned around, but it wouldn’t be enough: her little face was screwing up in heartbreak, not understanding why her mother was leaving her behind.
Etienne stepped in between them, breaking her sightline with a hand on her shoulder. She gritted her teeth and turned away, letting him steer her out the door while her baby screamed behind her.