Sunday morning was one for solitary leisure for some of them. Aric and Edith accepted a ride from George to Newquay, just under three miles from the cottage. He dropped them off a short walk from Most Holy Trinity Catholic Church before continuing on to the general store and grocer’s.

  “I’ll send the grocer to collect you after Mass,” he said, tipping his cap as they got out.

  “Not to worry, George—we’ll take the 547 back,” Edith assured him. Mavis had shown her the Western National Sunday timetables. If everything went to pn, they’d return to Portreath with plenty of time before Mavis’s 2 PM Sunday feast.

  “Nice to see some new faces,” Father Brendan Mullly greeted them warmly at the church steps, “and a young couple, no less. The Lord bless you both for keeping the faith alive.”

  Neither Aric nor Edith missed the Celtic lilt in his voice. Edith’s face lit with fond recognition—he reminded her of a parish priest from her childhood. Father Kevin Harkness used to greet parishioners just a few steps from Our Lady of Perpetual Help on Stephendale Road. He’d stride into the street itself to bless them as they passed, so close to traffic that her mother would scold him gently.

  “Father, you’ll be run down one of these days—and then who will look after us?”

  Father Harkness’s smile was irrepressible. “Our Lady and the Lord Himself watch over me, Mrs. Hoyles. Whom should I fear?”

  An MG driven by a young lunatic,that’s who, Edith’s father always thought—but wisely kept that to himself.

  The church was cool and—until their eyes adjusted—dark. Aric and Edith sat so that their shoulders touched, their hands csped gently. Edith had thought that she might feel the need for confession prior to taking communion, or at least she should say a prayer—a request that the Holy Trinity overlook the events of the night before. She had slipped out of bed with as little noise as possible—staying close to the wall to avoid the creaking floorboards before ascending the attic stairs, pulling her nightgown up overhead and letting it fall before slipping into Aric’s bed. Their lovemaking was at times pyful, turning more deliberate when her breathing turned into gasping an she fought to keep from waking up the entire house.

  Why would God hold that against us? Wouldn’t he want us to make each other happy?

  She thought that he would. What was the point of life, except to strive for happiness. And st night had definitely made both of them happy. It had also made Carol happy.

  “Did you really think that I didn’t notice? I was looking right at you as you closed the door behind you.”

  “God,” Edith had said as she hid her face in her hands, “Did you hear us too?”

  Carol’s smiled bordered on lecherous as she replied. “Don’t worry. Those rafters always creak when it’s windy. Not that much, but still...”

  So the prayer she formed in her mind was one of thanks, not one for forgiveness. There was nothing to forgive. Her connection to Aric—physical, mental, spiritual—was sacred, not sordid. Their lovemaking was something to be celebrated, not sanctioned.

  Father Brendan’s words recimed Edith’s attention.

  “In humble prayer we ask you, almighty God: command that these gifts be borne by the hands of your holy Angel to your altar on high…”

  The Western National 547 bus from Newquay took a bit over an hour to reach Redruth. Aric and Edith sat in the back, once again shoulder to shoulder, their hands csped as they watched the hedgerows blur through the window. They didn’t speak often—Aric had learned from Edith that it wasn’t necessary to fill every silence with words. They simply sat and enjoyed each other’s company, taking pleasure in closeness—not quite as much pleasure as the night before, but pleasure nonetheless.

  They stepped off the bus in Gwel-an-Mor. The sun had already traced a good portion of its familiar arc through the morning sky above the Atntic when their short walk from the bus stop brought them to the path along the northern cliffs. The wind off the water was steady, but not cold. Edith’s hair escaped its bonds, and she made no attempt to corral it. They walked side by side, turning occasionally to smile at each other, but in many ways it felt like their time in church—or on the bus. The sacredness of their time together filled them both. It wasn’t silence they shared, but reverence.

  Aric wasn’t a god. Edith knew that well enough. He wasn’t a priest either. But in that moment, she recognized what she was feeling. She’d felt it before—every time she left the confessional, her sins washed away by the Lord’s representative on Earth.

  Peace.

  Contentment.

  A new beginning.

  The path narrowed as it began to rise, leveling out finally at the high point of the cliff—the same spot where Aric had stood alone at midnight on their first night in Portreath.

  “You should have come,” Edith was saying to Carol as Mavis poured her a cup of tea, “It’s a beautiful church.”

  Carol was as Catholic as the next girl from The Italian North End, but she was also a good friend.

  “Three’s a crowd,” she answered and then waited for Mavis to get out of ear shot. “And I figured after st night that you two might like some alone time.”

  Aric had stayed at the cliff edge so he was unable to enjoy Carol’s smile which bordered on a lear.

  Edith’s smile was less scivious. “We liked it very much, you hedonist.”

  “Me? You’re the one...”

  Carol’s sentence was cut short when Mavis returned to top off Edith’s tea.

  Edith finished her tea and pced the cup and saucer in the sink. She took a moment to tame her hair with the dark boar bristles of her oval hair brush. Everyone else was either on the beach, on the cliffs that stood overhead, or engaged in their own activities in the cottage, and the two friends decided walk down to the water.

  They stepped out of the cottage just in time to see Aric step off the cliff.

  Carol stood motionless, stunned into silence by what she’d just witnessed.

  “Did he just—?” She asked.

  Edith answered in a voice that was half surprise and half exasperation.

  “Yes, he did.”

  Both women regained control of their legs at the same time and began to jog towards the now vacant cliff.

  Aric had been paying only partial attention to the four children whose attempts to fly a kite finally bore fruit. One of the boys held the kite string while the other three cheered. But their revelry was short-lived. The kite separated itself from the string and it soon ended up in the water about one hundred yards from shore. The boy was beside himself with grief, and as his cries reached up to the cliff Aric’s heart felt like it spasmed in his chest with sympathy. His next actions were taken without thought or consideration of consequences. He stepped forward off the cliff.

  Delphine and Alex were on the beach, and both of them had moved to console the boy who, with his friends, was grieving the loss of his toy, leaving Ed Martell in their wake. But their progress halted as the sight of Aric stepping into thin air took all their attention.

  He’s not falling, Delphine thought, he’s descending—like a leaf riding a breeze.

  The children turned and watched in awe as Aric gently descended the eighty feet from cliff to sand before walking deliberately towards the water’s edge. Alex was not the only one to notice an important detail.

  Christ, he’s not leaving any footprints.

  The Welshman was correct. The damp sand was covered with footprints, but none of them were Aric’s. His path towards the water was unmarked. Anyone interested enough—which on another day, in another pce, Ed Martell would have certainly been—would have determined that he hovered barely a millimeter above the sand. But no one moved, not towards him and not away.

  When he reached the water’s edge he continued to walk, the water parting slightly in front of him, carving a shallow path to his destination—his feet still a fraction of an inch from whatever was below—where he simply leaned forward and plucked the kite from the water before retracing his steps, his shoes and pants completely dry. As he walked back he gnced up at the cliff to see Carol and Edith looking back. When their eyes met Edith shook her head in disbelief.

  Sorry, he transmitted to her.

  He stopped next to the no longer crying boy and squatted down, his right knee finally coming in contact with the wet sand.

  “The knot came loose,” Aric said to the boy who only a moment earlier had been crying inconsobly, but was now looking at Aric with wonder painting his face. It took him a moment to close his gaping mouth, only to open it again.

  “Can you tie it for me?”

  “I can’t,” Aric said just before he looked up at Ed Martell who had joined the group. “But he probably can. He was a sailor. I bet he knows every kind of knot there is.”

  Ed’s face adopted a smirk. “I wasn’t that kind of sailor. I was a torpedoman. If you want a submarine sunk at a range of two thousand yards, I’m your man.”

  “Give it here,” Alex said before taking string and kite in hand. “I was a scout. I got a merit badge in knots.”

  “There,” he said a moment ter as he handed the kite back to the boy. “What’s your name?”

  “Davy.”

  “Well, Davy, let’s get this thing back up in the air,” Alex replied before taking the kite and sprinting down the beach.

  It was a windy day, but Aric didn’t hesitate to give the kite an extra push with a sudden well aimed gust of air. His efforts, combined with Alex’s, were quickly rewarded with a round of cheers from the four children, who seemed to already have forgotten the fantastical sights they’d just witnessed.

  “Kids are so magical,” Aric said. “How they can take the most improbable, impossible things in stride without batting an eye.”

  “They batted more than one eye,” Ed Martell said as they watched Alex reel the kite out. It was almost level with the cliff where Carol and Edith were now accompanied by Hank and Carlos, all of them sitting on a pair of bnkets that the men had brought out.

  They stood for a moment, watching as Alex handed the string back to Davy and tousled his hair before walking toward them.

  Delphine’s gaze lingered on the kite—rip-stop nylon stretched over a wooden frame, its tail cut from an old child’s bed sheet and knotted with four small bows. It danced on the coastal breeze, and something in her expression shifted—touched by a wistful kind of yearning.

  She wasn’t the only one from Surrey to recognize the shape flying high overhead—the four corners of the kite, and the four bows tied at even intervals along the tail.

  “That’s us,” Alex said softly. “That’s Delphinus. Our consteltion.”

  Aric nodded after a moment. “So it is.”

  “Delphine, that’s you flying up there,” Ed Martell added with a wide grin.

  Delphine ughed, her clear voice lifted on the same wind keeping the kite aloft.

  “I wonder what it feels like to fly like that,” she said. “It must be wonderful.”

  “If I had some rope,” Aric replied, almost without thinking, his eyes still fixed on the sky, “I could show you.”

  Delphine gave a half-hearted ugh, not imagining for a moment that he was serious.

  Ed, Alex, and Delphine had passed a makeshift shed earlier that morning—pieced together from driftwood, old boards, and capped with a sheet of corrugated tin. George used it to store odds and ends for the small boat he still took out on calm days. Ed had gnced inside as they passed.

  “There’s a coil of rope in that shed,” he said now, nodding toward the bend in the coastline where the structure was just visible. “Looks strong enough to tow a boat. Should be more than enough to fly a French scientist.”

  Delphine gnced between Aric and Ed, her eyes narrowing.

  “Are you serious?” she asked, her complexion going a shade paler.

  “Only if you are,” Aric said, tilting his head slightly.

  She looked up again at the kite, fluttering high above them.

  “Mon Dieu…” she whispered.

  Ed had already turned, retracing their footprints toward the shed.

  “Wai!” she called, but Ed just raised one hand in a dismissive wave, his stride unfaltering.

  The possibility—no, the probability—began to take shape, and with it came a spike of real fear. Aric stepped forward and took her hand.

  “Trust me,” he said gently. “You’ll be fine.”

  Do I trust you? she wondered. Do I even know you?

  Yes.

  Yes, she did.

  This was the man who’d asked someone—anyone—to be with him on the roof in Surrey. And to her sting regret she had hesitated. Not for long, but long enough to cede that moment to Edith.

  What if I’d spoken first? she thought. What if I’d gone with him? Would it be me he loved? Would it be me he reached for in the dark?

  How often do such moments come? Rarely. And how easily they’re lost.

  This would not be one of those times.

  She turned just in time to see Ed approaching, a coil of hemp line looped over his shoulder.

  “Oui,” she said, turning back to Aric. “Je vous fais confiance.” Yes. I trust you.

  Aric’s face broke into a smile as he nodded in approval but he didn’t speak. He stepped closer to her as Ed handed him the rope. She thought that he meant to kiss her until he held the rope end in one hand and passed it around her waist. They had stood this close together before, but for some reason this time felt more intimate. As if the rest of the world had vanished. Her heart was racing at the thought of flying, and with Aric standing so close.

  God, I want him, she thought in that moment.

  “Do you want me to tie that knot?” Alex asked. “You know, so she doesn’t fly away from us?”

  Aric smiled at her as he answered. “You’re the knot expert.”

  It took Alex only a moment to secure the rope around her waist. Sections of the rope had moss imbedded in the strands. The length dispyed a variety of colors, some parts gray and dull from exposure, others—spending more time coiled within and protected—were still tan and warm. Alex reeled out a good length of rope and the three of them turned to face into the wind.

  “What do we do now?” Delphine asked.

  Aric took her hand in his. “We RUN!”

  The three of them began to sprint. The wind speed increased and Delphine felt the force of it on her face and her chest. Very quickly she felt her feet begin to lose their purchase on the sand until with a final cry of surprise she and Aric left the ground and began to ascend. The children—who only a moment before had been watching their own kite—turned to watch a man and a woman fly. Davy quickly reeled his own kite in so he could enjoy the spectacle. Delphine’s words were part scream, part cry, but entirely joyous.

  “Oh mon Dieu! Aric! Oh mon Dieu! Je n’y crois pas!” Oh my God! Aric! Oh my God! I don’t believe it!

  “The consteltion Delphinus rising over Cornwall!” Alex shouted as he pyed out more of the rope. Everyone on the cliff was cpping except Carol whose hands were csped to the sides of her face, which bore a look of utter disbelief.

  “What if we fall?” Delphine asked Aric. “What if the knot comes loose and we fly away?”

  Aric’s smile broadened. He had to raise his voice to be heard. “The rope’s just for show. It isn’t doing anything, not really. Something else is anchoring us to the center of the Earth.”

  “What?”

  Aric waited a moment before answering.

  “Me,” he said, and then let go of her hand.

  She opened her mouth to protest, to scream NO, but he stayed right where he was, and it dawned on her finally that this is what he did when he flew, and that the rope, the wind itself, were superfluous, paysage supplémentaire. additional scenery

  Aric showed her how to manipute her body, like an airfoil changes its shape to steer or climb. She began to experiment, using her arms and legs to move left and right, up and down. Aric suddenly shot up higher before plunging down towards the water, to the gasps of shock of the spectators before pulling up into a tight climb and circling around. He came back to Delphine’s side.

  Aric and Delphine were now almost directly above Alex, who stood on the beach with the st length of rope clutched in his hands—nearly high enough that anyone walking the cliff path might catch sight of them. He was surprised by how little effort it took to hold the line, even when Delphine veered left or right.

  I must be stronger than I thought, Alex said to himself.

  “Had enough?” he asked her.

  “Never!” she shouted with joy. “But I think it’s time to come back to Earth. Physically, and metaphorically.”

  Slowly they began to descend, the rope getting sck until Alex took his cue and reeled them in.

  And in a moment it was over. Delphine was sure the memory would be burned into her brain until the day she died.

  “Well, what did you think?” Aric asked her as Alex untied the knot.

  Her smile was a mile wide as she leapt into his arms and hugged him tightly.

  “C’est chose plus merveilleuse que j’aie jamais ressentie. Je n’arrive toujours pas à y croire.” That was the most wonderful thing I’ve ever felt. I still can’t believe it.

  “Attention,” he answered, his own smiled broadening as he looked at the beaming woman, “ce peut entra?ner une accoutumance.” Careful, it can be habit forming.

  “When did his French get so good?” Alex asked Ed Martell quietly as he coiled the rope.

  Ed’s only answer was to shrug his shoulders.

  Will this guy ever cease to amaze me? he wondered.

  The rope had barely left Delphine’s waist before she was surrounded by the four children.

  “Do me next! Do me next!” they all shouted at her, as if she were captaining some invisible aircraft.

  “Facile, les enfants, facile. Un à fois,” she said, ughing, before looking at Aric. “Is this a good idea? What would their parents think?” Easy, children, easy. One at a time.

  “They’ll probably think their kids have extremely active imaginations,” Aric replied. “Just like the parents in Paris must have.”

  Delphine’s eyes widened. “The parents in—?”

  “I’ve done this before. A string of schoolgirls—five or six of them, all wearing those wide wool hats. What are they called?”

  "Canotiers!" Delphine excimed. “Like Madeline! You had a string of Madeleines flying over Paris?”

  “Well, not over Paris,” Aric said, grinning. “But high enough that I thought their teacher was going to have a heart attack. She had them walking in a neat little line, one behind the other, holding onto a rope. It was a windy day, and they were all using their free hands to keep their hats on. That’s what gave me the idea.”

  “And how did it go?” Ed asked, amused.

  “The girls loved it. Their teacher? Not so much. She spent a full minute yelling at me—in French. I didn’t understand a word, and honestly, I was pretty sure I was better off not reading her mind.”

  “I think you probably were,” Alex said. “What about this lot? No hats to fly off—but they’ll definitely tell the story. It’s going to raise questions.”

  Ed nodded. “Someone will draw a line—Surrey to Exeter to Cornwall. And then someone might come calling.”

  Aric gnced at the four expectant faces, shining with joy and wonder and anticipation.

  And all objections melted into nothing.

  “It’ll be fine,” he said. “Trust me.”

  Four young voices rose in celebration.