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Corinne Beenfield Biography

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“Out there in the chrysanthemum light, the day was at its best. The sun was setting later and later, leaving behind a strange way of making the time fade away and nearly disappear, as though night truly wouldn’t come. Helen looked to the side at Stuart. He seemed different in this lighting, both stronger and softer than usual. Like salt, the time of day made everything he was more rich and intense. His eyes met hers and he turned, his full body facing her. With a single step, he was standing closer to her than he ever had before, the space between them nearly as small as the space between heartbeats.”

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“She lifted her hand and placed it on his chest, the exquisite little heartbeat radiating through her touch. Helen smiled, realizing she had found in this soft bundle something strong—unconquerable, even. Something greater than any obstacle they might face as they made their way through the dark night. It was his soul, the unspoken words inside him that he wasn’t quite ready to tell her, but oh, they were there.”

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“Fighting the desire inside her and becoming friends, only friends, had been painful at first, yet she had done it for Lyric. She had repeated to herself a mantra. It’s not about me, it’s not about me. Not about what she wanted, but what Lyric needed. She had a responsibility to this little one to do more than feed and clothe her, but to show her that she wasn’t alone in the world. That she had a team, people who put her joy first. If it meant she and Stuart had to put their happiness on the shelf, so be it. Until she realized how it had set them free. Friends are not perfect and tidy and forever poised. Friends, true friends, can come to each other with their frayed edges and belly laughs.”

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“She knew a part of her would always be waiting for Stuart. Even if life went on and she found someone to share her days and nights with, there would forever be a candle for him. He would always visit her in her dreams. How strange that knowledge felt, that someone who had just been in her life a handful of months could stay in her heart forever. Shouldn’t the memories last only as long as the moments had? But no, she was learning. Memories were made of something stronger than time could easily erode. It was so disproportionate, absurd even, but true all the same.”

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“Helen looked around the room as though if he just looked too, he would see it. Would see the memories that she faced in every corner. She wanted to explain, but instead, her mind darted to the last time she had visited home, the Christmas before when she and her parents had only given gifts to fill the bomb shelter. The bleakness of war had penetrated their house that night, the depressing presents and rationed food nothing compared to the vacant seats around the table. The quietness had choked them. Now its fingers curled only around her throat.”

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“As the breeze grew in strength they didn’t go inside, but in silence watched the surface of the water grow more and more choppy. The only quiet was between them. The sound of the ocean and gale were roaring, the coldness of the air making each inch of their skin alert. Helen’s arms around the girl tightened, and the little one in turn only sank more into Helen’s chest. Despite the thinness of her dress, Helen couldn’t pick herself up to go indoors. Perhaps it was because the wind blew from her mind the fog that had been with her for days. Maybe, Helen realized, it was because the child was curled into her and Helen simply didn’t have the strength right now to pry her away. But most of all, she knew it was because the ocean seemed a fitting place to go to say farewell.”

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“The voice cut into Helen’s murky sleep, and as she cracked her eyes open, the morning sun glared through the cleft in the curtains. A woman stood over her, hands on hips. Helen felt her own fingers that dangled over the side of the bed being pulled on, and she knew Lyric was there. Squinting, she turned her head and saw the child watching her. Helen had no idea how long Lyric had been there, perhaps minutes or hours or years, as if she lived in that spot, unaging, just waiting for the curse that was cast over Helen to lift.”

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“At last Stuart looked away from Helen and back to the piano as he picked up on Helen’s cue. In the Mood filled the small living room the way fragrance fills a garden after rain. Helen felt almost tipsy, perhaps from the music or the look Stuart had given her, or because people so rarely dance without being tipsy. Lyric bounced on Helen’s hip, the girl’s thin legs bopping against Helen’s body. Then as Helen swung and spun the child over the rug, the most remarkable thing happened. It started like a freshly sprung leak, then the moment before it came, Helen saw it in Lyric’s eyes. The leak busted, a water main of laughter bursting and arching into the room. Lyric’s laugh was the most beautiful sound Helen had ever heard. Her first thought was that Mum had been right—there is magic on this earth, and at last Helen had found it, hiding, inside this little girl. To Helen, it felt as though she'd spent so many days in the cold of winter, and was now hearing the birds return.”

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“She had thought it would be easy from there. It wasn’t. It was simple, but not easy. There was joy, but terror, too, as though stepping back from a ship’s helm and letting the journey go. It sounded romantic enough until being dashed to pieces against the rocks. It was the loveliest tiny moments that would drench Helen in happiness, like when Lyric was nestled in the crook of her arm, resisting falling asleep. Helen had brushed a finger down the child’s nose. Her drowsy eyes had fluttered yet followed Helen’s finger, going cross-eyed just as Helen reached the nose tip. For a moment, the joy and love saturated everything.”

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“The sky was clear and the beat of the waves was almost hypnotic as Helen hung clothes on the line, watching Lyric through the flutters of dresses and blouses. In the child’s outfit of purple, she stood out against the churning waves. Each day, Lyric played in the ocean as if it was her first and last. As though she’d never seen water before, or as though tomorrow it would die and be gone. Its wonder never wore on her and Helen marveled at that, at how many things in this world would leave us utterly astounded if we weren’t so terribly used to them. Fire. Soap. Flavor in food. Though Lyric hadn’t smiled since that first day in the waves, Helen could see the child’s awe whenever she was shown something new. Her eyes would widen, and she’d give a quick gasp. Without a word, the girl had shown Helen how everything was a miracle, everything was sacred.”

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“Walking down the shore, he approached the child. She turned and looked at him as though surprised he was still there. Taking a step forward, the sole of his shoes getting wet, Stuart crouched to be on her level. Helen couldn’t hear what he said, but he gestured once toward her, and the girl looked up at Helen as he talked. He tried to rest a hand on her shoulder, but Lyric cringed away with her whole body, even taking a step away. Stuart retracted his hand, and from the porch, Helen could see the hurt in his eyes. With that, he tilted his head toward the sea, and the girl didn’t hesitate to run back to the shallow waves. When he turned, his gaze caught with Helen’s, but both looked away quickly. Too quickly. Helen felt heat creep up her neck as he walked around the side of the house and away.”

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“Making a home, she realized immediately, was much more than having the dust cleared and the lawn trimmed. For years—decades, even—she and her brothers had taken for granted the way their mother tucked extra blankets around them on nights that turned especially cold or how their father set down his tools and bent over to look them in the eyes when they spoke. Or better yet, handed them a tool and let them work alongside him. As children, they had been oblivious to all their parents did—perfectly, contentedly oblivious. But she wasn’t anymore. She felt it all. Like a forehead kiss when thought to be sleeping, the love was there whether noticed or not. All give, no take. However, the thing about abundant love is that it needs somewhere to go.”

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“The child shifted and stretched, then at last her eyelids fluttered open. She had kicked off the blanket in the night and Helen felt a small smile come as she looked at the girl, buried in the nightgown that was three times too big. “Look at you.” Helen let the smile spread a bit. “You’re like a person, but smaller.” She remembered how her brother Paul would tell her the same thing as he leaned against her head. Then Will would chime in as though to stick up for her, saying you had to hand it to short people—because they generally couldn’t reach “it” themselves. How strange, it seemed in that moment, that all their stories started here, that they’d had years of teasing and banter and laughter, then had grown and life took them to where they were now. All that laughter was gone.”

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“The danger was not gone—Helen knew that. Each day spent together, the existence of this tiny charge was in her hands. It suddenly seemed the most perplexing fact of life—it was up to flawed, bruised, broken adults to bring up angels. Helen wanted to offer the child a place of safety, but no matter where Lyric went, that could not be found. Not for sure. If she stayed, they would each risk hurt, loss, and suffering. But it was no more than anyone else could offer. Helen realized, as she brushed a strand from the girl’s face and tucked it behind her small ear, that if she didn’t take that risk, she could be risking even more. For both of them. Lyric blinked, yet the look in her eyes never left. Helen closed her own eyes and leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on the child’s forehead. I will fail. She knew. I will fail you thousands of times more. But if we stay together, I will spend every day we have doing all I can to keep you from losing that look in your eyes. She nodded slowly to herself, to the unspoken words inside her. When you see me, I hope you always see a home.”

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“How apart she felt, how apart she had felt for years, and she wished it was a feeling she could get used to. But it wasn’t. One by one, everyone else her age had married and had children, yet for her, the years of her twenties had slipped away, waving at her like hands from a leaving train. As they all moved on, she was left standing on the platform, absolutely alone, surrounded only by the smoke that stung her eyes and throat. It was no different now.”

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“Sitting down on a crate, Helen felt them, felt the vibrancy they had left behind like twilight after the sun is gone. She tried to picture their faces, their voices, but the details already blurred. They were slipping away from her, for they were never hers to keep. Turning her eyes to the ocean, Helen thought of all those boatloads of children on the water, needing somewhere warm and safe, and yet the ocean hadn’t listened to her plea. Everything she’d asked the universe had been ignored, snubbed. As she watched the waves, she tried to find peace in their steady heartbeat, but none came. The only thing she felt was betrayed. Betrayed and so utterly lonely.”

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“Now through her aching, Helen felt a flicker of peace as though Mum was there, placing a hand on Helen’s shoulder and saying, “Come now. The world is always a brighter place on a full stomach. Help me—it will go faster that way.” In the stillness of the kitchen they used to work, Helen’s light hair and Mum’s dark bent over the bowl. Mum would not prod or fill the silence with chatter, but used the recipe to call Helen back to herself. She would pop a currant into her daughter’s mouth, or gently instruct her to smell the cinnamon, and for Helen, the world would come into focus.”

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“And sometimes, if she was brave enough, she would turn to the memories of little James. Not the end, but the days before. When she would slide her pinky into his open palm and his tiny fingers would close tight around it. He would peer around the room with his brand-new eyes, and Helen thought that perhaps after the womb, this dark, tight space probably seemed about right. He was wonderfully oblivious to the danger they were in. She became his protector, and for those days, that was all she was. It changed everything. It changed her. And somehow, he in turn protected Helen. He was the sun that couldn’t reach them—he broke away the darkness. As she thought of him, of those red curls and blue eyes, Helen found herself feeling the warmth from him, even though he was gone.”

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“With eyes still closed, Helen sensed Stuart drawing nearer. Perhaps it was his breath upon her skin, though it seemed to her more than that. It was as if their very souls extended their bodies by only tiny degrees, and now even though their flesh didn’t touch, their spirits did. She felt him in a way that was real, yet could not be measured, like how an echo can have a voice without having a mouth. She felt him in the heartbeats and the gaps between each, felt the air charged between them, felt the ache of her skin to have what their souls had found. To be touched, and to touch. Then with the softest trace of his lips, Helen felt her tears kissed away. One, two, three of them, and he stopped. For a second, she was still, wondering if he would go on, if his lips would find her own, but only the roar of the wind came.”

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“She peered at the small girl and though it seemed the child wasn’t listening, her grip on Helen loosened, leaving her feeling like a balloon about to soar away, frantic not to be lost into the open sky. Helen pinched her eyes shut as pain washed over her, tightening her body. It was different from other pain she had known. This time, she had a living, breathing someone to fight for, someone waiting on the other side of that agony. Opening her eyes, Helen set her jaw. A child, by their very existence, doesn’t come into a woman’s life without pain. It takes effort. Her fingers squeezed the small girl’s and the child’s chin lifted until their eyes met.”

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“The port teemed with children. Helen had been rushing, the will carefully tucked in the crook of her arm, when she turned the corner and the sight of their little faces stopped her in her tracks. They were a ragged little crowd, their hair in disarray from the night spent sleeping on their siblings’ shoulders, but Helen thought they were beautiful. Notes pinned to their coats declared their names, and every hand held something, whether an adult-sized suitcase or the grip of a sibling. It was the brothers and sisters who broke Helen’s heart the most. For all the bickering they likely once did, they now clung to each other as a soul does to a body. Don’t separate us, their small faces begged, necks craned to look up at the clusters of adults watching them. Wherever we must go, just let it be together.”

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“At last they came to a hill and abandoned their bikes at the bottom. As they crested the knoll, Helen felt as though they were creeping upon some great secret and on the other side they’d find a giant sleeping or a black X with three shovels beside it. What they found was magic by a different name. Planes buzzed on runways like bees in a jar, and when one took off, a roar filled the air. As it lifted away from the earth, a breeze swept over their hilltop, and it left Helen wondering if they had been touched by the magic or if it was truly only a breeze.”

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“Others, however, would look over the children as if they were produce. They’d only speak to the nearest officer, never lowering their eyes to the young ones. Instead, they looked down their noses as though to distance themselves. “I’ll take these,” Helen would see them mouth, waving a finger above the small heads. It was a moment the children would have branded on their minds, Helen was sure of it, and the pain of it turned her stomach to lead.”

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“Watching her with the other children, it struck Helen once again that there was something that still set the girl apart, something just out of reach. Lyric was remarkable. A breathtaking horizon and endless ocean, deep and mysterious. No matter how well Helen got to know her, she always felt as though she never truly would.”

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“In each life, there come moments that feel as though they are a seashell from centuries ago caught and preserved in stone. All that is beautiful is there in full detail. And we are allowed to marvel as though time isn’t slipping away from us, as though it will always be here, in our hands. That’s how Helen felt as she cradled the newborn in her arms and looked down at his tiny sleeping face.”

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“How many times, since she was just a child, had her and Mum hung clothes together here as Mum told her stories? Some real, some pretend, some Helen couldn’t quite tell the difference between. For decades Mum insisted that as a child a true mermaid had been her friend. The mergirl had gotten injured by a fallen rock near Mum’s home, and she claimed to have helped the creature back to health. When Helen was small she accepted the tale as truth, but when she grew and dropped her belief in other fairy tales Mum would insist this was different. “Her tail felt smooth when I would slide my fingers down it, but the scales were sharp if I slid my palm up. I don’t have to pretend it’s true or convince you. I held magic in my hands. It wasn’t the first time, but it was the first time I realized I had.” “But there’s no such thing as mermaids and magic,” Helen had refuted once. Mum had lowered herself to meet Helen’s eyes. “Oh, there’s magic in this world. Do you think that just because you can explain something that makes it not magic anymore? How a wildflower grows is magic. The first snow of winter? Absolutely. Stand on any theater’s stage and you can’t deny it’s there. Sit on any shore and you’ll always feel it.”

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“Heaven might have streets of gold, but this entire town is covered in it. Amber sunlight is everywhere, glowing off of the yellow brick buildings, reflecting from the windows, even hanging in the dust. Sunlight, apparently, smells like slightly overripe fruit, the kind perfect for the picking, that shouldn’t be left for any other day. It’s meant to be enjoyed now.”

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