The Safekeep(33)

“Hm.”

“What, hm?”

He shrugged. There was a discoloration forming on his middle finger, right where he always held the cigarette. He said, “It’s just that I’ve never known you to allow anything you didn’t want in the first place.” He added, “She’s good for you, I think.”

“Good?” A heavy thud in her chest as she said this. Images from last night, quick and terrible and overlit. “What do you mean, good?”

Hendrik was amused by her anger, said, “She’s loosened you. It’s nice.”

Isabel could only look at him. Could only widen her eyes, a baffled breath, and Hendrik continued, “You danced last night, now you’re coming for a swim. Who would’ve thought!”

“Loosening. As if I’m—a bolt, a rusted—” Her voice did something odd. She calmed, said, “I thought you didn’t like her. That you thought her silly.” She recalled the way Hendrik kept on saying the word gauze on their walk back from Louis’s place. She recalled it very clearly, how he only wanted to be mean about it.

“No,” he said now, gesturing at her with his cigarette. “You didn’t like her. I played along for fun.”

She opened her mouth to disagree, and just then Sebastian and Eva walked out toward them—hands up as well, shielding from the sun. “Are we ready?” Sebastian said, and Eva said, “The weather’s so nice!” And took Sebastian’s arm as they walked on. She wore the same trousers as yesterday. Last night, in the dark of the kitchen, Isabel had her hands over the band of that waist—had dug her fingers in, had felt at the tight seams.

Her heart had raced then. Her heart raced now still.

It’s not a fever, Eva had whispered, mouth close, but Isabel had continued to shiver. Eva touched her, hushed her, and then Sebastian had stumbled into the room—half-asleep, there for a glass of water. They’d jumped apart. Isabel went and stood facing the wall, a hand over her mouth. Eva went the other direction and began a quick and cheery chatter. There was a tremble in her voice. Sebastian was too slow to keep up. After a few moments he said, “Are you all right?”

“We’re clearing the dishes,” Eva said.

“In the dark?” Sebastian asked.

“Oh!” Eva laughed, and Isabel turned enough to see her consider the room. “I hadn’t noticed. Silly, silly.”

Over breakfast Eva avoided looking at her straight on. Now, in the back of the car, they were back to this: sitting widely apart. Eva hooked her arm out of the window, face into the wind, eyes closed. The reeds stood tall at the foot of the dike, puffy tails swaying. Sheep in the field, bits of their wool clung to the fence’s wires. Isabel placed one hand in the empty space on the seat next to her. Farther, farther. Left it outstretched.

“You know, Eva,” Hendrik said, turning enough to direct his words to the back of the car. “Louis has done well, for once. Where did he find you?”

Eva laughed loudly, a clattering sound. “Find me!” she said. “Am I a lost glove?”

Isabel put her hand back in her lap. Fool, she thought at herself, and closed her eyes tightly. She swallowed against the sudden rise of sour.

They hadn’t decided on a lake. Hendrik said they’d just drive up toward the Black-Water rivers and see what they ran into—somewhere quiet, somewhere fun. The rivers in this region reached into the land like fingers, slowed into narrow streams or rushed into man-made lakes.

They drove by a big, broken-down shed that had not been rebuilt since the war. A series of bunkers, all in a row, up the high shoulder of a dike. The concrete had turned green in the years since their last use. The metal stuck out like rungs. Kids in swimwear climbed up on them, made it to the slanted roof, would catch the sun up there.

Sebastian said, “How about there? That looks nice. Young people.” And then, to Isabel, “Is it to your liking, Isabel?”

He was trying to be nice to her and still it felt like a jab at her expense. She said, “Here is fine,” and didn’t look at anyone in the car.

The lake was new, a slow end of the river that had been widened by a bomb: a crater that filled up, connected itself with the river over time. Along the grassy shores: young people. Girls walking along the water’s edge in two-pieces, boys jumping in from a makeshift plank; someone had made a campfire for roasting; someone had brought a radio and turned it on loud.

Isabel had her bathing suit under her clothes but she did not take off her dress. She sat on the blanket, on the makeshift shore, and watched the others strip, still chatting, perfectly at ease. Legs and arms and a strip of belly. A playful breeze chased down the dike; Sebastian used the picnic basket to hold down the edge of the blanket. Hendrik lit another cigarette.

Only once the others were gone did she unzip herself, peel away her dress. She was never this bare at the mercy of others. She kept her gaze away from everyone, read a book while the rest ran in and out of the water. They came back for a drink, for a piece of fruit, bread, stood and dripped for a moment—“How’s the book, Isabel?”—and then ran right back.

Isabel stared at the same page for over an hour and did not recall a single word. Like this, Eva said last night. She had felt restless in Isabel’s arms, like she couldn’t wait, like she needed something—something, panted short and quick into Isabel’s mouth, had pushed her body as close as she could get. Isabel pinched the rough skin over her knee until the memory lessened. She kept her thighs tightly pressed. Out on the lake, Eva ran along the shallow end while Sebastian followed leisurely, smoking.