1976. July, the Back Woods.
I am floating on a blue rubber raft. My eyes are closed, face to the sun. Black motes dance around under my eyelids in the opaque red. I drift, listen to the sound of my breath going in and out, let the salt wind carry me to the middle of the pond. There is nothing but me. No one here but me. A perfect moment. I dangle my arm over the edge of the raft, open my fingers, feel the resistance of the water as it passes through them. I imagine I’m a duck. Any moment now a snapping turtle will swim up from the cold bottom and grab my sharp yellow feet, drag me to the deep. In the distance, I hear the clatter of wooden paddles being dumped in the bottom of a canoe. Anna and her friend Peggy have paddled over to the far side of the pond. It’s only a short walk to the beach from there. When I open my eyes, I can just make out the tiny flames of their bright orange life vests as they pull the boat up onto shore and disappear into the tree line.
Mum and her boyfriend Leo have gone into town to collect his kids from the Greyhound bus stop. They are coming to stay with us for ten days. Leo is a jazz musician from Louisiana. Saxophone. He has a thick black beard and laughs a lot. He believes exercise is for the weak. His favorite food is shrimp. Anna isn’t sure about him, but I think he’s nice.
Leo’s kids, Rosemary and Conrad, live with their mother in Memphis. They have heavy southern accents and say y’all. Rosemary is seven. Mousy. “Irrelevant,” Anna says. “And she smells weird.” Conrad is eleven, one year older than me. He is short and squat, with Coke-bottle glasses and bulging eyes. He stands too close. We’ve only met them once before, at a luncheonette, when they came to New York to visit their father. Rosemary ordered a rare steak and talked about original sin.
“His ex-wife wants him dead,” my mother says to a friend over the kitchen phone. “If it were up to her, Leo would never see his children again.” She lowers her voice. “Frankly, I’m with her, but don’t you dare repeat that. They aren’t very likable children. Though I suppose very few people actually like other people’s children. Leo says the boy hates to get in the water, so being on the pond with him in this infernal heat is bound to be an absolute nightmare. Let’s just hope he bathes.”
She has told us to be on our best behavior.
In the center of the pond where the water is deepest, forests of bladderwort grow up from the bottom. The fish like to hide here. I flip onto my stomach and peer over the edge of the raft. The patch of shade I cast creates a lens that allows me to see everything beneath me in focus. A school of minnows moves through lily pad stems and rotting grasses with swift, jerky motions. A painted turtle swims slowly through the dull green toward the surface. Far below it, a sunfish guards its nest with a vigilant, lazy waft. I lean forward and put my face into the water, open my eyes. The world becomes a soft blur. I lie like this for as long as my lungs can take it, listening to the sounds of the air. If I could breathe underwater, I would stay here forever.
Across the pond, I hear the slam of a car door, Leo’s booming laughter. They are here.
12:35 P.M.
Jonas is leaning back on his elbows, his black hair slicked like an oily duck. A thin white cotton shirt clings to his shoulders. A spark of sunlight glints off his wedding ring. He doesn’t turn as we approach. I wonder if it’s because he can’t face me now, face what we have done. Or maybe wanting me all those years was the point, and now I’m just someone he fucked and has to deal with. Or maybe he, too, wants to avoid this moment of acknowledgment—keep his old life alive for one moment longer, before everything changes. Because, either way, it will.
Peter sits down right next to him, points to something on the horizon. Jonas leans in to answer. Dizzying ripples of heat rise off the sand.
“Hey!” Gina shouts, eyes narrowed, and starts coming at me across the sand. I stare at her pierced belly button as it comes in and out of sight beneath her tankini top. Finn and Maddy have spread out their towels nearby and are spraying each other with sun block.
Jonas hasn’t turned, but I think I see his forearms tense ever so slightly.
I glance over at the kids; a rising dread.
“Seriously, Elle?” Gina says, squaring off with me.
“Mom,” Finn calls out, “I need you to tighten my goggles.”
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Whatever you have to say, I think, please say it quietly.
“We’ve been waiting for you for over an hour. The sandwiches are gonna be totally soggy.”
I will my voice to keep its cool, stay level, sure my face is betraying me. Under the pile of towels I’m carrying, my hands are shaking. “I’m so sorry. We should have called. I had a stupid fight with Jack this morning and it spiraled. Let me just put these towels down. I’ll run to the market and get fresh sandwiches.”