Traffic is bumper to bumper. Somewhere in Rhode Island, our radiator overheats. Leo pulls over onto the scrubby verge, cursing.
“I needed to stretch my legs anyway,” Mum says.
Twenty yards ahead of us another car has broken down. Beyond it, on a massive billboard, a man in a zebra suit advertises a car dealership. I watch the cars creep past, feeling vaguely resentful, as if we have lost our rightful place in line.
“I filled up an empty half-gallon milk jug with water, just in case,” Mum says. “It’s somewhere behind you, Conrad.”
“Hand me that water, would you, Con.” Leo unbuckles his seat belt. “I’ll need to let the heat out from under the hood. Cool down the radiator.”
Conrad glances over his shoulder. “It’s too far back. I can’t reach it.”
“Then get out and go around.”
“You’re getting out of the car anyway.”
“I’ll get it,” I say before Leo has a chance to respond. I wiggle my way over the back of the seat, stretch over paper bags filled with groceries, suitcases, a basket of pears, strain to grab the water. “Got it,” I grunt.
“Elle, you’re an angel,” Leo says. “I’ll deal with you later, Conrad.” His voice is stony with contempt.
“I’ll deal with you later,” Conrad mocks his father under his breath. He looks at me with loathing. “Kiss ass.”
Between us, on the seat, my mother’s cat howls and scratches at its box.
* * *
—
By the time we reach the Woods it’s almost midnight. The camp has been locked up all winter. Our canoes are stacked on the porch. Everything is covered in pollen and spiderwebs. Some large animal has managed to get in over the winter, knocking plates off the open shelves. Shards of ironstone are skittled across the living room floor. The mice have made their annual nest in the silverware drawer. Mouse shit in the fork tines, afterbirth on the teaspoons. The hot water needs to be turned on. The flashlights are all dead. No one feels like making beds.
I pee in the bushes, walk down the path to my cabin, and throw myself onto the bare mattress. I’m so happy to be here. I lie there listening to the boom and croak of bullfrogs, the stillness of the trees, as the full moon shines through the skylight. A twig snaps. Something is moving outside my cabin. I hold my breath. Wait. Footfalls shuffle past toward the edge of the pond. Soon I hear splashing and a sound like a soft baby’s cry. I climb out of bed and creep to the screen door, peer out into the darkness letting my eyes adjust. A large mother raccoon and her four kits are fishing in the shallows. She stops, sniffs the air, sensing me, before turning back to her task. She swipes her paw across the surface of the water and brings up a fish. Careful not to make a sound, I step out onto the path. She freezes, wary now. I take a step forward. She turns her bandit face toward me and snarls. Within seconds, the raccoons have disappeared into the trees. No sign of them. Only the slight warble of the pond. The moon is so bright I can see pebbles under the water. I pull off my nightgown and wade out until I am waist-high among the reeds, and then I melt into the pond. I’ve never swum alone like this—at night, naked, in the silence. It feels luxurious, secretive.
I step out and shake myself dry, grab my nightgown from the branch, dash up the steps into my cabin, and pull the door shut behind me.
A hand comes out of the darkness then, covers my mouth.
“I was watching you,” Conrad whispers in my ear.
My stomach drops into my feet. My entire body cold with panic. I scream, but all that comes out is a muffled moan.
“You should skinny-dip every night.” He rubs his hand over my naked body, sighs. “Your skin is soft, rubbery.”
He pushes me onto the bed.
I struggle to get free of him, but his grip is too tight.
“You knew I was watching,” he says.
“Stop it, Conrad,” I beg.
“Cocktease. You like it. You let me come into your room at night. You never tell me to leave. I know you just pretend to be asleep.”
I shake my head, no, thrashing, desperate. “That’s a lie,” I manage to whisper.
“I told all my friends you let me touch you.”
He stabs himself into me then. I feel a searing pain as he tears through my hymen. Rips me open. I think about the mother raccoon listening to my soft baby-like cries from the tree branches above. When he comes, I weep.
* * *
—
A bluebird flies across the sky, wings from tree to tree. I lie on the mossy ground deep in the woods by my secret stream in a fetal curl. After Conrad left, I ran to the bathroom and washed myself from the hot tap. Scorched him from me. But it did nothing. I am no longer myself. I can’t go home. I can’t stay here. I won’t let him ruin this place for me. The pond is mine. The woods are mine. I need to sleep. The night hates me. I am walking death.