Aquarium by David Vann

took my hands in his. Damp cool skin, rough. Look, he said. You’re just starting out. You have a long life ahead. I have only a little bit left. Other men are going to get down on their knees for you, offering you their lives, but what I’m offering is more. The end of a life is more, and my reasons are more pure. I love you more than any other man ever will.
    I tried to pull my hands away, but he held on.
    It’s going to be tough times. Confusing for you. You won’t be happy. But just remember that I love you and that I’ll do anything for you now.
    I was afraid of him. He wouldn’t let go of my hands.
    Please, he said. No. Don’t misunderstand. Just tell your mother about me, and I’ll meet her on Monday. Okay?
    I nodded. My heart going so fast I thought it would never slow down again.
    Okay, he said. You’re the best little girl in the world, Caitlin. He let go then, and I turned and ran away down those dark corridors rimmed in light, all the fish watching, and didn’t stop until I was in the lobby. I sat on a bench by the door, out of breath, and I wanted my mother to rescue me. It wasn’t time yet, and I was afraid the old man would come out here. I had nowhere to hide, and it was too cold outside, icy rain a roar against all other sound.

T he old man remained submerged with the fish, hidden away, and my mother finally appeared. I ran to her through the rain and wind and swung that heavy door and was safe.
    Hey sweet pea. You’re turning into a track star.
    I didn’t say anything in response. I didn’t know where to start.
    What’s wrong?
    I was looking down at my jeans, wet below the rim of my coat.
    Caitlin, you have to tell me now.
    Shalini invited me for a sleepover tomorrow. Can I go?
    My mother laughed. Is that it? I thought something was wrong. Of course you can go.
    She pulled away from the curb then and we drove through the flood, sprays of water rising on both sides, each car with fins like the dealfish, transparent, revealed in headlights. Day but dark, the seas drained, and all of us splashing along the bottom looking for another sea. Others passed, racing ahead, all drawn the same way. The most frantic flight.
    I have her parents’ phone number on the class list, my mother said. We’ll call when we get home. And is it okay if Steve comes over for dinner?
    Steve was already at our apartment when we arrived. We could hear his harmonica as we rose up the stairs, low sad song, Summertime. My mother stopped on the stairs and closed her eyes and we just listened for a while in the cold. A song that kept falling. When he was finished, he said I know you’re there.
    My mother smiled and we rose the rest the way. He was sitting against our door, legs stretched out and boots crossed, flowers on his lap and two bags of groceries beside him.
    I thought I’d fix dinner, he said. Mexican night. Halibut fajitas, guacamole, margaritas. Un poco de salsa.
    He rose and my mother gave him a squeeze and a kiss. Then we went in and they ignored me. While he worked in the kitchen, my mother pressed up against the back of him like a shell. I sat on the couch and did my homework, reading about kids who were building a tree fort together in some sunnier place.
    Don’t forget to call, I said.
    My mother and Steve both looked up from some dream, startled to hear another voice.
    Sorry, sweet pea, my mother said. I forgot. She detached from Steve and went to the wall for the phone. She looked up the number and dialed and I listened. They were inviting me early, just after lunch, to spend the whole day and then the night. I was so happy I started hopping up and down.
    Look at you, Steve said. A Mexican jumping bean.
    My mother hung up and said, Okay, after lunch tomorrow. Shalini’s excited too. Don’t hop, though. We’ll get in trouble with the neighbors.
    She went back to Steve, but I didn’t care. I would have Shalini all to myself for almost a full day. I couldn’t focus on the reading. I just sat on the