bold light. Sydney cannot imagine the isolation of such a life, the need to perform a single task over and over, its responsibilities grave. The desolation would drive her mad.
Offshore, a lobsterman, late to his traps, trawls near a set of rocks that will become more visible as the tide recedes. The smell of the sea and the clean air is potent, and Sydney inhales a lungful. Not far from them, a Sunday painter has set up shop with an easel. The tableau gives her an idea for Julie that she files away for Monday.
"Why are you so afraid of the water?" Sydney asks.
"I once almost drowned."
Sydney knows this fact but wants more. "How did that happen?"
Julie seems hesitant.
"I don't want to dredge up bad memories," Sydney says.
"No, that's okay." Julie takes a breath for courage. "My dad was fishing on the beach one day after a bad storm. The waves were huge." Julie, who has a habit of speaking with her hands, uses them to indicate the height of the waves. "My cousin, Samantha, had a boogie board, but she put it down because she was scared of the waves. I thought she had just left it for a minute and that I could grab it and use it."
"How old were you?"
"Seven. Samantha was nine, I think. I floated for a minute and then I could feel myself being pulled out to sea." Beside Sydney, Julie stiffens with the memory. "I tried to swim in, but I couldn't. I yelled for Dad. He looked over and saw me and dropped his fishing pole and dove in after me. When he got to the boogie board, he told me to hold on tight. But then he realized he couldn't get us back in--the riptide was too powerful for him--so he started yelling to Samantha, who was jumping up and down on the sand and screaming, to go get the lifeguard."
Sydney puts her arm around the girl. "You must have been really frightened," she says.
"I was. After a while, the lifeguard came with his surfboard and put me on top of it and told Dad to hang on to a rope he had off the back. He paddled us in."
"I'm sorry that happened to you."
Julie is silent.
"They say that in a riptide, you should swim parallel to shore so that you can break out of the rip."
"It doesn't matter," Julie says. "I'm never going in again anyway."
"When we get back to the house," Sydney says, "we'll put on our suits and go in up to our ankles. Just our ankles."
Julie, who has her arms wrapped around her knees, shakes her head. "I don't know," she says.
"That's all we'll do," Sydney insists, knowing that she is being pushy. But she has a plan. "Just our ankles. Unless you want to go out to your knees. I'll let you go to your knees, but no more than that."
"I don't think so. No offense."
"No offense," Sydney says.
The breeze dies down, leaving the water docile. Sydney's tank suit is still damp from having been left on the floor of her closet. Last night, she couldn't get it off fast enough. Now she wishes she had thought to wash it. It seems to Sydney to reek of stealth. Of cunning.
Sydney has seen Julie in her aqua bikini several times on the deck. The suit, though skimpy, appeared appropriate there, full attire, Julie's bare skin glistening with a sunblock with a low SPF. Now at the water's edge, the bathing suit seems but pitiful armor against the Atlantic Ocean.
"Just the ankles," Sydney says.
Julie instinctively reaches for Sydney's hand. Sydney can feel the tug and pull of the girl's weight as Julie, even in the shallow water, adjusts to the undertow. She looks clumsy in her fear, though Sydney suspects she is a natural athlete--something in the ratio of the size of her feet to the length of her legs, in the strength of her shoulders.
"It's freezing," Julie says.
"You'll get used to it."
In the water, which today has taken on a slightly greenish tinge, there are bits of seaweed that sometimes brush against the legs. Also in the water, Sydney knows, are striped bass, schools of bluefish, baby seals, and even benign sharks--a fact she thinks she will neglect to mention to the girl beside
Offshore, a lobsterman, late to his traps, trawls near a set of rocks that will become more visible as the tide recedes. The smell of the sea and the clean air is potent, and Sydney inhales a lungful. Not far from them, a Sunday painter has set up shop with an easel. The tableau gives her an idea for Julie that she files away for Monday.
"Why are you so afraid of the water?" Sydney asks.
"I once almost drowned."
Sydney knows this fact but wants more. "How did that happen?"
Julie seems hesitant.
"I don't want to dredge up bad memories," Sydney says.
"No, that's okay." Julie takes a breath for courage. "My dad was fishing on the beach one day after a bad storm. The waves were huge." Julie, who has a habit of speaking with her hands, uses them to indicate the height of the waves. "My cousin, Samantha, had a boogie board, but she put it down because she was scared of the waves. I thought she had just left it for a minute and that I could grab it and use it."
"How old were you?"
"Seven. Samantha was nine, I think. I floated for a minute and then I could feel myself being pulled out to sea." Beside Sydney, Julie stiffens with the memory. "I tried to swim in, but I couldn't. I yelled for Dad. He looked over and saw me and dropped his fishing pole and dove in after me. When he got to the boogie board, he told me to hold on tight. But then he realized he couldn't get us back in--the riptide was too powerful for him--so he started yelling to Samantha, who was jumping up and down on the sand and screaming, to go get the lifeguard."
Sydney puts her arm around the girl. "You must have been really frightened," she says.
"I was. After a while, the lifeguard came with his surfboard and put me on top of it and told Dad to hang on to a rope he had off the back. He paddled us in."
"I'm sorry that happened to you."
Julie is silent.
"They say that in a riptide, you should swim parallel to shore so that you can break out of the rip."
"It doesn't matter," Julie says. "I'm never going in again anyway."
"When we get back to the house," Sydney says, "we'll put on our suits and go in up to our ankles. Just our ankles."
Julie, who has her arms wrapped around her knees, shakes her head. "I don't know," she says.
"That's all we'll do," Sydney insists, knowing that she is being pushy. But she has a plan. "Just our ankles. Unless you want to go out to your knees. I'll let you go to your knees, but no more than that."
"I don't think so. No offense."
"No offense," Sydney says.
The breeze dies down, leaving the water docile. Sydney's tank suit is still damp from having been left on the floor of her closet. Last night, she couldn't get it off fast enough. Now she wishes she had thought to wash it. It seems to Sydney to reek of stealth. Of cunning.
Sydney has seen Julie in her aqua bikini several times on the deck. The suit, though skimpy, appeared appropriate there, full attire, Julie's bare skin glistening with a sunblock with a low SPF. Now at the water's edge, the bathing suit seems but pitiful armor against the Atlantic Ocean.
"Just the ankles," Sydney says.
Julie instinctively reaches for Sydney's hand. Sydney can feel the tug and pull of the girl's weight as Julie, even in the shallow water, adjusts to the undertow. She looks clumsy in her fear, though Sydney suspects she is a natural athlete--something in the ratio of the size of her feet to the length of her legs, in the strength of her shoulders.
"It's freezing," Julie says.
"You'll get used to it."
In the water, which today has taken on a slightly greenish tinge, there are bits of seaweed that sometimes brush against the legs. Also in the water, Sydney knows, are striped bass, schools of bluefish, baby seals, and even benign sharks--a fact she thinks she will neglect to mention to the girl beside
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