The Good Sister by Drusilla Campbell

water. And it was cold, really cold.” The
Oriole
flew by, her sails fat. “I couldn’t breathe or see anything. I suppose I would have drowned if it weren’t for Mr. Hutton
     and that life jacket.”
    “You were rescued.”
    “Well, obviously.”
    Looking back, Simone knew that she should have gone out again immediately, the next weekend. Even with a broken collarbone
     she could have worked in the galley or polished the brightwork. Instead she had stayed home,nursing her pain, feeling sorry for herself and thinking about icy water and sharks and the
Oriole
flying past. If she closed her eyes now she could see the way the name of the boat was written across the stern.
    After her shoulder healed she wanted to sail again but by then it was too late.
    “Mom went berserk when I mentioned it. She said I was almost killed. BJ went along with her, of course.”
    And I didn’t fight for it. I didn’t rebel. They were afraid for me and pretty soon I was afraid too.
    Time went by and after she and Johnny were married they leased a condo right on Mission Beach. The beach was gray and empty
     and beautiful in the winter after the tourists retreated and the broad strand belonged to the seagulls and pelicans and people
     bundled in parkas. Sometimes as she walked along the water’s edge, long walks from the estuary almost to Bird Rock, schools
     of dolphins arced through the surf running parallel to shore as if they wanted to keep her company. In the beginning she had
     watched the sailboats on the horizon but they made her sad so she stopped looking out to sea and focused instead on the million-trillion
     grains of sand at her feet, feeling small and insignificant and safe.
    Simone became pregnant and Johnny was ecstatic, even more so when the obstetrician and his nurse technician read the ultrasound
     images and assured them that a boy was on the way. Merell’s birth shocked Simone into the deepest depression of her life.
     Watching television oneafternoon she saw something that convinced her a mistake had been made in the hospital nursery: a distracted nurse had exchanged
     her baby boy for someone’s girl. Johnny, her mother, and Roxanne dismissed her concern and blamed her mood on the blues, promising
     her she would feel more like herself in a week or two. Her obstetrician, Dr. Wayne, told her it wasn’t unusual to have such
     thoughts. He called it postpartum depression.
    Merell left the Frisbee-throwing, and after grabbing two cookies and shoving them in the pocket of her shirt, she swung herself
     up onto the first branch of the pepper tree, about five feet off the ground. She grabbed the branch above and hauled herself
     higher.
    Watching Merell climb, Simone’s breath caught in her throat. “Be careful,” she cried.
    “Daddy says this is the best climbing tree in San Diego.”
    “But if you break, I can’t put you back together.”
    “I won’t break, Mommy. Promise.”
    Merell was the kind of child who could do whatever she wanted. Climb trees, swim, ride a bike: it was all easy for her. Simone
     tried to believe that she had given birth to such a strong and competent child, but in nine years she’d never been convinced.
    She watched her daughter make her way up into the heart of the tree and thought of all the things she’d never done because
     she was afraid of the risk or couldn’t figure them out or had no aptitude at all.
    “D’you know, I’ve never even climbed a tree?”
    Roxanne jumped to her feet. “Come on, then, there’s no time like the present.”
    “Now? I’m pregnant.”
    “Listen, if you could sail a boat, you can climb a tree. There’s nothing to be scared of. You’ll do great.” She held out her
     hand. “I won’t let you fall. Never, Simone.”
    “You promise?”
    “I’ll hoist you up to the first branch. You can stay there, or go higher. Whatever you want.”
    The branch was between five and six feet off the ground. Merell had been able to jump and swing herself onto it