They met up again. They had dinner. They went shopping. They went to the movies. They lay on the beach one Saturday morning and drank mimosas, waded into the water and felt the buzz of the alcohol mix deliciously with the salt of the sea spray.

They lay on Odilie’s couch and watched TV, having to pause and rewind constantly because they would make comments, start another conversation, forget what had just happened on the screen and start over.

Peri, even with her shadowy vulnerabilities, was bewitching. She would tail Odilie, her toes nipping Odilie’s heels, like a hawk preying on a mouse, into the bedroom, the bathroom, the aisles of the grocery store. Or like a child, a child who knew exactly what she wanted and that she would get it with little protestations. It was menacing; it was moving.

What did they talk about? A lot of it was Peri telling long, languid tales about her life. “I met my current boyfriend at a club in the city. I was seeing someone else, someone much older. It was the first night in a while he let me out, to have some fun. I saw my current boyfriend right away, this little puppy dog with overwhelmed eyes. I wanted him for myself, wanted to take him home from the pound. We’ve been together three years.” Odilie couldn’t imagine anyone dictating to Peri when she could go out and she said as much.

Peri shrugged. “It was part of our relationship rules. I mean, no young girl dates a man upwards of fifty without knowing what they’re getting into, if you catch what I’m saying. He took care of me, taught me things. I wouldn’t be where I am today without him.” Odilie tried not to gape at this admission. Peri seemed to have lived sixty lives before she turned twenty-five.

“I wish I had someone to tell me who to be,” Odilie said. “I’m not even sure what I like in life, besides the basics. I took early-education classes this past school year, but that’s only because my mom is a teacher. I don’t think I want to be one. I’m not sure what I want to be. My imagination has only stretched as far as this town, this county. And I’m not sure why.” She thought about lying, about making herself seem more introspective, more interesting. But there was something about Peri’s penetrative gaze that demanded the truth, that extracted it from Odilie like a wriggling worm from the soil.

Peri asked Odilie about her dating history, her boyfriends. “Are you straight?” she asked pointedly, one evening as they walked along Wyneck’s edge, on the rocky beach that hugged this side of the coast, jagged rocks scraping the undersides of their feet, holding hands to steady themselves, like Odilie had held Page’s when they were so, so young.