From the angle, I knew I had veered to the left rather than traveling the full diameter of the tank. I was exploring the ledges that covered the sides, gauges for the depth of oil, I guessed, or for extracting machines to latch on to, when Antonio lost patience and switched on his light. Without warning, my pale hands were before me, groping the rusty wall. Everything was smaller, dirtier, and more ugly than it felt in the dark.

“This is really crazy.” He made his way to me, bringing his jagged shadows with him. “You could have hurt yourself.”

I turned and fitted my back to the wall. “Maddy had this thing,” I said, “when she was three or so and we were at the lake, she used to float around in one of those inflatable rings. She wanted me exactly the right distance away. ‘Go back, Mom, back. There! By that cloud! Now close your eyes.’ Then she’d paddle over and pounce. When she was six, she’d turn off the lights in the basement and make me stand by the door. Then she’d spin around to make herself dizzy and find me in total darkness.”

“I see,” said Antonio. The light made strange shapes on his neck and face.

“What do you think that was about?”

“I don’t know. Did she learn that from you?”

“She didn’t get it from you.”

“Eve?” He sounded out of breath. He slipped his phone in his pocket, and the dark closed around us again.

I spoke rapidly, whatever came into my head. “Have I told you that when Maddy was born I thought I already knew her?”

“E-vie . . .” said Antonio softly, separating the syllables.

Words were all I had to put between us, to keep him from coming any closer. “How far can newborns see, maybe a foot, foot and a half? I think it’s the distance to the face of a person who’s holding them. So this nurse put her in my arms.” The wall pressed into my back. “I swear Maddy gave me this look: It’s me. Mama, it’s me.”

“Eve.” His voice was low and warm and very near. “What’s going on?”