I remember the little girl I watched. That night when Lex and I shared the wine. Before the rain came back.

Somehow, five-year-old me is still running across the lawn with Cole tagging behind.

“Things get trapped here,” George says, and he ashes his cigarette on the sea porch steps. “It’s the fog, maybe.”

I watch that thick gray curtain settling onto the lawn again.

It’s filling up the space between the farmhouse and the beach.

The space between me and George.

All the space in my lungs.

I can’t breathe.

“You’ve seen your mama,” George says. “Haven’t you?” But I don’t answer, because I don’t owe him anything. “I like to see ’em sometimes,” he says as he blows out smoke. “The ones like your mother. God, she was beautiful.” He’s looking at me, and the expression on his face makes me uncomfortable again. I hate the way his eyes travel up and down my body. Slip over my bare shoulders. My thighs. “It’s nice. Once you know what they are.” George stands up, and I take a little step back. “They can’t hurt you.” He clicks on the flashlight. It’s so bright. I have to shield my eyes. “You just make sure you don’t hurt yourself.”

He reaches out to touch my hair—runs a damp strand between his dirty fingers—and I hold my breath. Stare at the cigarette between his teeth. His mouth twists into an almost smile. “You look like her,” he says, and he leans closer.

“Don’t,” I warn him. And I’m surprised how loud my voice sounds. How strong. “Don’t you fucking touch me.”

He smirks at me then. “Act like ’er, too.” He takes a step back. “I saved your life. Did you know that? You’d have died, probably, if I hadn’t found you down there washed up like a drowned rat. After your own mama tried to get rid of you.” And maybe that’s true. But it doesn’t give him the right to look at me the way he is. “Get on to your cabin.” He drops the still-burning cigarette and grinds it into the damp grass with the heel of his boot. “And goddamn stay there,” he adds before he disappears into the dark. “Shoulda let the sea fuckin’ have you.” I watch the bounce of his flashlight until it’s gone. And all I want is to go to bed. Like George said. But my legs are shaking. I don’t know if I can cross that distance tonight.

That muddy field as wide as an ocean.

The split-rail fence where the pigs are.

I drop down to sit on the sea porch steps. I pull my knees to my chest and hug them tight. I’m reluctant to leave the little glow of the back porch light.