Sarah shrugged off Kiki’s concern, looking at Matthew, who would not look back. Sarah knew that no matter how bad he felt about how she’d been thrown to the ground, he would still be furious with her for lying about Leda, for putting him in the position of having to lie, too.

“I probably am still shaken up … You know what I really want to do?” Sarah said, forcefully brightening. “I want to get in that creek.”

Kiki scrunched up her face. “I haven’t seen anyone in it. It’s so close to town and it just looks a little iffy, y’know?”

“There must be a good swimming hole around here,” Matthew said.

“You’d think. We’ve basically spent most of the last month trying to find one. But the checkout girl at the supermarket told me yesterday that Friday the 13th was filmed at a nearby lake, so, you know, there’s that.”

“And the checkout girl was telling you this in order to … generally freak you out?”

“Of course. She was giggling with her friend as I left.”

“I’ll bet it’s a pretty good spot,” Matthew said. “Right? At least worth a shot?”

“I was getting there. I thought we’d go tomorrow. That’s my big plan. Maybe before Sylvie’s nap? Or after, if you want to sleep in. If you can sleep in. She’s a bit of a screamer. I may have mentioned that in the e-mail?”

“I’ll just get my feet wet for now,” Sarah conceded, heading toward the creek.

She left them sitting at the table. The path to the creek was uneven and weedy and she had to focus on her footing. Standing at the water’s edge, she knew she was still close to the house, but it felt miles away. She took off her sandals and stepped in the water, shuddering from the initial cold. If she could shut out her surroundings—the footbridge, the not-so-picturesque beginnings of town, the faded flag that she was starting to suspect was indeed Confederate, and the empty bottles and plastic furniture across the way—if she could shut it all out, she knew the water would feel clean and lovely.

I knew you’d appreciate this spot, Leda had said on that deserted beach in Baja, where sand created a stream of shallow water refilled by high tide. Her daughter jumped over the stream and shouted nonsense to the empty beach.

Are you going to do cartwheels? Sarah had asked. Leda had spent several summers as a child obsessively cartwheeling and demanding an audience for each one.

Shut up, her daughter had said, her smile bright. The sunlight hit her directly in the eyes; she didn’t even shield them.