Why didn’t she bolt? It was as if she were just another tree: solid bark, gnarled roots. She looked away, and when she thought about how she was wearing only her navy two-piece, she trained her eyes on the surface of the lake, as if it were imperative she find a hidden code in its reflection. She heard him coming closer, ostensibly returning to his tent. She tugged at the skimpy seat of her suit (It’s cheeky, said the salesgirl in a killer Scottish brogue, and Sarah had been done for). She’d charged an absurd sum of money on her AmEx for a swimsuit, a bag made from a grain sack, and a pair of exceptionally dark sunglasses as if she were headed to Switzerland to get her eyes done. She’d shopped and packed for her trip to see Leda all in one day, with the same delusional spirit she’d donned her nicer blouses and taken time with her makeup over the last several years for a visit to the gynecologist or dermatologist, as if (after a pretty heavy-duty basal cell carcinoma and two irregular Pap smears a few years back) such preparations might ward off death. She’d called Matthew on the way to the airport to tell him where she was going. He didn’t pick up—he was in Mongolia doing an ad shoot for T-Mobile—she couldn’t keep the time difference straight; she left a voice message, explaining.

She’d packed up that cheeky suit and gone off to Baja. She never once went swimming; that day on the beach with the wild horses had been the closest she’d come. She’d spent most of her time in the shade under a huge open-air palapa, shivering while listening to Leda. Her daughter spoke reluctantly, like a celebrity with whom Sarah, having outbid everyone else at a charity auction, had won the opportunity to have breakfast. Thin people came and went under the palapa. The gray cement floor was freezing; she could feel it through the soles of her flip-flops. The warm sun beckoned right outside of where they were sitting, shining on the pale gravel path that led to a scattershot cactus garden and high walls festooned with fuchsia bougainvillea and topped with spikes of broken glass. But where she sat with Leda, the shade took on the cat-piss smell of fresh papaya and vitamins. Sarah was starving but afraid that if she mentioned something as mundane as food, Leda would stop talking.