Mildred obeyed. She threaded her fingers together and brought her arms down so that her hands rested on the back of her swim cap. “She’s insane?”

“She’ll never recover. She has fits, and sometimes they need to confine her so she doesn’t hurt anyone. I want you to adjust your legs like so.” He tapped her on the insides of the knees so that she shuffled them apart. “Arch your back slightly.”

She made a pretty picture, legs spread, elbows pointing skyward, the only color on her whole body the red swim cap, his whole sight of her set against shafts of light threading through the skeletal trees that were her uncanny backdrop. There was no reason for her to let him do this to her; they had gone beyond any sort of decent conversation, left polite social behavior miles behind. He looked carefully at her face, which was going into places where the villagers and the outcomes were less sure.

“How long will I stand like this?”

“I’ll tell you,” he murmured. “I love my mother’s madness. I think it made me what I am. Does that frighten you?”

“No,” she said.

“Really?”

“A little,” she said.

“Are you really sixteen?”

“Yes. I will be.”

“Keep your back arched. You’re doing well.” He brought his hands up. Because she was on the slope, she stood slightly taller than he did. This gave him excellent access. He traced the air over her body, his fingertips just an inch, sometimes less than an inch, from actually touching her. It was a kind of pantomime. “My mother frightens me sometimes. I love her, but I just don’t know what to do about her. You’re very beautiful. I like very much that you’re being such a good girl. My mother has been trying to come over here, but I’ve been stopping her. No one knows that, Mildred. Look.” With his eyes, he directed her to look at his hands. They were suspended above the surface of her bathing suit, just at the level of her chest. He could touch her breasts if he wanted. “You’re trembling.”

She nodded.

“You’re being very good,” he said. He took a deep breath to remember this moment when he could do anything he wanted. Then he took a few steps away, brought her the towel, shaking the sand from it, and dropped it around her shoulders. “You can relax now.”

Her hands went down. He straightened the towel, which she clutched at, and he asked, “Would you like to see me again?”

She nodded.

“Off to call your mother, then,” he said. “Goodbye.”

Mildred hesitated. Perhaps she expected something less abrupt, but there was nothing in Chaplin’s face to argue with.

“Charlie?”

“I said goodbye.”

She held on to her towel and ran through the trees until she disappeared from view.