“I should tell you about your name,” he tried. He pulled out the puppets on their string, and held them in front of her nose. “A girl gave them to me, Elsie. Well, there were a couple of girls before that. The first, her name was Lenore, and she was married. Anyway, they relate to a fairy tale, and so, once upon a time, there was a girl from France named Nanette, and there was a boy who was crazy about her.” He rubbed her flank for a moment. Her muscles had too much give to them. The fur moved as if she were an old woman in an oversized coat. “And there was an air raid on a subway station where they’d hid themselves, and the next day the only survivors were herself and her fellah. You see?” He was quiet again, listening to a wheezing sound, some new part of the ship that sounded mechanically tortured. It occurred with the rise and fall of Nanette’s chest, and Leland realized that each new breath was becoming a decision for her. “Nanette, you see how the girl looks a little light-headed, and how the boy is flat-out, all-gears in love with her? Most guys, they think she should look in love with him. But it makes sense. See, that’s what love is. The only way to make you come back home safe is if she keeps you awake nights, worrying.”

He laughed. He closed his eyes, and quickly that laugh was gone, as if someone else, in some stateroom far away, had done it. He had a vision of his mother falling on the rocks and his father in a diving suit rescuing her. Which had never happened. Deep in him, he knew there was yet more to the story, a feeling so painful he couldn’t even touch it, a bruise long ago gone bad: the hope that if you loved someone enough it would make them stay for you. And you could be together in a little house somewhere, smoke on the rooftop, where you were safe.

He awoke with his mouth dry, and the dim light in the cabin was sour and glazed, as if he’d been drinking. He was still holding Nanette. He ran his hand over her soft head, and then realized his clothes were wet.

Her body was limp. The whole bed, he realized, was wet. But she’s still warm, he thought, but, no, that was just where he was touching her.

She had died while he was asleep. “Nanette,” he said softly, and then he bit down on his lower lip, hard. Boy was awake and watching, curled at the end of the cot. He looked up at Leland’s voice, then settled back down and closed his eyes.