No one needed to know every little thing that went through Polly’s tattered mind, just as Ned didn’t need to know about this walk. Polly was here to find Ariel, and she made it a half mile downstream, climbing rocks and going under fences, before she realized she was going to be late for Helen’s swimming lessons. She jogged back across the golf course with the dogs to make up time. A man yelled at her, and she gave him the finger. This gave her the energy for a final burst of speed, even though she was wheezing when she remembered where she’d left the car.

It was still only fifty-five degrees at 9 a.m. when Polly unswaddled Helen’s beautiful goose bump–covered body and walked her—fat tiny feet on Polly’s sneakers to protect them from the cold crumbly concrete—to the edge of the pool, telling her that the water would be warmer than the air. Helen’s skin turned gray in seconds, and Sam, who’d already survived this childhood challenge, catcalled from behind them, wearing a parka. But the teacher, humorless Connie Tuttwilliger, held out her arms, and Helen went to her.

Polly and Sam watched as Connie and her assistant seized small wandering bodies by their life preservers, held them gently for back floats, towed them back and forth, cooed over the roar of dozens of slapping hands and shrill cries. Polly watched Helen spin and splash, but when she put her face underwater Polly squinted her eyes shut against bad thoughts: child underwater, child changing shape. She stood, but suddenly both she and Helen were back in the daylight, the here and now of the bright pool. Helen lifted her head and laughed, and unloving Connie hugged her like she meant it. Really, the most dangerous thing that would happen to the child that day would be getting in a car with her mother.

The kids clambered out and Polly wrapped Helen in a towel. Sam was a rosy Irish American boy, but Helen was tawny, like much of Polly’s family. When Connie swam to the side and waved, Polly plopped Helen down in the sun to warm up—the temperature was ten degrees higher than when they’d arrived, and Sam shed his parka—and walked over. Polly knelt when Connie gestured again to come closer.

“Mrs. Berrigan? Have they found anything?” Connie loved married names.

“One sighting, south of town, last night,” said Polly.

“I meant,” said Connie, “about how it happened. Have they found her preserver?”

“I don’t know,” said Polly. “It seems like that would be as hard to find as her body.”

“She had it when we left them.” Connie had been in the raft that day. “If it was with her in the kayak, she would have worn it.”

“What do you mean?”