Ann felt so embarrassed and ashamed—that look, that was what she’d wanted to avoid all these years, and especially when she was younger. Sure, he’d forced himself on her, and he’d threatened her. She blamed him, she did. But Ann was proud. Too proud. She couldn’t stand to think she’d let her guard down, couldn’t forgive herself for getting into that situation, even if, on the deepest level, she knew it wasn’t her fault.

“It seemed exciting at the time. We flirted. I thought it was fun. Harmless. I was actually into it at first. Then he took me swimming one night. It was hot, and nobody else was there.”

“Wait, where? Where did he take you?”

Ann swallowed hard. “Duck Pond.”

Some of the best moments from their childhood had happened there. An old-fashioned slideshow of images flickered through her mind: the blueberries, handstands in the shallow end, tadpoles, her parents resting on beach blankets in a free spot on the narrow beach, the pine trees lining the path. “Things went too far. Not in a way I wanted them to.”

“Oh, I know what you mean,” Poppy said, and Ann wondered if maybe Poppy had stories of her own, stories Ann wasn’t around to hear. “That fucker.”

“He said I was asking for it,” Ann said.

“Sure he did. That’s what they all say.”

“I said no, I did. I said no.”

“I believe you, Annie. I need you to know that.” Poppy could have been twelve years old at that moment, so loyal and true to Ann the way she’d once been, her eyes big and focused like laser beams.

“He didn’t listen. I said no.” Ann’s whole body shook. Her hair swayed over her face. She felt like she was telling her story for the first time. “No, no, no! And then, wouldn’t you know, that first time, I end up getting pregnant. Just my luck. I couldn’t believe it.”

Poppy put her arm around Ann’s shoulders and drew her closer to her. “You don’t need to convince me. He was wrong to do what he did. He should have known better.”

Ann stood up, walked into the bathroom, and returned with a box of Kleenex. She offered Poppy a tissue and sat on the edge of the couch, wiping her eyes. “You know that house on Duck Pond, the only house on the far shore? The one we used to swim to? We’d make up stories about the people who lived there, and what we wanted them to be like?”

Poppy nodded.

“I used to think that house was so perfect and peaceful, almost like a dream. But when … when it was happening … I looked at it. I looked at it the whole time—you know, like when they tell you to stare at one spot in yoga?”

“A drishti.”