“Wouldn’t have been the first person to die of a heart attack in that place,” he jokes. He pauses for a minute, seems to see me, really see me, for the first time in the conversation. “Why’d you guys keep the baby?”

“Why’d we keep John?” I ask. His question rubs me the wrong way.

“You didn’t know it was John at the time.”

“We were married.” I can feel myself getting defensive.

“You were barely eighteen. Were you even eighteen yet?”

I try to shrug off the conversation. “That was forty years ago, Tom.”

“I don’t get it.”

I look over at you still sleeping in your cocoon and point to you. “That’s why. Right there. Pearl.”

Tom stares at you for a long time. A cloud covers the sun, and the breeze picks up, rattling the leaves. There is a yellow tint to the forest—has it been this way since we arrived, or did the leaves start changing color the previous night?

“Fair enough,” Tom says, taking a long sip from his mug. “Fair enough.”

This is where I’m torn, because even though I’m realizing Tom is not the same person I knew forty years ago (who would be?), even though this new quiet and subdued side of him makes me feel ill at ease, I still need a place for you to be when I’m gone. He seems kind. He seems like he could care for you. I reach up and gingerly feel the knot on my head.

“Tom,” I ask hesitantly, “would you consider talking to Pearl later today?”

He looks at me inquisitively. “Sure. Anything specific?”

“You know, all the things I’ve been telling you about. Her . . . imagination.”

“So, you mean, speak with her in my professional capacity as a therapist?”

I nod. “She thought the same woman dragged her down into the lake today.”

He frowns, licks his lips, takes a sip of coffee. When he swallows, his sharp Adam’s apple disappears. He clears his throat. “I’ll talk to her. But let her get some more rest first.” He leans his head back on his padded deck chair and closes his eyes. “I’ll talk to her.”

“I’ll carry her to her room,” I say. “She can rest there until lunchtime.”

“Take the boat out. If you’d like.”

“I’m not much of a sailor. Maybe I’ll give it a try.”

I pick you up. Your hot chocolate is still under the chair. You are almost too heavy for me, and I grunt with the effort.

“Paul?”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s not leave her alone anymore. Not until I have a chance to talk with her.”

I nod. “Yeah. I’ll take her in and let her rest on the sofa.”

Too Many Secrets

The day passes strangely. You are in and out of sleep on the couch in the living room. I get you soup for lunch, and you eat most of it. I sit on the floor beside the sofa, reading to you. I pace the room and the deck and the kitchen, looking for food but not really hungry.