He leads the boat into an even greater speed, and I’m afraid one of us will fly off the back, vanish beneath the wind and the waves. Above us, the stars are gone.

“Are you okay?” I ask, trying to protect you from the elements and failing badly. It is so, so cold. “Pearl,” I begin again, wanting to ask what in the world you were doing there, how you got there, why you keep leaving me. But I don’t say anything. I squeeze you tighter, and now that the cabin is out of view, you give in, crumple into my lap.

I can see the light of Tom’s house. He waits until the last moment to slow down, then rams the motor in reverse so that we lurch. He hops lightly up onto the dock, ties up the boat, and reaches down for you. I’m reluctant to hand you over, but I do—I can’t possibly get out of the boat while carrying you.

Tom carries you to the house, and I try to keep up. I can’t help glancing back over the lake, for what, I’m not sure. The fear I heard in your screams has settled into a deep place inside of me. I won’t forget that sound for a long time.

Inside, the house is quiet, although I can hear the distant roar of the rain, which has picked up. Thunder and lightning roll over the water.

Tom doesn’t stop in the living room—he keeps going all the way to your room, and I follow him through the twists and turns. Finally, we go through your door.

The small lamp on the table is turned on. Your map is there, held down by the same three books. The window is open and a strong breeze pulses through, along with the rain, which has puddled in a round, glassy shape on the floor.

Tom has somehow grabbed a towel with his free hand on the way through the hall. He hands it to me. “Spread it out. I’ll lay her down. You can help her change into dry clothes.”

I follow his instructions. He eases you down onto the towel. I can feel him standing over us as I dry you off. You’re so sleepy, almost like you’re drugged.

“Pearl,” I whisper. “Help me get your clothes changed.”

“I’ll give you a minute. You want some coffee? Tea?” Tom asks. His voice is laden with concern.

“Tea, please.”

“Pearl? Would you like anything?”

You shake your head, your eyes heavy.

Tom turns to go, looks over his shoulder at me, and there are things in his eyes I never would have expected to see: confusion, even uncertainty. Lightning flashes at the window, and he starts to say something, stops, and walks out into the dark hallway.

I finish drying you off, and then together we change you out of your wet clothes and into something comfortable and dry. Even though Tom closed the window, the room still smells like the outside—wet and fresh and full of autumn leaves. I tuck you into bed.