Eleanor (56 page)

When the two women leap to the pier, Eleanor raises her head high into the sky and turns to her sister.
 

Let’s leave them
, she says.
 

Where should we go?

Eleanor looks around. The beach—
Splinter Beach
, she realizes, recognizing it easily—appears to be the only part of Anchor Bend that exists here. A smoky haze of fog, like a fist of clouds, holds the beach like a knife blade. Beyond the mass of clouds, though, the sea stretches forever in every direction.
 

To sea
, she says.
Come
.

Eleanor and Esmerelda turn their giant bodies, and head for the horizon. Each step reminds Eleanor of the inflatable swimming pool her father bought, the one that she and Esmerelda splashed in, pretending they were giants. The sea is a child’s pool at their feet, and together they march like monsters away from the beach.
 

What if they need us?
Esmerelda asks.

Eleanor says,
I think we’re done. I don’t think this is up to us anymore.

The planks of the pier are squishy and wet with age beneath the keeper’s feet. She stares at the thick beams, at the tiny pebbles that have fallen into the gaps between them. The wood is soft and porous and almost black.
 

The larger of the beasts lifts its head into the clouds, great splashes of water lapping over the pier, and the keeper squints up at the animal, watching. It sings out, its voice strong and low and musical, and the keeper is startled when the wounded beast sings back, its voice wavering. She watches as they appear to come to a decision, then depart from the beach.
 

Her heart aches as she watches them go.

“I’m glad you came with me,” the stranger says. “I thought you were going to leave me here.”

The keeper steps back from the woman, having almost forgotten she was there.
 

“I should have,” she says, but she lacks conviction. More confusing to her is the beach itself, the pier, that any of this is here at all. “Where are we?”

The woman says, “You know where we are.”

The keeper turns to look at her, and something twists inside her.
 

“Do I know you?” she asks. “Why are you here?”

The woman nods her head slowly. “You know me,” she says.
 

“What is your name?”
 

“You know my name, but you do not know me by that name,” the woman says.
 

The keeper turns away angrily and begins to walk up the pier, her feet smacking against the wet planks. “Don’t play games with me!” she snaps over her shoulder.

She walks a few feet, but does not hear the woman follow her. She turns around, and the woman is gone.
 

“I—” she starts, confused.
 

She turns in a circle, looking for her, and then she sees the stranger. The woman is on the beach. She is wearing a flannel housecoat, and as the keeper watches, the woman releases the sash and steps out of her clothing and walks naked toward the water.

The woman wades for a bit, then dives into the sea and begins to swim, slicing through the water with sure, powerful strokes. The keeper goes to the pier’s railing and grips it and watches as the stranger swims right past her, following the beasts into the open water. If she is trying to catch up with the creatures, she will certainly fail—their wake is violent, and huge swells lift the woman up and throw her backward, reversing her progress.
 

Something knocks against the wood of the pier.
 

The keeper leans over the rail and sees the bobbing thing she had spied from the sky.
 

A rowboat.

She draws the oars, pushes them forward, draws them back again. The huge waves throw the boat around, but she fights, and gains a little ground. The boat is as old as the pier, its bottom full of water, the oarlocks rotted and soft. When she pulls again on the oars, the locks crumble, and the oars fall out of her hands. The boat is caught up by the waves, and she watches as the stranger swims farther away, rapidly becoming a tiny speck between the enormous swells.
 

The keeper abandons the boat, and begins to swim after her, not knowing why.

“I hoped you would come,” the stranger says, surfacing in the trough of a wave, just beside the keeper.
 

The keeper starts in fear, and then a new wave slams down upon them, and they both go under. When she comes up, the stranger is there, smiling at her, shaking, laughing through the rain and the pounding surf.
 

The keeper says, “You’re a crazy person!”
 

The woman shrugs, her shoulders lifting above the water, and the two women fight another wave. When they come up again, the stranger says, “I want to give you your name now.”

The keeper spits salt water out of her mouth and shouts, “I don’t need a name!”
 

The sky turns black, and a blue dash of lightning illuminates the sea around them. The beach has disappeared entirely. The beasts are nowhere to be found. The women are alone in the sea, which rumbles hungrily, and bats them around like toys.
 

“Everyone needs a name,” the stranger shouts. “Don’t you want one, too?”

Another crashing wave, this one harder than the rest, and when the keeper surfaces, she is alone for a long, terrible minute. Then the woman appears again, coughing, and the keeper takes pity on her and shouts, “Fine! What is my name?”

The next wave comes down hard, and shoves them deep beneath the sea, but not before the keeper hears the woman’s faint voice shout over the storm.

Agnes.

I’ve made up my mind.

Oh? What about?

I’m going swimming with you today.
 

Is that so?

Yes, that’s so. I’m going swimming in the ocean with you.

Look outside, little girl. What about that?

Oh. It’s raining.

That’s right. What does that mean?

It means I’m not allowed.

That’s right.

I have an idea!

What’s your idea?

I’ll just swim under the water instead.

There you go. It’s all just water.

It’s all just water.

The memories would drown her if the sea wasn’t already trying.
 

The breakfast nook her father built for her mother.
 

Cinnamon toast on the bench beside her, while the rain beat on the windows.
 

Her mother and father leaving her with the neighbor, and going to the beach for her mother’s daily swim.
 

Her mother’s contented sigh when she came home again.
 

Memories give rise to other memories, ones that would blind her if the dark sea had not already stolen her sight.
 

The ringing telephone.
 

Her father’s frightened voice.
 

The crowd of people who gathered on the lawn to listen to the sheriff give them directions, her father a weakened wreck on the porch.
 

The sense that everything would turn out okay, that her mother had only gone out for groceries and stayed away too long.

The horrible certainty that her mother was gone.

The television news, the interview with the man in the baseball cap.
 

She just took everything off and walked right into the ocean and started swimming.

The lifeless house.

Her father’s guttural sobs every night, his red eyes and stunned, slowed movements.

The memorial service, people in black, standing on the beach.
 

Her mother, gone, forever gone.
 

Her mother.
 

Eleanor
.