Fathom (4 page)

The girls sat and smoked while the sun sank behind them.

Nia was about to mention the time again when she saw something strange in the water. At first she dismissed it as a trick of the moonlight, but it seemed to come closer, so she nudged Bernice. “Who’s that?” she asked.

“Where?” Bernice strained and stretched her neck.

“There, did you see her? Someone was . . . swimming.”

Bernice frowned. “I don’t hear any splashing.”

“She’s gone now,” Nia said. “I didn’t hear the splashing either, but I swear, I saw someone. It was a woman with long hair.”

“You’re crazy.” Bernice pulled her feet out of the water and shook them dry. “There’s no one out there this time of night except those big damned fish. What are they called . . . dolphins.”

Nia lifted her own feet out and felt around for her shoes. “Dolphins aren’t fish,” she said.

Bernice was already walking away.

Nia glanced back at the water and saw the mystery woman again. This time, the woman didn’t duck away, but she stayed there, her naked torso rising up out of the water. She was much closer to the pier, only a few yards out in the bay, and Nia could see her more clearly. Her skin was dark, and her hair hung so long that it floated around in the water at her waist.

Somehow, Nia suspected that Bernice would not turn around even if she called out again—so she did not tell her cousin that the woman’s silvery, empty eyes followed them both until they were back in the trees.

At supper, Marjorie seated Nia between Bernice and Antonio, who scowled and spit at each other around her, or through her, if she leaned forward too far. Occasionally, Antonio made a vague stab at conversation; but Bernice would not let the smallest comment go unattacked.

“It’s not so hot tonight, is it? Not as bad as it has been,” Antonio tried.

Bernice laughed sharp and loud. “How would you know, you lazy bastard? You’ve been sitting inside all day on the porch.”

Antonio squeezed his fork and lifted it to his mouth, where he unlocked his jaw long enough to snatch a mouthful of fried plantains. Marjorie stared at her plate and fiddled with her food. Under the table, her thigh lurched.

“Honestly, Mother. If you want to say something, have out with it. There’s no need to get violent. Besides, that’s the table leg you kicked just now, and the last two times you hit Nia in the shins—only she’s too nice to say anything.”

“You could take a lesson from her.” Antonio swallowed his plantains and picked up another forkful.

Marjorie stumbled into the conversation. “Please don’t antagonize her, dear.”

“Yeah, Antonio. Don’t antagonize me.”

“Now
you
stop it, too,” Marjorie fussed.

“This is
my
house.” Antonio almost shouted. “I paid for it, and I’ll antagonize anyone inside it if I damn well please.”

“We’re not in
your
house yet.”

“Sweetheart, please don’t talk that way to your—”

“Shut up, Mother.”

“Don’t tell your mother to shut up!”

Bernice jumped to her feet and wadded her napkin. “Nia, let’s go.”

Nia froze, fork poised midair. “I’m sorry? What?”

Bernice snorted. “Didn’t you hear me? Or were you still daydreaming about your new friend, the mermaid?”

All was suddenly quiet.

“What? No. What mermaid?” Nia took another bite, and while she slowly chewed, she played with her fork. It made faint screeching noises as she pushed the tines around, following the pattern around the dish’s rim.

Bernice stood behind her own chair, hands planted on the seat back. No one spoke, and all eyes were on the visitor, so she quit scribbling on the china and tried to explain herself. “When we were outside, I thought I saw a woman swimming by the dock. But I probably didn’t. It was awful late—right before supper. What was it you wanted again, Bernice? Where did you want to go?”

“Outside. Mother, Nia and I are going for a walk.”

“We are?”

“We are.
Now
.” She pushed her plate away and dropped her napkin with a flounce and a flourish.

Marjorie smiled like she was too tired to muster more of a reaction. “Go ahead. But it’s dark out there, and there are hardly any people. I don’t want you getting lost. You could get bitten by a snake, or worse. Take one of Mr. Coyne’s lamps.”

“We won’t need it.” Bernice leaned over and whipped Nia’s napkin out of its place on her lap. She squashed the small cloth
and threw it onto the table. “There’s plenty of moon. Come
on
, Nia.”

Nia stood and gently shoved her chair under the table. “Well . . . Aunt Marjorie, Uncle Antonio. Thanks for supper. We’ll be back before long.”

Bernice grabbed Nia and pulled her out the door.

Once they reached the porch, Nia reclaimed her arm with a swift yank. “For future reference,” she grumbled, “don’t talk
for
me, and don’t tell me what
we
are going to do.”

“You’re full of shit,” Bernice complained. “If you really had a backbone, you’d have used it in there. You’re just as pathetic as they are.”

She turned on her heel and strutted down the stairs, trying to let the porch’s screen door clap Nia in the face. Nia caught it, and then caught Bernice by the sleeve of her jacket.

She glowered at Nia, arm flexing and curling. “Let go of me,” she commanded, squaring her feet and ripping her arm away. “This jacket cost more than you’d earn all summer flinging oranges into a bag.”

She tripped with the effort of escaping but recovered at the last second, just in time to skip lightly down the stairs and out into the yard, as if she’d meant to do it that way all along.

“You’re an idiot for wearing it out here, then,” Nia told her. “But I bet you didn’t bring anything better.”

“Better? I’ve got more expensive stuff than this by a mile.”

“No, not more expensive.
Better
. Clothes you can wear outside without worrying you’ll mess them up. Look around, would you? You’re in a forest, practically a jungle. Hardly anybody lives here, so who are you trying to impress?”

She glared, then changed her mind and flashed a gorgeous grin. “You’re right. And you’d know better than I would,
wouldn’t you? Maybe you can loan me something. I bet you’ve got
stacks
of clothes for wearing outside.”

“I don’t think we’re the same size,” Nia said. She didn’t think Bernice would be caught dead in cotton, anyway. “You’re a lot skinnier than me,” she added.

It wasn’t very true, but it had the right effect. Nia meant it as a little bit of an insult, and Bernice took it as a compliment.

“Aw, aren’t you a sweetie! Look,” she said, pulling out the cigarette case again. “Let’s just have a smoke, huh? Let’s be friends again; I like it better when we’re friends. I’m sorry for being such a pain.”

“I believe you. Really. And I don’t want to smoke again, right now. I’m too hot. Let’s just walk, okay? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Bernice shrugged. “Sure, we can walk. There’s nowhere to
go
, but I couldn’t stay in
there
. I can only put up with those guys for about an hour a day. I guess we could visit the new house again. The beach out at the edge of the lot is quiet—there aren’t any weirdos fishing or swimming . . . or anything else. And I think it’s low tide now, so we can look for sand dollars.”

“We should
definitely
get a lamp.”

“I told you, we don’t
need
one.”

Nia scrutinized Bernice’s sharp, hollow face.

Her cousin was right. The moon was high and full, and she could easily make out the trail to the house. It was a straight shot across the narrow part of the island, and she could find her way back by herself if she had to . . . in case Bernice pulled something funny, which looked like a distinct possibility to Nia. No one goes beachcombing in high heels.

She relented. “Just for a little bit. I’ve had a long couple of days, with all that traveling, and I want to get some rest.”

“Don’t worry.” Bernice pushed a long lock of moss out of her path. “This won’t take long.”

“What won’t take long?”

“You know. Our walk. I want some fresh air, or the closest thing to it. This whole island feels stuffy, like it’s some kind of place where they keep plants. Like one of those big glass buildings that smells wet inside.”

“A greenhouse?”

“Yes. It’s horrible.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Bernice kicked at something in the dirt and stomped sourly forward. “You only think so because you’re from around here. You’re used to it. To everyone else, this place is hell on earth.”

Nia kept her gaze locked on the back of Bernice’s head as it bounced in front of her. It was awkward to talk when they were walking single file, so they didn’t speak again until they passed beneath the thick, heavy willow that marked the entrance to her aunt and uncle’s new property.

“We’re back,” Bernice declared with a dramatic, silly stretch of the vowels that proved their grandmother right. The girl
had
gone native up there in the big city. “It’s just a few more yards to the beach, right over there. You can hear it, right? Go on over the dune, down to the water if you want. I’ll be there in a second. I think I left something in the courtyard. If I don’t see it right away, I’ll worry about it later. Go on. I’ll catch up in a minute.”

“I don’t know.”

“What are you, a scaredy cat? Afraid of the dark?”

“No,” Nia said. But she didn’t want Bernice out of her sight, because she didn’t trust her—even the slightest bit. She looked out at the dune and over at the dark house with its prettily laid-out courtyard behind it. “Don’t be like that. I’ll go. You promise you’ll catch up in a minute?”

“Sure.”

She could feel Bernice watching her as she walked toward the
dune. She took a few steps into the coarse strands of sea oats and let herself disappear over the sandy hump, then peered back over the barrier that separated the front yard from the beach.

And she slipped back into the yard.

Why They Call It That

T
he rush of the waves sliding onto shore masked the swishing of Nia’s feet through the grass, but she could still hear the quiet shatter of something wrapped in cloth muffling the sound of breaking glass. Already the shards of newly busted ceramic plates sparkled on the ground.

Arms folded, Nia leaned against the nearest wall and marveled at Bernice’s demented efficiency. “Exactly how stupid do you think I am?” she asked. “Jesus. I may be poor, but I’m not
dumb
.”

Bernice didn’t pause. She picked up another glass and wrapped it in the corner of the tablecloth, and with a satisfied swing, she slammed it against the wall. She reached for another one.

“Stop it!” Nia ordered. She wanted to physically accost Bernice,
but something about the girl’s determined, mechanical motion made her hesitate. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Smash
.

“Why? Why are you doing this?”

The vandal stopped, and faced her cousin. “Now
that
is a better question.”

“What?”

Bernice wrapped another plate in the cloth and wound the fabric around it. “You asked me a couple of really dumb questions; then you asked a good one.”

She paused, reflecting before giving her response. And then, in a sudden and weird shriek she shouted, “It’s because I hate them! And I hate this place, and I hate this house, and I hate this stupid party, and—” The plate fell loose from the tablecloth and Bernice’s twisting hands, and it dropped to the grass. Her words came in a fierce panting that made her sound like a wild animal. “I hate
him
, because, because . . .”

And then a light went on behind her eyes. She calmed down to an angry grumble. “I hate him for coming into my room after Mother’s asleep.”

Bernice stalked slowly toward Nia. She clung to her story and the corner of the tablecloth. Everything came sliding away behind her. The remaining glasses and plates, the silver candlesticks and flatware, the large glass punch bowl and the crystal cake pedestal all went clattering to the ground.