speaking a language other than English, although I could not have begun to guess which one. Her yellow eyes gleamed with amusement, and all at once I felt shabby and young.
Flustered, I looked back down at my fries. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “Hi.” Without being asked, Kate got a bottle of whisky off one of the shelves behind the bar and poured a drink, set it in front of the girl.
“You want a beer?” she asked me.
“I’m not twenty-one.”
“So I gathered,” Kate said.
“I don’t—no, thank you.”
Kate shrugged. “Up to you, city mouse.” Maddy tilted her head back and finished her drink in one swallow, thumped the empty glass down on the bar, and pointed at it. Kate refilled it, and she drank that, too. Kate refilled her glass for a third time; Maddy pulled a cigarette out of her pack (Lucky Strikes, Aunt Beast’s brand), lit it, blew a long satisfied plume of smoke at the ceiling, and sipped her third whisky daintily. I was staring again and so I looked at Kate instead, who was watching me with an expression I could not read.
The door swung open again, admitting a pretty girl with black hair cut to her chin, big eyes, and what Aunt Beast would have called enviable assets. She trotted past me without so much a glance in my or Maddy’s direction and slid behind the bar. “Cristina,” Kate said, “can you hold down the fort for half an hour or so? I need to give this girl”—she tilted her head at me—“a ride. And you ”—this to Maddy—“behave yourself.” Maddy, in the midst of lighting another cigarette, looked up, yellow eyes narrowed. Behind Kate’s back, Cristina rolled her eyes, and a grin flickered across Maddy’s face. I got my bag as Kate came around the bar, half-turning as I followed her out the door.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, but if Maddy heard me, she didn’t acknowledge it. Cristina was already getting down the bottle of whisky as Maddy held out her glass.
Kate drove us in silence, back past the fort she’d showed me earlier, the blue lagoon, the fields of poppies. We turned, and turned again, and I soon lost track of what direction we were headed in.
“That girl,” I said. “Maddy. Who was that?”
“Trouble,” Kate said curtly. I flushed. “I’ve known her for a long time,” Kate added, her voice softer. “I try to look out for her, not that I do much good.”
“She’s from here?”
“No.”
“Are you?”
“No.” I opened my mouth to ask another question, but I could not think of what I had meant to say. There was a faint buzzing in my ear, like a distant beehive, and I knocked the side of my head gently with one fist. We turned again, onto a long gravel road, rattling around in the truck so that I would have slid into her if I hadn’t been wearing a seat belt, and then we stopped. We had arrived at a wide green clearing, ringed with trees; at the far edge stood a modern one-story white house with plenty of big windows and a garden off to one side. Behind all of this was a stretch of twilit sky where the stars were already coming to life. Kate turned off the truck, and I got out.
I had come all this way and now did not know what to do with myself; was struck with the intense and sudden conviction that I had reached the apotheosis of the worst idea of my life. I walked out to the sharp green line at the edge of Jack’s yard, where the grass yielded to sky, with some thought of collecting myself, but then I looked down and took a step back, reeling. Jack’s yard ended in a cliff, its muddy brown face a sheer drop down to the rocky line of the beach so far below me that the breakers crashing on the shore looked as though they had been rendered in miniature. “Careful,” Kate yelled from the truck. I took another step back and turned; she’d gotten my bag out of the truck and was walking toward me. “Don’t fall off, city mouse. Nothing left of you by the time you get to the bottom.”
“There’s no railing, ” I said, and she
Flustered, I looked back down at my fries. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “Hi.” Without being asked, Kate got a bottle of whisky off one of the shelves behind the bar and poured a drink, set it in front of the girl.
“You want a beer?” she asked me.
“I’m not twenty-one.”
“So I gathered,” Kate said.
“I don’t—no, thank you.”
Kate shrugged. “Up to you, city mouse.” Maddy tilted her head back and finished her drink in one swallow, thumped the empty glass down on the bar, and pointed at it. Kate refilled it, and she drank that, too. Kate refilled her glass for a third time; Maddy pulled a cigarette out of her pack (Lucky Strikes, Aunt Beast’s brand), lit it, blew a long satisfied plume of smoke at the ceiling, and sipped her third whisky daintily. I was staring again and so I looked at Kate instead, who was watching me with an expression I could not read.
The door swung open again, admitting a pretty girl with black hair cut to her chin, big eyes, and what Aunt Beast would have called enviable assets. She trotted past me without so much a glance in my or Maddy’s direction and slid behind the bar. “Cristina,” Kate said, “can you hold down the fort for half an hour or so? I need to give this girl”—she tilted her head at me—“a ride. And you ”—this to Maddy—“behave yourself.” Maddy, in the midst of lighting another cigarette, looked up, yellow eyes narrowed. Behind Kate’s back, Cristina rolled her eyes, and a grin flickered across Maddy’s face. I got my bag as Kate came around the bar, half-turning as I followed her out the door.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, but if Maddy heard me, she didn’t acknowledge it. Cristina was already getting down the bottle of whisky as Maddy held out her glass.
Kate drove us in silence, back past the fort she’d showed me earlier, the blue lagoon, the fields of poppies. We turned, and turned again, and I soon lost track of what direction we were headed in.
“That girl,” I said. “Maddy. Who was that?”
“Trouble,” Kate said curtly. I flushed. “I’ve known her for a long time,” Kate added, her voice softer. “I try to look out for her, not that I do much good.”
“She’s from here?”
“No.”
“Are you?”
“No.” I opened my mouth to ask another question, but I could not think of what I had meant to say. There was a faint buzzing in my ear, like a distant beehive, and I knocked the side of my head gently with one fist. We turned again, onto a long gravel road, rattling around in the truck so that I would have slid into her if I hadn’t been wearing a seat belt, and then we stopped. We had arrived at a wide green clearing, ringed with trees; at the far edge stood a modern one-story white house with plenty of big windows and a garden off to one side. Behind all of this was a stretch of twilit sky where the stars were already coming to life. Kate turned off the truck, and I got out.
I had come all this way and now did not know what to do with myself; was struck with the intense and sudden conviction that I had reached the apotheosis of the worst idea of my life. I walked out to the sharp green line at the edge of Jack’s yard, where the grass yielded to sky, with some thought of collecting myself, but then I looked down and took a step back, reeling. Jack’s yard ended in a cliff, its muddy brown face a sheer drop down to the rocky line of the beach so far below me that the breakers crashing on the shore looked as though they had been rendered in miniature. “Careful,” Kate yelled from the truck. I took another step back and turned; she’d gotten my bag out of the truck and was walking toward me. “Don’t fall off, city mouse. Nothing left of you by the time you get to the bottom.”
“There’s no railing, ” I said, and she
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