At the Water's Edge by Sara Gruen Page A

because I was excited. I couldn’t wait to tell Ellis about Anna’s relatives.
    Several hours later, I floated out of my nap to the buzz of conversation and laughter rising from the main floor. I was surprised by the number of voices, since I knew we were the only staying guests, and decided the inn must also be a pub. I lit the candle, which Anna had replaced, and looked at my watch. It was evening, and I was hungry again. I hadn’t had a proper meal since I left the States.
    You’re thin as a rail
, Ellis had said.
    I’ve seen bigger kneecaps on a sparrow
, Anna had said.
    I let my hands explore my belly—the hipbones that protruded sharply, the concave area between, the rib cage that loomed above.
    Oh, Madeline. We really have to do something
, my mother had said.
    I was twelve and at first had no idea what she was talking about. I’d stepped out from behind the striped canvas of the changing tent on the beach at Bar Harbor and was breathless at the deep blue of the sky and even deeper blue of the ocean, at the laughter and shrieking of the children who played at the edges of the lapping surf, atthe seagulls swooping and diving. I turned, alarmed at her tone. She shook her head sadly, but her eyes were hard. She pressed her lips into a thin line as she surveyed the parts of me that made me most self-conscious. They were the parts that were filling out but were not yet curvy. I was merely pudgy. I’d never felt a deeper shame in my life.
    She’d have approved now, I thought, stretching my legs out. With my ankles and knees touching, my thighs never met. And then I thought, No, she wouldn’t. No matter what I did or who I became, she would never have approved.
    â€”
    Hank’s and Ellis’s rooms were empty, so I headed downstairs. I assumed they’d returned, discovered I was asleep, and gone down for drinks. I was eager to tell them what I’d learned, sure they’d be pleased with me. Perhaps with the right type of persuasion, even Cousin Donald would tell his story.
    As I stepped out of the shadow at the bottom of the stairwell, everyone fell silent. Hank and Ellis were nowhere to be seen, and other than Meg, I was the only woman in the room.
    There were a dozen or so burly young men wearing khaki uniforms sitting at the tables, and about six older men in civilian clothes perched on stools at the bar. Every one of them was looking at me.
    I girded myself, feeling the men’s eyes upon me, and hoping they wouldn’t think I was drunk as I made my way to the couch. Conall stared from his place by the hearth. He didn’t raise his head, but his eyes darted and his whiskered brows twitched as I approached. At the end, when I sank onto the couch, I realized I’d only been slightly offbalance. I further realized that I had taken the stairs without incident, and then, with some alarm, that what I had thought was ersatz tea was almost certainly medicinal. While I wasn’t happy about being dosed without my consent, I couldn’t deny it had helped.
    Meg was behind the bar, her hair carefully arranged in a cascade of red curls. I remembered the bits of rag tied in her hair the nightbefore, and wondered if I could figure out how to do that. My own hair, still damp from my bath, was back under a turban.
    Her periwinkle dress hugged her figure, and her lips and fingernails were scarlet. It was hard to believe she worked at a sawmill. She looked like a redheaded Hedy Lamarr. If she was at all open to Hank’s advances, she didn’t stand a chance. Hank would never be serious about a barmaid. He was so slippery he could barely bring himself to be serious about Violet. I had to find a moment to warn Hank off, and wished I’d said something that very first night.
    â€œCan I get you something, Mrs. Pennypacker?” she called over. “A half pint? Or perhaps a sherry?”
    â€œNothing right now, thank you,” I said, and at the sound of my