We are holed up in a basement near the park, waiting for day to end.
Youâre not exactly lemon fresh yourself , I inform her.
We need to wash our clothes too . She tugs at her shirt, stained with sweat and dust.
I agree. I feel so gross. Itâs taking me a while to work things out. We can go to the lake tonight and take a swim , I suggest at last. It is creepy to be out in the open like that, but I am pretty sure They donât like large bodies of water. Weâve gone to the lake to retrieve drinking water, but I donât want to run into any other survivors. Not yet anyway.
I donât know how to swim , Baby signs.
You donât have to swim. Weâll go to the beach. You can just stand in the water. It will be like a big tub .
Can we bring soap? Baby asks.
Sure. Why not?
But we drink that water . She shakes her head. I smile. If she knew the sign for duh , she would have made it.
Weâll bathe far from where we get water for drinking. Itâs a big lake, Baby .
Maybe âshe looks at me slylyâ you can teach me to swim .
No. It would be too much noise , I explain. Baby frowns and twirls her hair. Sheâs started pulling out strands lately. I tell her to stop, but she still tugs at it when she thinks Iâm not looking.
Leave your hair alone. Do you want to be bald?
She pouts. She looks at her book for a while, then signs, Iâm hungry .
Itâs not dark yet. You canât eat . Usually before daybreak I unwrap some food for us to eat, but I didnât have a chance to last night. We barely found the basement in time. It is the closest weâve ever cut it to being out at first light.
Baby pulls at her hair again. I donât know if it is from the stress or the boredom, but she needs something more than surviving the day. I need something more too. We are stuck.
The lake is beautiful at night, even a dark, cloudy night like tonight. Itâs strange to see the city skyline illuminated only by faint moonlight. Gone are the days of light pollution, and I wish I could remember the last time I saw the city at night from the lake, and who I was with. Fourth of July with my father? Out during the summer with Sabrina?
We avoid the harbor area, where boats, half sunk, jut dangerously from the water. They could not survive the first winter in the ice-covered lake. Later I may look for a lifeboat or a dingy, something to take Baby out farther into the water.
Itâs cold . The way Baby moves her hands is the sign language equivalent of shouting.
Itâs good . Iâve already dunked myself in the water and am trying to convince Baby to wade in deeper than her ankles. If you just come in a little more, youâll get used to it .
She folds her arms across her chest and moves a little farther into the water. Sheâs shivering. I hold out my hand to her. She was happy to strip down for relief from the sweltering, humid heat, but when faced with the cold expanse of water, she shied away.
Come on, donât be afraid .
Iâm not afraid . She inches forward, taking small, dramatic steps.
If you come out here Iâll wash your hair . I hold the bottle of shampoo up and shake it temptingly.
Oh, all right . She plunges into the water, splashing slightly. I eye the shore. We arenât being very loud, but Iâm still concerned. I donât know if They can swim.
Babyâs eyes are distractingly white, reflecting the moon. I canât help but think how eerie it is, as she makes her way toward me. She blinks and her eyes look normal again, a trick of the light.
I stand where I know her head will be above the water. Her teeth chatter slightly with the shock of the cold and she opens her mouth wide to stop the noise.
Youâll be warm once you get used to it , I tell her. I squirt the shampoo into my hand and massage it onto her head. We can do this every night in the summer, but maybe we will get used to a bath once a week during the cool months,
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