The Different Girl by Gordon Dahlquist

once and every agreement forgotten.
    “What happened already did,” I said to her. “Robbert says that if we understand the first accident, it stops a second one. If we know what happened to the Mary then it will help you when you get your own boat later on.”
    “We want to help you, May,” said Eleanor.
    “And we need you to help us.” Irene’s voice was the same mix of sharp and sad, but louder because of the wind, almost a call. “Won’t you, please?”
    Irene held a hand out to May, and May came forward. Instead of taking May’s hand, Irene nodded to Isobel and Eleanor, because it was their turn to hold hands with May since Caroline and I had been with her on the walk. The three of them went first, with Irene falling in step between Caroline and me, taking Caroline’s hand, but resting her palm on my shoulder instead.
    “Are you all right, Veronika?”
    “Yes, Irene.”
    “How was your walk?”
    I began to describe where we’d gone and the distance between the waves, all to answer her original question about time. Irene brushed at the back of my smock, and I wondered if we hadn’t got rid of all the sand.
    “That’s very good,” she said, interrupting me and turning to Caroline. “And that was very good with the bird. It was just what you were supposed to do.”
    “Thank you, Irene.”
    Irene took my hand, too, then, and we were quiet the rest of the way. At the crest of the path we saw the kitchen windows with a light already on. At one point Caroline stumbled, kicking sand. Irene held tight, steadying her as if nothing had happened, and I looked to find Caroline staring at me. Then she nodded past me at a break in the dune grass, and started blinking. I almost turned to look in the same place but knew enough not to. No one stumbled the rest of the way.
    • • •
    After dinner we watched Robbert change the bandages on May’s feet and sat outside to see the stars. May fell asleep on the steps, leaning against the rail, and Robbert carried her to bed. He came back a few minutes later and stood listening to the rest of us sing about clouds.
     
Fluffy and puffy so high in the air,
We drift on the wind with nary a care.
Tall as a castle and white as the snow,
Where the wind takes us, that’s where we go.
 
    Robbert said he felt like walking to the beach, and that he would see us in the morning. We waved good night and then Irene stood with her teacup, and we all went to get ready for bed. When we were on our cots with our smocks off and folded, Irene turned out the light and leaned back against the counter. She pulled out her clip and shook her head so her hair came loose around her face.
    “You know that before sleep I sometimes tell you something—something to think about and wake up to. Tonight, I’m going to tell you all a story. It’s a real story, something that really happened, a long time ago, that I think you ought to know. Something you can think about.”
    “Is tonight different?” asked Eleanor.
    “Tonight is tonight,” replied Irene, “and not last night.”
    “And not tomorrow,” said Isobel. “But tomorrow we’ll be able to think of the story.”
    “That’s right. Lay back now.”
    Irene poured herself a cup of water from the filter. We all got settled. Irene finished her water and put the cup in the sink. I could hear the night outside. I could hear Irene breathe.
    “Once there was a girl—”
    I wanted to know how old the girl was and what color her hair and if she had a name, but once we lay down interruptions weren’t allowed.
    “—and she lived in the part of the world where people knew things. Now, everyone knows something, but in this part of the world some people knew more. Invisible things, secrets a person couldn’t see without learning, without school . Like your school. The people who went to those schools mixed together with the people who didn’t, the people who believed—well, who just believed. Sometimes that worked out but other times, and