time we came up here the cave was almost out of the water but I still couldn’t climb in. Now I bet I can. Want to?”
“We should go inside, Merell.”
Merell knew that she would be a grown-up someday, but she understood it the same way she understood that a man had once stood
on the moon. It was both true and impossible at the same time. To be a grown-up she would have to get bigger and learn things
and that would be good, but she would also have to give things up. She never wanted to become a person who was afraid to explore.
To the southwest, needles of lightning threaded the storm clouds and the growl of thunder reverberated off the mountain peaks.
Nor did she want to grow up if it meant being worried about getting wet in the rain. Daddy called mountain rainstorms
gully washers
, and Merell knew they could come on fast. Even so, she wanted to stay where she was in the whip of the wind, lightning dancing
about her, daring her to be afraid. The air was electric with possibilities. At any second something thrilling might happen.
She couldn’t see the kayakers anymore, but near the far shore a sailboat struggled to reach land. There might be children
aboard. They’d be scared and Merell knew what it was to be frightened. Not the fun kind of scared like storms and caves; the
deep-down scared that made her feel like her legs wouldn’t hold her up anymore.
It was good she hadn’t told her secret. Bad things would happen if she did.
* * *
By nightfall the lake was socked in under a low ceiling of blue-black clouds, and a cold wind ripped at the trees and rattled
the shingles and shutters. Aldo brought in candles and hurricane lamps and laid wood in the two fireplaces in the great room
and the one in the big bedroom upstairs. Johnny still wasn’t home when the downpour began.
At dinner Simone picked at the plate of lasagna and salad Franny set before her. Afterward, the twins begged her to play Monopoly
and dragged her to a chair. Each time the play came around to her she seemed surprised and stared at the dice as if she didn’t
know what to do with them.
Roxanne guessed she’d taken a pill of some kind.
Simone went upstairs and an hour later Johnny came through the door dripping rain and tracking mud. The twins squealed when
they heard him in the mudroom. He had brought with him a gallon of rocky road ice cream and served the Monopoly athletes huge,
bone-chillingportions, their third or fourth of the day but Simone had declared it an ice cream weekend and so it was. Johnny entertained
with details of the horseback ride he’d taken to somewhere called Goose Lake, about the ducklings he’d seen and the bear scat
and getting caught in the rain and how the lightning was so close it singed his eyeballs.
Johnny’s love for his daughters was like an adjustment to the thermostat they all felt and responded to. He sat at the table
with Baby Olivia squirming in his arms and his three older girls arranged around him, each starry-eyed with adoration. He
smiled and teased, and when Olivia began to cry, instead of handing her off to Franny he hoisted her onto his shoulders and
told the girls to form a line behind him. They played follow the leader around the downstairs: kick to the right, kick to
the left, jump, tag the sideboard, and turn around. With squeals and laughter and shenanigans they traipsed from room to room,
Franny and Roxanne bringing up the rear, Olivia wailing.
Late that night, like a well-loved child tucked up in a warm bed under the eaves, safe from the elements and content to drift
in a half sleep, Roxanne wished Ty were there with her and then remembered they weren’t getting along and for a while she
worried that she should have stayed in San Diego that weekend, in case he needed her. Her thoughts wandered while the rain
drowned out other sounds in the house. She thought about the scene in the great room and about her stepfather,
“We should go inside, Merell.”
Merell knew that she would be a grown-up someday, but she understood it the same way she understood that a man had once stood
on the moon. It was both true and impossible at the same time. To be a grown-up she would have to get bigger and learn things
and that would be good, but she would also have to give things up. She never wanted to become a person who was afraid to explore.
To the southwest, needles of lightning threaded the storm clouds and the growl of thunder reverberated off the mountain peaks.
Nor did she want to grow up if it meant being worried about getting wet in the rain. Daddy called mountain rainstorms
gully washers
, and Merell knew they could come on fast. Even so, she wanted to stay where she was in the whip of the wind, lightning dancing
about her, daring her to be afraid. The air was electric with possibilities. At any second something thrilling might happen.
She couldn’t see the kayakers anymore, but near the far shore a sailboat struggled to reach land. There might be children
aboard. They’d be scared and Merell knew what it was to be frightened. Not the fun kind of scared like storms and caves; the
deep-down scared that made her feel like her legs wouldn’t hold her up anymore.
It was good she hadn’t told her secret. Bad things would happen if she did.
* * *
By nightfall the lake was socked in under a low ceiling of blue-black clouds, and a cold wind ripped at the trees and rattled
the shingles and shutters. Aldo brought in candles and hurricane lamps and laid wood in the two fireplaces in the great room
and the one in the big bedroom upstairs. Johnny still wasn’t home when the downpour began.
At dinner Simone picked at the plate of lasagna and salad Franny set before her. Afterward, the twins begged her to play Monopoly
and dragged her to a chair. Each time the play came around to her she seemed surprised and stared at the dice as if she didn’t
know what to do with them.
Roxanne guessed she’d taken a pill of some kind.
Simone went upstairs and an hour later Johnny came through the door dripping rain and tracking mud. The twins squealed when
they heard him in the mudroom. He had brought with him a gallon of rocky road ice cream and served the Monopoly athletes huge,
bone-chillingportions, their third or fourth of the day but Simone had declared it an ice cream weekend and so it was. Johnny entertained
with details of the horseback ride he’d taken to somewhere called Goose Lake, about the ducklings he’d seen and the bear scat
and getting caught in the rain and how the lightning was so close it singed his eyeballs.
Johnny’s love for his daughters was like an adjustment to the thermostat they all felt and responded to. He sat at the table
with Baby Olivia squirming in his arms and his three older girls arranged around him, each starry-eyed with adoration. He
smiled and teased, and when Olivia began to cry, instead of handing her off to Franny he hoisted her onto his shoulders and
told the girls to form a line behind him. They played follow the leader around the downstairs: kick to the right, kick to
the left, jump, tag the sideboard, and turn around. With squeals and laughter and shenanigans they traipsed from room to room,
Franny and Roxanne bringing up the rear, Olivia wailing.
Late that night, like a well-loved child tucked up in a warm bed under the eaves, safe from the elements and content to drift
in a half sleep, Roxanne wished Ty were there with her and then remembered they weren’t getting along and for a while she
worried that she should have stayed in San Diego that weekend, in case he needed her. Her thoughts wandered while the rain
drowned out other sounds in the house. She thought about the scene in the great room and about her stepfather,
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