The little sister carried her bucket all the way back from the pond without complaining.
They caught three crabs under the dock with their hands and boiled them, and the flesh tasted like butter, and the water they boiled the crabs in they drank like soup, and afterward they felt full for a little while.
Then the rest of the food was gone. The bananas on the tree, Smokey Joe had said, were not ripe yet and would make them sick if they tried to eat them. The older sister had heard of people eating bugs and there were plenty of cockroaches everywhere, but the thought of the crunch under her teeth made her feel ill.
They ate cherry ChapStick. They opened an unlabeled can they found in the back of the cabinet, mandarin oranges. They ate strange red berries from the bushes, though the mother had always said never to do that.
I’m hungry, the little sister said.
Once upon a time, the big sister said, there was a boy and a girl whose family had no food at all. You could see their ribs. The mother had a boyfriend who didn’t like the kids. One day, the boyfriend told the mother that they had to get rid of the kids and that he was going to take them for a hike and leave them way out in the woods. The girl had heard the adults talking that night, and in the morning, she filled her pockets with cereal.
They weren’t starving if they had cereal, the little sister said.
The girl filled her pockets with blue pebbles from the fish tank. And when the boyfriend led them out into the woods she dropped the pebbles one by one by the side of the path so that when he vanished they could find their way back. The boy and the girl followed the stones home, and the mother was so happy to see them. But the boyfriend grew angry. The next day, he took them out again, but he’d sewn up their pockets so they couldn’t leave a trail. He left them, and they wandered and wandered and found a cave to hide in for the night. The next morning they smelled woodsmoke and followed it to find a little cabin out in the woods, made of cookies and candy. So they ran over and started taking bites out of the house because they hadn’t eaten in a long time. A lady came out. She was nice to them, and she kept giving them cake and mini pizzas.
And milk, the younger sister said. And apples.
There was a television. The lady didn’t even make them sit down to eat their food; they just lay there and watched cartoons and ate all day long. The boy and the girl got really fat. And when they were superfat, the lady tied them up and tried to shove them into the oven like turkeys. But the girl was smart. She said, Oh, let me give you one last kiss! And the lady leaned her head forward, and the girl took a bite out of her throat. Because she’d become a champion eater at the lady’s house, she ate the lady all the way down until there was nothing left, not even blood. And the boy and the girl stayed all winter eating the cookie house, and when spring came, they’d turned into adults. Then they went to find the boyfriend.
Why? the little sister said.
To eat him, the older sister said.
People eat people? the little sister said.
Sometimes you just have to, the big sister said.
No, the little sister said.
Fine. The lady was made of whipped cream, then, the older sister said. They never found the boyfriend. But they would have eaten him if they had.
* * *
—
The older sister’s head was gentle with clouds. The sand of the bay smelled like almonds to her. She was sitting alone by the charcoal grill, waiting for the water to boil. Her sister was inside, singing herself to sleep. She was happy, the older sister realized. Overhead was the thinning moon. Across the water came the squeak and rattle of some big birds with blood-red throats that were passing on their way to somewhere colder, somewhere larger, somewhere better than here.
* * *
—
There’s a man, the little sister said from the screen door.
There’s no man, the older sister said dreamily.
He’s in a boat. On the dock, the little sister said, and now the big sister could hear the purr of the motor. She stood up so fast that her head lost blood and she fell and then got to her knees and stood again.
Go, she whispered, and dragged her sister through the door, down the steps, into the woods.
They crouched in the ferns, and the ferns covered them. They were naked, and the ground beneath their bare feet could have been full of snakes, lizards, spiders.
The man’s boots pounded down the dock. He came into view. He was stocky, with jeans and a sweaty T-shirt, a thick gold chain around his neck. The older sister knew—something whispered silently to her—that he was, in fact, a bad man.
Be quiet, the whisper said. Get away.
He went into the girls’ cabin and there were crashing noises; he went into Melanie and Smokey Joe’s cabin and again there were crashing noises. When he came out, he kicked over the grill, and the older girl put her hand over her sister’s mouth to keep her from crying out. He turned around slowly, looking into the woods.
Come on out, he shouted. He had an accent. I know you’re here.
He waited and said, We got your mama with us. Don’t you want to see your mama? We’ll make you a big old feast, and you can sit in her lap and eat it all up. Bet you’re hungry.
The older sister struggled to keep the little one from standing. The man must have heard, because his head swiveled in their direction.
Run, the older girl said, and they ran through the woods, the palmettos lashing at their ankles and making them bleed. They found the path, they found the pond.
The older girl slid into the cave near the boat, then her little sister came in, and she held her tightly.
Soon they heard the man’s footsteps crashing and his breath wheezing in and out, hard. Girls, he said, I saw you. I know you’re around here.
His boots came into view, so close. He moved toward the boat and kicked it once, twice, then the girls saw the rotten wood break apart, and a hundred frightened bugs ran out.
Fine, he said. Ain’t going to chase you all day. Starve to death if you like.
The girls were silent, shaking, until they heard his footsteps fading. After too long, they heard the boat start up, then the motor thinned and he was gone. Still, they waited.
There was a rustling at their feet, and the little dog slunk out of the cave, where he must have been hiding all this time, inches away. The girls watched him gather the pink leash in his mouth and trot himself off.
* * *
—
Where’s the lady? the little sister said. She’s taking a long time.
What lady? the older sister said.
The one to save us, the little sister said. That Melanie’s sending.
The older sister had forgotten there was supposed to be a lady. The girls were deep in their nest. They’d taken all the pillows and sheets in the camp, and piled them in the middle of the living room of their cabin, where a breeze passed over their sweaty bodies on its way from the screen door out the window. It was late in the morning, but the girls’ bones didn’t want to get up. Lie still, the bones said. Their hearts made music in their ears.
The older sister could almost see the lady now, coming down the dock. She’d wear a blue dress with a skirt so huge they could hide beneath it; she’d have their mother’s yellow hair that was dark at the roots. She’d smile down at them. Girls, she’d whisper. Come home with me.
They hadn’t eaten in three days. Somewhere not too far away, the white dog had howled all night until his howls sounded like wind. The older sister had dreamed of the courtyard of their Fort Lauderdale apartment, of the fountain’s turquoise water and the red-dyed cedar mulch and the tree heavy with sweet oranges that almost peeled themselves in your fingers, the golden sun pouring down over everything, all of it shimmering but untouchable, as if behind glass.
* * *
—
Night came, day came, night came.