“We should look for a topographical map when we get back to the garage,” he said. “I’m curious to see if this river connects in some way to the one near Coeurs Crossing. My guess is they share the same source, that water’s bound up in the ritual. I’d bet the last spiral turns out to be right by the major river—”
Rafe stopped himself, acknowledging little Colette as she skipped forward, twirling the wet end of her braid, her suit dripping onto his shoes.
“My sisters and cousins wonder if you might come back to join us for a meal,” she said. “My mother made a large dinner, and it is only fitting that you might . . .” Here she looked over her shoulder at the aforementioned sisters and cousins now emerging from the water, their heads making insistent nods as they wrapped themselves in towels. “That you might join us.”
Before Rafe could answer, both Matthew and I responded at once.
“Of course!” Despite the strong sense that I’d developed legitimate competition for my paramour’s affections, I was thrilled. My hunger trumped any brewing jealousy. Most exciting was the thought that I would finally participate in the sort of friendly gathering I’d only ever accessed from afar. Our quest had given me courage, and I saw myself a far cry from the frightened girl who’d hidden from the baby carriages in Matthew’s car back in Coeurs Crossing.
But with just as much vigor, Matthew declined the invitation. “Really, thank you kindly, but we must be on our way.” He widened his eyes at me, the gesture I’d begun to see as his attempt to keep me in line.
“Don’t be an idiot,” I told him. To Colette: “We’d love to join you. In fact, Rafe here is a scholar interested in the area. He studies under my father, a renowned anthropologist. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?” I commandeered our guide and started toward the crowd of her cousins and sisters. “In any case, I’m sure that Rafe is eager to interview you for their research. And, as it turns out, we have been looking for a place to stop for food.”
“Wonderful,” said Colette, her voice loud enough that the rest of the girls could hear and dissolve into simpering fools, clutching each other and giggling. The most composed of the group took a steadying breath, smiled, and offered me her hand in introduction. In the instant that I hesitated, Matthew intervened.
“Please excuse my own poor sister”—he placed himself in front of me and took the offered palm in both of his—“but she is unwell. Unfortunately”—and here he lowered his voice to a whisper, as if in my imagined affliction I had suddenly gone deaf—“the disease that has hold of her organs has progressed into her brain, so she often forgets her sad state of health. You can imagine the shock that it has given our poor mother.” Matthew had taken the girl’s goose-pimpled arm and was steering her away from me, over to Rafe, who looked on, amused. “If it’s not too much to ask of you, perhaps we could send Rafe to bring a small selection back. I’d hate to fully decline your invitation. At the moment we’re en route to find a doctor who might cure my poor sister, but to bring her to your family now would likely be unwise. We would not want to thank you for your kindness by infecting you with her . . . germs.”
Colette, looking alarmed, increased the distance between us, shielding herself with a large yellow towel. I was lost for words.
“I assure you that Rafe, here, is fully vaccinated.” Matthew offered him the girl on his arm. “And truly a most charming visitor. He’ll go with you, won’t you, Rafe?”
And thus, ever so simply, I’d been strong-armed by Matthew, who returned to my side, feigning concern for my health as Rafe was ushered off by the swarm of scantily clad girls.
“Now don’t you worry,” Rafe whispered as he passed me. “They’re none of them as interesting as you.” He winked before disappearing into his flock of admirers.
When they were gone, I pulled myself away from Matthew.
“Your sister?” I hissed at him. “Your poor, sick sister, of questionable mental skill?”
“I had to think quickly. I really think we managed pretty well, given the circumstances.”
“We? I’m hungry now. And I am perfectly capable of managing myself. Is this another attempt to keep me hidden? Keep me from causing harm?”
“You’re not the only one who can cause harm,” Matthew reasoned with frustrating composure, as always making me feel silly for my own impassioned response.
“But you apparently don’t trust me not to hurt them. You think I can’t control myself. You made that very clear from the beginning, but I’d think you could admit that I might do things on my own. I don’t need you here to help me. I don’t want you here. I’m not a child. I’m not your toy.”
“Maisie, I—”
“And,” I continued, voice rising, both in anger and in an attempt to rid myself of the memory of my recent fits of coughing and delusion, the fear that his words might be true, “to tell that girl that I’m the sick one? When just the other night you were frothing at the mouth? Of course you haven’t thanked me, of course it isn’t possible that I might have helped you. Because I’m just a—”
“Maisie.” Matthew took both of my shirtsleeves in his hands, holding me still amid my ranting. I tried to pull away, but he was stronger than expected. He looked directly into my eyes, his expression serious, perhaps even sad. It was sobering.
I could hear the water rushing with intensity beside us, like a river of children running barefoot. The wind had picked up, ruffling Matthew’s hair, pressing my own against my cheek. I smelled clover, and salt, and subtle hints of him, of rosemary.
Matthew’s face was very close to mine, his breath a breeze against me, his lips pillowed and pursed.
I did not know what to do. I hit him.
My elbow, encased in my shirtsleeve, jutted back and then jerked upward, making contact squarely with his jaw. His hands flew up to check the damage. His eyes grew wide with shock. I turned away from him, tripping over myself as I ran back toward the main road, and when I reached it, I kept running, back, I thought, to before our confrontation, before my vision, back to the garage, where I hoped Rafe would soon return.
I was afraid. And I was angry. Who was Matthew to belittle my feelings? To sweep me up in some attempt at (was it?) romance in his symptomatic need to have his way? I stopped finally, panting, at the edge of the moor, a stitch in my side, limbs jittery from exercise and hunger. The world stretched silently around me. For a moment I thought that I had gone the wrong direction, I would sicken, I would starve.
And then I spotted Matthew walking leisurely behind me, a speck on the horizon, his yellow hair distinct.
I let him join me, though I did not have the energy to continue our discussion. We walked the main road without speaking, and kept several feet between us. By the time we were in view of the garage, I could almost convince myself it all had been imagined, were it not for the dull pain in my elbow, the redness visible under Matthew’s chin. We met eyes before walking the final few feet, and I felt that we were tacitly agreeing to ignore what had happened.
WHEN WE RETURNED to the garage, the parts needed for Matthew’s car had, by some providence, arrived. Ginny was hidden under the carriage, and did not emerge to ask us about the success of our trip. I sat in one corner of the garage waiting area, thumbing through a magazine, picking at the blisters on my heels, while Matthew flopped down in another, staring at a wall. At one point he got up to microwave a frozen pizza, and silently offered me a slice. I let it sit on the coffee table, crust hardening, too stubborn to sate my growing hunger.
Rafe did not return until late in the evening. He rushed through the swinging doors with a paper bag of goodies in hand, leaping across the waiting room to reach me.
“Those girls saw Cothay just a week ago, passing through their town for research,” he said breathlessly. “We’re on the right track. They said he was headed to the city. Even left word where he’d be staying—the address of a hotel. Said he’d be there for two weeks at the least.”
“Did he?” Matthew frowned. “Why would he tell them that?”
“In case they thought of more to tell him. The spirals, anthropology, you know.”