“But I’m cold. Can you throw my shirt back? I—Okay. Okay. Okay, I’m going.”
The splashing became even then, in strokes, as London made her way into the deep. She went so far, I couldn’t hear her. Not at all. She was out there for way too long without any sound and I was starting to get worried, so I peeked back over the rock again and there was a moment—long and drawn out, as my sister stretched on shore, arching her back and reaching her arms, as if this could take a while and she was getting comfortable—where I couldn’t see London in the water at all. Where I thought she’d vanished, got herself sucked down to the deep crater of the bottom and wouldn’t emerge again in this lifetime.
I was about to stand up, to call out, when I caught a pale flash in the water and realized it was London’s bleached head.
She came swimming out, dripping and shivering once she reached the shore, looking paler and skinnier than ever before, and my sister quickly threw her clothes at her to cover up.
They left soon after, following a different trail lacing through the trees. Two red lights—the brake lights on Ruby’s white Buick—pulsed and then snapped off as the car pulled away.
I wasn’t sure what I’d seen. Had London just gone down to pay a visit to Olive while my sister sat there watching?
The phone in my pocket buzzed then, as if her eyes hung like stars in the night to record my every move through her town.
Her text said: wrk sucks. home soon. hope u want ice pops! bringing some for dinner
My fingers went to the keys of my phone to text her back. But what could I say—i saw u. i know ur not at work? Lie and make pretend and just go, ice pops for dinner yum?
I slipped the phone back in my pocket without a reply.
I crept out from behind the rock, fully intending to head back up to the house and wait for her to return home from “work,” thinking how I’d love an ice pop, hoping she brought back cherry, when there was a splash at my back. I turned to find the water settling, as if someone had shot up and plunged down before I could catch them.
I stepped closer to the water, until I was too close, until I was right there, the soles of my sandals up against its mouth. It was breathing.
Ruby had been clear when she said she didn’t want me swimming; I wasn’t going to defy her and dive in. I sure wasn’t going to come back up to the house all wet and have to explain how that happened, in case she got home before I could dry off.
All I did was slip one foot out of my sandal and dip in a single toe.
I let it touch the surface. I let it hold there, and I didn’t take it away.
The water was cold, as I’d heard London say, colder than you’d expect on a hot summer night. I let my foot dangle, the chill creeping up the length of me. Then, quick, I pulled my toe back and slipped on my sandal and stepped off the rocks.
Nothing happened tonight. Nothing I needed to tell Ruby about. Nothing with Owen. Nothing having to do with the reservoir. Nothing.
I was waiting to cross the road, letting a truck pass, when I heard the sound coasting through the trees. A low, creeping whistle choking and hissing and coughing out from the darkness.
I turned around to face the trees, and it decided to take that moment to stop.
But when I crossed the road, it started up again—growing fainter, the more distance I put between me and the reservoir, but still wanting to be heard. It reminded me of the shrieking hiss my sister had made when she was trying to imitate the old steam whistle. It sounded almost like that.
If it was a trick of my ears, it lasted all the way back up the hill, down the long length of porch the guys had been hammering at all day, and into the house, ever so faintly there even when I closed the door behind it, the sound seeping in through the window screens along with the chirps of the crickets.