She nods, although he can’t see it in the dark, and stands there. If he doesn’t move, she may have to creep back into bed and pretend she didn’t hear anything, that she’s not even alive. But then he melts backwards, saying, “You know you could stay, if you wanted to…” In response, she simply gathers the ends of the quilt off the floor and runs so fast she almost falls over.
The rain hits her like a shovel. Standing still, Caitlin feels sheets of water pound her head and melt into her bones. The quilt immediately becomes sodden, weighing heavily on her shoulders. She takes one step, and her foot sinks into the newly formed muck. Memory kicks in, or some primal urge, and soon she is racing into the darkness with no idea of where she is going.
“Oof.” Caitlin hits something soft and falls over. A body, small and wet like hers. A hand probes her face, feeling around her cheeks.
“Who’s this?” a girl’s voice says.
“Caitlin Jacob. Who’s this?”
“Alice. Alice Joseph.”
They pause for a moment, as if saying grace before a feast, and then simultaneously whoop and take off running, hand in hand. The quilt falls off one of Caitlin’s shoulders and bounces along the ground, equally gleeful. Caitlin and Alice bump into the sides of buildings, into trees and fences, and finally collapse on the ground, laughing. Caitlin lifts her face to the sky and feels the water beat soft the fearful expression she knows she always bears.
“It feels like the end of the world!” says Alice, following Caitlin’s lead and staring up into the source of all the water and joy.
“Maybe it is,” says Caitlin. “Does the island attach to anything at the bottom, or does it just float?”
“I think it floats,” Alice replies, and then laughs because her mouth is filling up with water.
“Let’s run some more!” cries Caitlin, and they scramble up and run through what feels like an orchard, falling more times than she can count. She knows that she will be a black-and-blue mess tomorrow, but the mud will cover it. The quilt wraps around trunks and rocks, like it can’t go any farther and is begging for rest, but Caitlin yanks it along to the sound of ripping wet cloth. Eventually Alice runs smack into a building and says, “I think it’s a barn!”
“How do you know?”
“Smell it!” Caitlin sniffs but all she can smell is rain. “Should we go in?”
Caitlin wavers between visions of a warm hay bed and the thrill of running farther. Before she can say anything, they hear whoops in the other direction and dart toward them.
They play at finding one another, exchanging wild calls with the other group and running toward the sounds, figuring out when they’ve gone too far and running back. Eventually Caitlin bangs into someone and they go down in a tangle of arms and legs.
“Got you!” crows a voice she recognizes as that of Richard Abraham.
“No, I got you!” she corrects him, and starts trying to pin him down in the dark. He squirms and wriggles out of her grasp like a panicked fish, and his “Chase me!” drifts back to where Caitlin is lying. She rolls and slips and runs in his direction while he calls “Chase me! Chase me!” Finally she lunges and he falls down in front of her with a loud, wet smack.
“Not fair!” Richard cries happily, and tries to yank her quilt away. Caitlin yanks back, and they play tug-of-war in the rain until Caitlin wins, sliding backwards and falling on her rump. Richard slips by her, his cold wet flesh sliding on hers and disappearing.
“Mine!” she roars happily. She takes off running nowhere in particular, flailing her arms wildly in the dark and laughing louder than she would dare scream at home. It’s summer, and the quilt is hers, the lavish rain is hers, the brimming joyous night is hers. And there are many more days and nights to come.
Chapter Nine
Janey
Janey feels slowly breathing flesh curled inside the curve of her sleeping body. She is draped around her sister, Mary, like a blanket of bones and skin. Opening her eyes, she sees a grassy sea, drenched and aromatic, splotched with dark puddles. Blinking, she glances down at Mary’s body. Her nightgown is half torn away like she was mauled by a monster, her legs painted garishly in mud and bruises and grass stains. Stretching her hands toward the sunrise, Janey sees they are scratched brown and laced with blood. She is naked already, her graceful, freckled legs and arms caked with dirt and coagulating scabs. Closing her eyes again, she yawns and shifts her body like a satisfied dog settling in for a nap. Janey looks peaceful when she sleeps. When her eyelids veil her restless eyeballs, she looks like what she is: a too-thin seventeen-year-old, stunted and overgrown at the same time, with flaming orange hair. When her eyes open, she turns into something else completely. Her eyes kindle with fire, one that is warm and inviting but is just waiting to shoot lines of flame across the wooden floor and burn your house down.
“Good morning, sleepy.” She hears a whisper and opens her eyes to see Mary’s lovely green ones beaming into hers. Smiling, she settles her head against her hands and gazes at Mary’s face. Mary is thirteen, still a child, but not for long. Her cheekbones and full mouth hint at womanhood, and her body is soft and slender, but rounding. Janey tries to keep her from eating, to yank her back from falling into the abyss of adulthood, but Mary can’t cope with hunger like Janey can. Janey absorbs hunger into herself, riding the wave of white-hot pleading in her body until it fades to a glow that warms her blood. Mary gets hungry and eats apples behind Janey’s back.
Janey’s not sure how long she can go without coming to fruition, but she hopes it’s forever. She can’t imagine herself with a husband, cooking dinner, looking up into a man’s face, or lying with her legs spread apart, screaming a new life into the world. Just thinking about it makes the world darken a few shades. Never. Death first. She glances at Mary, who has fallen asleep again, breathing deep sighs, her eyeballs roaming under their lids.
She turns her gaze to the sodden yellow field, where countless small feet have made holes and puddles. There is always a strange peace the morning after the first rain, when all the children are asleep and the island is swimming in rainwater. Morning fog hangs creamy and thick, a cool quilt pulled over the treetops. Occasional butterflies float by in lapis and gold and orange, clapping their wings together briefly and sailing on unseen currents of wind. Birds cheep tentatively, like they’re asking a question, unsure if they’ll be answered by another downpour.
Janey and Mary will find some of the other children later, band up and figure out who their friends will be this time, but the first night of summer they always spend by themselves. Janey likes to run until they reach the shore, then plunge into the water and splash around. “I’m leaving!” she’ll cry. “I’m swimming away!” Mary only goes in up to her waist, even though the water is pleasantly cool and seems to suck at her slightly, drawing her in. Everyone knows that there are monsters lurking under the deeper water, hungry for girlflesh.