Mary rolled her head toward Hannah and found her eyes. “A god,” she said. “Something all-powerful.” Mary shifted, brought her hands beneath her cheek.
Stefan and Mary waited until Hannah was asleep in the berth, wrapped inside a thin towel in the cool evening air, before they laid a blanket below them and had sex under the stars, their bodies moving and churning like the sea, their breaths like waves. And when they were finished, Stefan’s fingers ran through strands of Mary’s hair as they talked about a past and future that didn’t exist. Mary would start taking classes at the state university in the fall. She’d study art. They’d spend Christmas in Paris. Mary loved it there. She had been once.
And when Stefan drifted into easy sleep, his back against the hard boat, his head resting on a foam cushion, Mary stood up, her body bare under the moon. She walked to the railing of the boat and rested her forearms against it, staring at the dead-calm water, at the boats that swayed silently in the night. And she thought about what lay before her and what lay behind. She thought about the road and the ruin. Then she walked back over to Stefan and pulled on his shorts, rolling them over and over again at the waist until they held, feeling the weight of his wallet against her hip. And she pulled on his T-shirt, breathing in his scent as it passed her nose. Then, with silent steps, she descended the stairs below deck. For a moment, all she did was look at her sister.
“Bunny,” she finally whispered, squeezing her sister’s toes. “Bunny.”
And Hannah sat up, one eye open, one eye still stuck with sleep. “What?” came Hannah’s quiet, disoriented voice.
Mary let out a low shush. “Shhhh . . . We have to be so quiet, Bunny.”
“What is it?”
“We have to go,” said Mary, her voice as low and smooth as a horizon.
“Why?”
Mary extended her arm to Hannah. “It’s time.”
Hannah blinked and let her gaze fall to the sheet. Then she looked back to Mary. “Is Stefan going to come?” she asked.
The sisters’ gazes hung together like garland. “Not yet,” Mary finally answered. “But he’ll meet us soon.” She then extended her hand out to Hannah. “Come on.”
The girls walked silently from the boat, the rock of the boat hiding their footsteps, the night a cloak of cover. Neither spoke a word as they went, but Hannah slowed as she passed Stefan and looked down on him as if she were passing a casket.
Mary took the step from boat to dock first, then she turned to reach across for Hannah. “You’re such a good girl,” said Mary, as she helped her down. “Such a good girl.” Then Mary bent down so that her eyes met Hannah’s. “Go to the truck,” she said, with a smile, her black hair blending into the dark, the moon behind her head like a crown. Then she held out the keys and dropped them into Hannah’s hand. “Start it up. I’ll meet you there.”
Mary watched as Hannah headed for the Blazer, her small tired feet shuffling along the dock. Then Mary turned back to the boat and, with a swift, elegant pull, was back on board. From the pocket of the shorts she was wearing, she pulled Stefan’s wallet, removed eighty dollars in cash, then dropped it on the deck beside his feet. Then she dropped to her knees and, with careful, graceful movements, crawled over his body.
When her mouth was above his, she breathed his name. Stefan. His eyes opened and she smiled.
“Hey, baby,” he said, bringing his hand to her back, letting it rub up and down the thin T-shirt that he didn’t realize was his.
“I need you to do something for me.” she said.
He looked at her. “Hmmm?” he asked, his mind still thick with sleep.
“There’s a letter in the bottom of your bag,” she said. “You have to read it.” Mary watched as consciousness started to fill Stefan’s eyes. “And no matter what else you hear about me, know that what it says is true.” She took his hand, then released it just as quickly. “I’ll call you soon. I promise.”
Stefan started to sit up, but Mary’s movements were too quick, too stealthy. By the time he stood, she was off the boat. By the time he was off the boat, she was in the Blazer. She heard her name echo through the dark. Mary!
She flipped on the headlights, and Stefan’s form became flooded in light. Her eyes met his through the vast night between them for just a moment before she jerked the truck into reverse, the tires spitting rocks in their haste. And as she pulled quickly away from the marina, looking only once in the rearview mirror, she said to Hannah, “Hey, Bunny, why don’t you try to fall back asleep, okay?”
Twenty-one
1983
Mary drove quickly that night, feeling the comfort of the vibrations as the truck raced over smooth black roads like a horse lunging south. The dashboard glowed with its soft light, and Hannah was asleep beside her, her head on Mary’s lap. Mary drove for twenty-four hours straight, from night into day into night again, radio stations coming in and then fading out as she crossed the territory of their signals. When she or Hannah had to go to the bathroom, she’d pull to the side of the road, and they’d squat next to the car, watching the streams of urine pool on the asphalt between their feet. And when they were hungry, they’d find a gas station or a diner or a drive-through. And the hours that passed on that trip felt like something other than measures of time. Each was a decade. Each was an instant. Each seemed to take them somewhere more profound than down the road.
They reached Bardavista just before midnight. And as they crossed the endless bridge that connected the barrier island to the mainland, Mary stared out to the black water looking for the glow of shrimp boats as they floated, their trawlers extended out like wings.
They took the single-lane road as far as they could. When they reached Ft. Rillieux, Mary put the truck in park and shut off the engine. If a vehicle could collapse from exhaustion, the Blazer would have. It would have gasped out a final roar and rolled on its side.
“We’re here,” said Mary.
Hannah lifted her head from her sister’s lap and sat up. She could only make out the curve of the dunes, the swaying strands of seagrass. “Where?”
Mary smiled and looked at her sister. “The end of the earth.” She then gently poked Hannah’s rib. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s sleep on the beach.”
Hannah crossed her arms over her chest. “How?” she asked, the word short and challenging. “We don’t have anything to sleep on.”
Again, Mary smiled. “Yes, we do.”
The large black duffel contained their sleeping bags, their tent, and little else. Mary pitched it in the dark, her fingers running down the lengths of pole, finding the channels in the fabric as if from muscle memory. Hannah stood with her sleeping bag clutched to her chest as she watched Mary complete the setup.
“Remember when we bought this?” asked Mary, offering the memory a small sad smile.
Hannah nodded. “Before the swamp,” she said.