Without wanting to, I pictured skeletons wading out of the dark water and creeping toward the house, their bony arms outstretched. Outside, trees rustled in the breeze, and sticks snapped as if crushed under bony feet. Inside, the floors and steps creaked as if those same bony feet were tiptoeing through the house, upstairs and down, searching the rooms.
Holding Rufus tight, I curled into a ball and willed myself to sleep, but Emma’s little voice went on saying, “The bones came out, the bones came out.”
7
The next morning, the lake was gray under heavy clouds. The pines were blurred by mist, but the rain had stopped, and the air smelled clean and fresh.
It was too chilly for swimming but not too cold for a walk along the shore. Emma and I each put on a sweatshirt and jeans, and strolled by the lake. The sandy beach turned to stones not long after we passed the boathouse. I was glad I’d taken Dulcie’s advice and worn sandals. If I’d gone barefoot, I’d have been hobbling along like an old lady.
While Emma ran ahead, I gathered stones. They were smooth and round, in shades of pale green, pink, gray, and black. I had an idea I might do something artistic with them, put them in ceramic bowls, maybe, and add driftwood and seagull feathers. I could make the bowls myself and sell my arrangements in gift shops. I’d learn how to throw clay on Dulcie’s pottery wheel, I’d mix glazes, I’d use the kiln behind the studio.
I was thinking so hard, I almost walked right past Emma. To my surprise, she was standing beside a stranger, a girl who appeared to be nine or ten years old but small for her age. Her hair was white blond, her eyes were the same gray as the lake, and her skin was a deep tan. Despite the chilly weather, she wore a faded blue bathing suit.
“This is Sissy,” Emma said. “I just met her, but she wants to be friends.”
Sissy looked at me slantwise, as if she were sizing me up. Would I be good to know? Was I nice? Was I bossy? I gave her the same look. There was something about her I disliked on sight—a sharpness in her eyes, a mean set to her mouth. She was the type who’d lie and get you in trouble.
“This is Ali,” Emma told Sissy. “She’s my cousin, and she’s staying here with Mommy and me. Mommy’s an artist, so Ali takes care of me while Mommy paints. She’s not a babysitter because I’m not a baby.”
Sissy continued to stare at me. “Where’s your mother?” she asked. Her voice was too high pitched to be easy on the ears.
“In Maryland,” I told her. “Where we live. She didn’t want to come.”
“Why not?” Sissy asked.
Something in her voice, a sassiness I didn’t like, annoyed me. “I don’t know what business it is of yours.” It was a huffy thing to say. Rude, even. But somehow it was her fault I’d said it.
Sissy shrugged, and her shoulder blades jutted out like wings. “I was just wondering. Since when is that a crime?”
Emma laughed uncertainly, not sure if Sissy was joking or not. “Aunt Claire doesn’t like the lake. That’s why she didn’t come.”
“Is she scared of water or something?” A breeze from the lake blew Sissy’s hair in her face, and she smoothed it behind her ears.
Emma glanced at me as if she thought I’d answer. “I think so,” she said uncertainly. “But I’m not.”
“I’m not, either.” Sissy looked at me. “I bet she’s scared—just like her mother.”
I stopped trying to ignore her. “Back home I’m on the swim team. I’ve won more trophies than anybody in my class.”
“Do you think I care?” Sissy turned to Emma. “Let’s build castles.”
Emma dropped to her knees beside Sissy, and the two of them began heaping up stones, blond heads together as if they’d been friends forever. I hated to admit it, but I felt left out. Emma was my cousin, my friend, and here she was trying to impress a bratty stranger.
“Are your parents renting a cottage around here?” I asked Sissy, hoping she’d say yes, we’re leaving tomorrow, you’ll never see me again.
Without looking up from her pile of stones, she said, “I live here.”
“Where?” Emma asked.
Sissy pointed. “That way.”
Emma peered down the shore. “I don’t see a house.”
“I walked a long way,” Sissy said with a shrug.
“Can we come see you and play at your house sometime?”
Sissy shrugged again. “Maybe.”
“We have sand at our beach,” Emma went on. “We can build good castles there. Want to come home with us?”
“Not today.” Sissy stood up and kicked her pile of stones. Down it tumbled.
“Why’d you do that?” Emma asked.
“It wasn’t any good.” Sissy scooped up a handful of stones and watched them run through her fingers, clickety-click. “I have to go. See you later.”
She turned to leave, but Emma ran in front of her, blocking her way. “Will you be here tomorrow, Sissy?”
“Maybe.” Dodging Emma, she walked away, her skinny back arrow straight, her skinny arms swinging, her skinny legs zipping along beside the water. Her silky hair floated around her head, lifted by the breeze. She didn’t look back. Not once. Soon the mist swallowed her up.
When Sissy was out of sight, Emma took my hand. “Do you think she likes me?”
“Everybody likes you.” I swung Emma’s hand as we walked. “Do you like her?”
“Of course. Don’t you?”
“Not especially.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I guess we aren’t, well, very copacetic.”
“Cope-a-what?”
“Copacetic. It means getting along with somebody.” I was pleased with myself for remembering one of my favorite vocabulary words.
“Well, Sissy’s very copacetic with me.” Emma broke away and ran along the edge of the water, singing a Sesame Street song.
I followed slowly, thinking about the very un-copacetic Sissy. There was something about her I didn’t trust. Maybe it was her way of looking past you, not at you. Maybe it was her way of never quite answering questions. The frown on her face didn’t help. It wouldn’t hurt her to smile once in a while.
“Come on,” Emma called. “Catch me!”
I ran after her and picked her up, pretending I was going to toss her into the lake. She shrieked and giggled and broke away from me again. I let her think she’d escaped and then caught her. It was a game Emma never tired of playing.
At lunch, Emma told Dulcie about her new friend. “Her name’s Sissy.”
“Where does she live?” Dulcie asked.
Emma shrugged. “Around here somewhere.”
Dulcie looked puzzled. “I didn’t think anyone lived around here.”
“She said her house was that way.” I pointed in what I thought was the right direction.
“She walked a long way,” Emma put in. “And all she was wearing was a bathing suit.”
“On a day like this? Brr.” Dulcie wrapped her sweater tighter around her skinny body and sipped her coffee. “Did Sissy tell you her last name?”