The Strange Lady Will Not Hand Back Her Baby

The Final Girl by Lesley Pratt Bannatyne

1994

This is the land in winter, when snow covers the fields like cream, going from white to a weak blue to rose to gold as the sun sets. At dark, snowmelt freezes in the ruts of the dirt roads and the birds go black against tree branches. It is a brittle time. Ice has formed under the docks and along the edges of the creeks around Okisee. This is a kind of cold that the people of west central New York know deeply: How it blows across the lake with nothing to stop it. How it enters the brick of the chimney and stays, how it flattens itself against glass and frosts the insides of windows. Every February the people of Kinder Falls look longingly at their photos of a Florida vacation taken before their children were born and imagine they’ll live there someday, when they finish their working lives. But they don’t. They stuff rags around the loose panes and tuck towels under the front and back doors and carry on, going to the supermarket, to the town hall and post office, to the sale at Sears, to the fancy restaurant that puts blue cheese crumbles on their salads, and to the Holiday Inn function room to watch the one child in town who plays chess compete in an adult competition where the prize is a free haircut.

But with March comes promise. The light is lengthening and the green that lies underground is unwinding itself.

It was the sunlight in March—a sap-starting, snow-washed, ice-melting light—that made Marlena pack her ten-month-old baby into the car seat and drive 160 miles from Scranton to Kinder Falls. She needed to move, to drive, to go, and this was the place she’d known as a girl, the place she came back to even through college, even after she got married, and even after Aunt Lucy moved away and her sons sold the house, because it was a beautiful, begin-again place. And now here she was, checking into a Red Roof Inn to show it all to June, beautiful baby June, happy June. And there was Kathy behind the counter, like always.

Well, look what the cat dragged in.

Hey, Kathy. How’s your mom?

Cranky as ever. What are you doing back here in the winter?

It’s technically spring, right? Weekend getaway. Have you got a room you can give me for a few days? Not facing the parking lot if you have it. Marlena sat June on the counter. When did they get a Walmart over in Dryden?

Three years ago, maybe? Put the Dollar General pretty much out of business. Look at this gorgeous baby. What’s her name?

June.

And what brings you here in mud season? You nuts?

Roger is getting remarried, and I told him he could use my apartment for the in-laws.

Oh? I didn’t know you two had split.

Over two years now.

Sorry.

Don’t be. Everyone was pretty much relieved when it happened.

Kathy wiggled June’s toes. But . . . you have a baby?

A happy accident.

Who’s the dad?

Navy guy.

In Scranton?

Marlena laughed. His parents live there. He was home on leave.

Kathy raised her eyebrows.

No, he’s not in the picture.

Single again, Marlena had been liberal with her body, careless, with her navy man. She never dreamed she’d get pregnant at forty-two, but sperm found egg and grew, two cells, twenty-four, and Marlena couldn’t decide what to do. Hands, lungs, eyes, and still Marlena stalled. Bones, hair, toenails, ears, June.

She’d known the man only a few weeks, had a picture and a matchbook from the Cantina Bar where they’d met. But she was coming to know him more intimately in the parts of June that weren’t her. A single dimple in the cheek, length of thigh, June’s eyes, not violet like Marlena’s, but a warm brown. He’d left for Bahrain before she knew she was pregnant, and she couldn’t decide whether to tell him, or how, or when. Now that June was here, she couldn’t imagine anyone else in their little family. She knew it was selfish, but aren’t all parents selfish in some way? Roger had never wanted kids, a different kind of selfishness.

Kathy walked her fingers up the baby’s legs and tickled her chin. I can do $120 for a long weekend. Friends and family discount. Though a real friend would keep in touch.

You’re the best, Kathy.

I know. Kathy glanced out the hotel’s front window and frowned. Crap. Sharon Epps.

Really? Marlena watched a woman climb heavily out of a Bronco. I thought all the Epps were gone.

All but her, Kathy said. You remember her father—sweet, old Mitchell Epps? He died just last month. Sharon lives alone now in that big farmhouse near the old drill pad.

That’s sad.

Which? Mitchell, Sharon, or the pad?

All of them, I guess. Marlena picked up June and settled her on a hip. I remember thinking the pumpjack looked like a giraffe when I first saw it. I thought it was beautiful. I was probably fourteen.

Kathy shook her head. Yeah, well no.

The door to the lobby jingled as it opened. Sharon Epps came halfway in and swung the door back and forth to set the bells jingling. Ho ho ho! Hey, fat Kathy. Colder than a witch’s tit, right? She shut the door behind her and squinted at Marlena. I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?

Marlena smiled weakly at the woman staring at her. A large, flat face. Tufts of greying hair flew out at her temples, the rest drawn back in a low ponytail. Her T-shirt said It’s Wine O’Clock! and the button on her pants pressed deep into her flab.

I’ve got a couple Wall Street burnouts who think they want to start a winery coming Saturday to take a look at my land, Sharon said to Kathy. You got a room this weekend? They’re morons, but I’ll take their money.

You selling it all? Kathy asked.

If I can. Selling it and getting outta Dodge.

Where to?

Not sure. Someplace without snow, ice, or mud.

Marlena jiggled the baby, who had started to fidget. Sharon wheeled around.

A baby girl! she said. Her voice swung into a high register. Oh, hello sweetheart, you precious thing.

Sharon wiggled June’s foot. Such a cutie pie. Hello little darling. What’s your name?

This is June, Marlena said.

Hello June, Sharon cooed. Aren’t you perfect. Can I hold her? Just for a minute.

No, sorry, I was about to feed her, she’s hungry.

Kathy passed a key card to Marlena. You can have 103.

Come on, Sharon said. I’m great with little babies. Anyone will tell you that.

Sorry. Marlena scooted around Sharon, hitched June up on her hip, and slung her bag over her shoulder. The door jingled.

Ho ho ho! Sharon yodeled. She turned to Kathy. Well, she’s a real bitch, isn’t she?

Kathy stared past Sharon at the parking lot. A squirrel arced across the pavement.

Now that I think of it, I recognize her. It’s that jet black hair. It used to be long—down to her ass. She’s a Staunch, right? Came in the summers and stayed with Lucy? She was here that week the kid died at Schuyler’s Creek.

I don’t remember, Kathy said. She drummed her fingers on the counter.

So, what room can you give me for my people?

---

Marlena had packed impulsively, didn’t quite think it through, all the things you’d need for a long weekend with a baby: more diapers, lotion, a teething ring. She’d have to get to a store before everything closed. Her best friend Ruth said it was mom brain; she’d read it had to do with hormones.

Marlena’s room phone rang. Call for you on 42, Kathy said. It’s Roger.

Marlena steeled herself and picked up the receiver.

We can’t find the blue thing, Roger said.

She heard Vicki, Roger’s bride-to-be, in the background. The sapphire, Vicki whined. It was in a Tiffany box. I put it on the TV. Remember, Marlena? You said it was lovely.

Yeah, Roger said. She can’t find the something blue that she needs for the wedding.

I remember seeing it, Marlena said. But no, I don’t know where it went. Did you look behind the couch?

Yes, we looked behind the couch, Roger said. We’ve looked everywhere. What’s with the fish, Marlena?

June likes to watch them.

Okay. Well, um. Thanks anyway.

That Roger had asked her to house her ex-in-laws for his wedding was so presumptuous that Marlena had been stunned into silence, and now there they were—her one-time sister-in-law, her one-time mother-in-law—sleeping in her bed and making coffee in her kitchen, getting ready to celebrate Roger and the so-called love of his life, Vicki. Even the name was like a pinch. She reached over to her bag and pulled out the Tiffany box, pried open the lid, and admired the sapphire ring. She slipped it on her finger. Marlena smiled to herself. Vicki was welcome to this mother-in-law, she thought. The woman had referred to Marlena as “the renter” when she’d moved in with Roger. Marlena dialed Ruth’s number and left a message. She’d forgotten to ask Ruth to feed the fish, and she wasn’t going to ask her ex-in-laws to do it.

The hotel’s brown shag rug and gold-and-maroon striped drapes were faded. The sink had a brown stain in the shape of a kidney and the bedspread was damp. Marlena wished she’d brought more clothes and toys. She’d always thought of herself as a free spirit, expansive and adventurous, but sometimes she wondered if she was simply a scatterbrained fool.

She’d always thought of herself as a free spirit, expansive and adventurous, but sometimes she wondered if she was simply a scatterbrained fool.

June was whimpering. Marlena lifted the baby to her breast and settled into a chair to watch the trees outside her window, dark like black velvet. She ran her finger across the tiny pimples that dotted each of June’s cheeks. Her perfect ears, nearly invisible brows, tiny nails. After, Marlena buckled a sleepy June into her car seat and drove a mile to the Quick Mart.

The first flakes looked like a mistake: princess-light, cartoon-lovely. She admired them, pointed them out to June. The store was nearly empty, and the cashier stared into the middle distance, arms folded, as Marlena unpacked her cart with one hand, June clutched in the other.

Sorry, I’m a little slow.

The girl stared out the plate glass window and pretended she hadn’t heard. The snow was coming thicker now. In her summers here, Marlena remembered how quickly the weather could turn, how fast and hard the rain came in, like a wall, and left. You could watch it travel the lake: first a silent grayness far away, then a rush of cold and an exhilarating darkness, then the rain. Big droplets, like frogs falling from the sky. Then, almost as fast as it came it vanished, and the sun painted wet surfaces so that the whole beach sparkled. You could watch the gray retreat, like it had all been a joke.

Marlena protected June with her coat until they reached the car. The sky was a cypher: dark, but moving, swirling. Was the storm coming or going? She couldn’t see the lake from here.

A bearded man in a slicker loaded bags of snow melt into his truck.

How bad’s it supposed to be? Marlena called to him.

Four inches? Maybe more, he said. But the wind, I guess. Strong wind.

Marlena got June in her car seat and then buckled herself in. She’d made it in the nick of time. The Quick Mart lights went dark, and the cashier dashed through the parking lot, got into the man’s Ford, and the truck pulled away. Marlena smiled at June in the rearview mirror. It’s okay, sweetie, she said. We’ll be back at the hotel soon. She turned the key. Nothing. She pumped the gas pedal. Start, she prayed, panic rising in her chest. Nothing. She stomped on the pedal, a sweat breaking out on her lip. The engine turned over, yes! then stalled. She pumped again. Turned the key. Nothing. Marlena’s stomach tightened. She tried the ignition again. Nothing. Engine’s probably flooded, she thought. I’ll give it a few minutes. She looked around at June, who stared back with big, worried eyes. It’s okay, Junie, she crooned, everything’s all right. Want your binky? Marlena rifled through her purse. Diapers, Kleenex, lip balm, golf pencil, but no pacifier. Damn. She tried the ignition again. Not a flicker. She unbuckled her seatbelt. It was a mile to the hotel; she could walk it in twenty minutes. She’d leave the groceries and come back in the morning.

June was in a fleece onesie, a hat, and a sweater; Marlena swore at herself for not putting the baby in a snowsuit. She zipped June inside her down coat, grabbed her bag and walked. Snow thickened the air, needle sharp. The wind picked up huge handfuls and whipped the flakes in her face. She kept to the side of the road, head down, singing to June: you are my sunshine, my only sunshine. Marlena’s eyes watered and her feet were wet and going numb, not good. She thought she’d been walking about ten minutes when a light appeared in the distance. A car! She waved wildly. It slowed, pulled over, stopped. A Bronco. The driver’s window opened.

I remember your hair. You had long, black hair, down to your ass.

Sharon had a hood pulled tight around her face. Marlena saw only darkness of eyes and lips, tight and thin. She felt a hitch in her gut and hugged June closer into her chest.

Get in, for God’s sake.

Marlena hesitated.

Sharon leaned over and opened the passenger door. You insane?

Marlena and June slid in.

Thank you, Marlena said. My car wouldn’t start.

It’s your battery.

No, I had a new battery put in a few months back.

I know cars, Sharon snapped. It’s your battery. She looked over at June’s little face peeking out of Marlena’s coat. Hey, sweet thing. June made a quiet, whining sound. Oh, don’t you make sad noises, now, cutie pie. Sharon reached into Marlena’s coat and took June’s finger. We’re friends, okay?

Marlena slid toward the door, away from Sharon. I really appreciate your giving us a ride, she said. The windshield had steamed up and she was sweating in the car’s heat. June fidgeted and kicked until Marlena unzipped her coat and sat the baby on her lap. On the dash, a plastic hula girl swung her hips.

No problem, Sharon said, her eyes locked on June.

The snow was already a white veil across the windshield.

We really need to get to the Red Roof, Sharon. June’s not dressed for this.

Sharon tugged on June’s toes. She doesn’t feel cold to me. She put her face close to the baby’s. June’s eyes widened. I could eat your fat little cheeks, she said. I could eat you with a spoon, yes I could. Such a sweet girl, precious angel. Sharon glanced up at Marlena. You want to get going, do you?

Yes, if we could, please.

Then let me hold her. Just for a second.

June sneezed, then laughed at herself.

See, Sharon said, even the baby thinks it’s a good idea. Let me hold her. Then we can go.

A plow’s headlights hit Sharon’s face and it lit up. Marlena felt the same hitch in her gut. She had the sense of being with a teenager, not a grown woman, and it was such a strong feeling that she checked Sharon’s face again. There were gray spikes in her eyebrows, a sag under her chin, dark patches in the hollows of her cheeks. Still, the way she moved was like a teenager—mean, impulsive. Marlena found her voice. I’d rather you didn’t.

Jesus Christ. I’m not going to hurt a baby. Let me hold her, then we’ll go. No skin off your nose. Or do you want to sit here all night and argue about it?

Marlena loosened her grip on June.

Sharon smiled and lifted June gingerly. She held the baby on her lap like she was holding a much larger child; too loose. Marlena reached out a hand to steady June. Sharon pushed her hand away. Hey, sweetie-pie, she sang. You are too delicious. I’m going to eat you up, eat you up from head to toesies, I am. Sharon nibbled on June’s shoulder and June giggled. Yum, yum.

We really need to go, Sharon.

No, you don’t.

The baby’s hungry, Marlena said.

No, she’s not.

Sharon, please.

A minute passed. Two. The three of them filled the car with their breath and heat. Marlena felt sweat trickle down her back. She felt nauseous. She needed to be back at the hotel, away from Sharon, away from the snow, away from whatever this was. Sharon began to sing.

I peeked in to say goodnight, but my baby had flown away,

Flown away across the lake, bright red ribbons in her hair.

I peeked in to say goodnight, but my daddy had flown away,

Gone to live in Forest Gate, gone to live with angels there.

Sharon’s voice was low and tuneless. Her eyes were closed, like she’d forgotten the snow, the Bronco, Marlena.

Sharon, Marlena said quietly. Kathy told me about your dad. I’m so sorry. I remember he used to drive all us kids in his truck in the Fourth of July parades. I thought he was the kindest man I’d ever known. I can’t imagine how much you miss him.

Sharon’s face contorted into grimace; she squeezed her eyes shut and hugged June closer.

I’ll take the baby back now, Marlena said. She moved closer to Sharon and reached for June, but Sharon twisted away.

Sharon’s voice was whispery. Not yet. I need another minute. Just one more minute. She rested her cheek on June’s head and looked at Marlena. Please?

Give her to me, Sharon.

No.

Let her go, Sharon.

No.

Marlena reached for June, but Sharon clutched the baby tighter, too tight, and June gave a wail, then another, louder, and another, until the red-faced baby made an awful, choking sound and Sharon yelled sorry, sorry, sorry, and handed June to Marlena, who wrenched open the door of the Bronco, jumped out, and started walking.

Sharon clutched the baby tighter, too tight, and June gave a wail, then another, louder, and another, until the red-faced baby made an awful, choking sound.

The snow came at her in mean swirls, but Marlena put one foot in front of the other, hugging the hysterical baby inside her coat. It’s okay, June, she said, it’s okay now, breathe, sweetie, hush-a-bye, sweet Junie. We’ll be back at the motel very, very soon. Rock-a-bye baby. It’s alright now, it’s alright, hush little baby. She could see only a few yards in front of her but felt the road under her sneakers. The world was loud with wind. A faint light behind her cast a shadow on the snow. The Bronco’s headlights.

Sharon shouted out the window. I’ll give you a ride to the Red Roof, I promise. Get in the car, for God’s sake. You’ll freeze out here. Don’t be an idiot! She pulled closer to Marlena and laid on the horn.

Marlena took off into the trees. Her purse caught on a low branch and wrenched her shoulder. She yanked it free, ran faster, her heart banging, the baby’s wails escalating. She heard Sharon yell, but wind swallowed the words. Marlena kept moving, tripping and sliding over roots and wet stones hidden under the snow. She stepped hard on something sharp, broken glass? that cut through her sneaker. She ran until she couldn’t see ahead or behind her—the snow was a staticky blur in all directions—and only then did she stop. June, startled by the stillness and cold, went quiet. Marlena held her breath and listened; she could no longer hear Sharon. Her shoes were soaked and frozen, her fingers numb, and her hair dripped with snow. Freak snowstorm in March. Freak mother with baby. No clothes, no food. She swayed side to side rocking June, listening to the woods, waiting for the crack of the branch that would fall on them, the growl of coyote, the click of a rifle, Sharon. Her shoe was split open, the bottom of her foot sticky. Blood is not red. Blood is black against the snow.

A lump of freeze slid off a pine branch and thudded onto the ground, making her jump; was something moving through the trees? Marlena crouched down and prayed that June wouldn’t cry. There, only ten feet away she saw a wizened, white-haired man. The snow circled, then settled. No, not a man; it was a buck, snow frosting his thick gray coat, half molted. Head up, smelling, antlers gone. Scraggly, hungry, nosing for new grass budding under the snow, his want-belly distended from a long, scarce winter. June whined. The buck leapt away, white tail flashing. Bleached leaves hung like dead bats on the trees.

Animals were warnings, auguries, omens, Marlena thought. This was good. She limped along, trying to follow the buck, but the animal left no footprints. Dampness clogged her lungs. She struggled to breathe in, out. Panic rose up and tightened her throat. She swallowed, concentrated. She’d been in these woods as a kid. She knew them. She could do this; she could find her way out. Around her, white pine. Pine resin seals, Aunt Lucy used to say, would staunch the blood from a wound.

---

You don’t have to do this alone, Ruth told her when Marlena was eight months pregnant, and huge. They’d been wandering around Walmart looking for things a baby might need. Ruth handed her a pair of nail clippers so small they couldn’t possibly be of use. There’s a guy out there who could be good for both of you, she said.

I barely know him.

You liked him enough to sleep with him.

He’s probably happier not knowing. He’s on a ship on the other side of the world; how could he be the kind of man who wants a family?

How do you know he doesn’t?

It’s easier this way. It’s my decision.

It’s not fair to him. What’s this for? Ruth had picked up a white noise machine.

So babies can sleep. It has the same sounds they hear in your stomach.

Seriously?

I don’t know.

You should tell him.

And then what? Fight with him for her?

Marlena’s previous loves—a few boyfriends, Roger—felt slight, untethered, as if they could drift away in a heartbeat, and they did. Her love for June was earth-bound, it was body, the very force that kept her feet on the ground.

Why assume the worst? Ruth asked.

Why assume otherwise?

What did Ruth know, Marlena thought. Ruth had never been married. She hadn’t woken up on a Sunday morning to hear her husband confessing he was in love with a Vicki. Ruth had no idea how love disappoints. How it breaks the ground beneath you. How small you can become.

You have no idea, Ruth.

I know that you don’t have to do this alone. At least let me come to the hospital when she’s born. It shouldn’t be you in there all by yourself, with only nurses.

Marlena had said yes. Ruth had come with her, and Ruth had sat with her through labor, but then went pale and wouldn’t go into the birthing room.

Marlena had been alone, after all.

A sliver of a moon emerged and lit three wooden posts leaning into the earth. Marlena knew this place! As a girl, she’d found bottles from an old sugar shack here. As a girl she’d built fires here, played with boys here. Here is where her Aunt Lucy would come for the ramps that grew in the sweet soil of the maple trees, where she taught Marlena about plants. Marlena followed the drifts, walking and singing to June—another five minutes, another ten—sure she would find more familiar landmarks. There should be a hedge of yew and a rock that looked like a frog. But the snow flattened the landscape and she recognized nothing. A movement caught her eye: the buck, ahead in the distance. And in that direction, a solidness. She squinted. Marlena’s spirits leapt. A house? She sprinted toward it, startling the buck, who bolted. Yes, a house! Stone walls. Broken shutters. One door with a rusted padlock. She picked up a rock and banged it against the metal, three, five, ten times. June screamed and screamed. It broke. Marlena was so grateful she laughed with delight. They entered. June took in the cold, dark, room and wailed.

Marlena pushed a broom handle through the latch to secure the door. She found a musty sleeping bag under a bed and wrapped the baby and herself in it. She swayed, cradling June against her shoulder. The house was quiet. There were only dead, boneless things in it: a hornet’s nest that had papered itself to a beam, its ancient flaking skin torn open years before. Beside the bed, an abandoned mouse nest of chewed newspaper, spider silk, and wood shavings. Marlena relaxed in the comfort of wooden beam, of shelf, of chair. She fed June, who was ravenous. The smell of damp stone filled her nostrils.

The exhausted baby fell asleep. Marlena put her in a new diaper and swaddled June in her coat. The house was freezing. There was a log pile and old newspaper stacked next to the fireplace, so she opened the flue, arranged logs on the grate, crumpled sheets of newspaper and tucked them around the wood. She felt around the mantel and found a metal tin filled with matches. Work, work, work, she prayed. They did. When the fire got going, she peeled off her sock. A big gash bisected the ball of her foot; it was still bleeding and the skin around it rippled like waterlogged seaweed. She ripped a piece of her T-shirt with her teeth and wound it around her foot to stop the blood.

Marlena tried to stay awake. She sat by the fire with June and talked to her about their family and how their people were farmers, then rail workers, then salesmen of gloves and hats, then teachers, then phone company workers, car mechanics, and paralegals, as she was. She sounded out their names, as if June’s history could protect her: Mavis, Edith, Paula, several Johns, and of course June, a grandmother Marlena had loved. As she drifted, people flickered in the corners of the room, kind people, their hands open, offering cake, singing without words in a chorus like spring leaves ruffling. There was a blur of colors—bright greens and sapphire—of women in Queen Anne’s lace-print dresses and movie star sunglasses and the bitter smell of gin. Gin like Juniper. Juniper like pine resin. Resin like canoes. A distant cousin who drowned in Okisee. A boy and a waterfall. A twin sister’s face pressed flat against her own in her mother’s womb. The dead, who float through mirrors and leave you. The living, who float through rooms and leave you. What do you want most? the navy man had asked her after their first night together. As if there was a thing. Snow in a streetlight. Grandmother’s ice cubes in a glass. A hundred days like this. Marlena felt held in the time between breathing in and breathing out, where air is not necessary, or body. The corners of the stone house erupted in colors. Thank you, house, Marlena said without sound, sending her words through the air like paper lanterns.

When she woke, planks of sun lay down on the floorboards and bent up the walls. She felt newly hopeful, teenage-giddy. She’d wanted things so desperately as a girl: I want to live in a beautiful house, she’d told a boy once; I want to be famous. There was time yet, Marlena laughed to herself, and there are still miracles. There was June.

Marlena slipped out of the sleeping bag and lit another fire to warm them. She changed June’s diaper and drew the baby to her breast. Marlena was starving. She rummaged in her purse and found two packages of peanut butter crackers. Another miracle! She cradled June with one arm and tore the wrappers with her teeth and devoured them. June sucked hungrily, then eyed her mother impishly and bit, a delighted look on her face. Okay, then, Marlena said, you’re done here. She tugged on her coat and shoes, picked up the baby, removed the broom handle and went outside. The bright sun made everything sparkle, as if the night’s terror had never happened. Trees dripped snowmelt that made water prints in the drifts. Marlena scooped a handful of pristine snow and let it melt in her mouth.

Kathy was probably arriving at the hotel, wondering where Marlena could have gone so early in the morning. Someone might call the sheriff about the car abandoned in the Quick Mart lot. How about that snow, everyone would say. Came in fast, gone fast. And Sharon, that storm of a woman, she didn’t frighten Marlena at all in the light of day.

Marlena kissed June and looked back at the stone house, another miracle. The name “Tuttle” was carved in lovely letters above the house’s door. Whoever you are, Tuttle, she thought, we Staunch women thank you.

Glints of Okisee shone through the trees. The water was brilliant, as if the lake had inhaled the sun and then breathed it out in blinding bursts. Dead leaves clung to the old growth trees that dotted the hillside. Marlena remembered Aunt Lucy’s word for it. Marcescent. Leaves that hang on until new growth pushes them out. Like people do. Like her. It wasn’t that far she’d come, and yet it seemed Marlena had been jettisoned into another life. She’d tell her navy guy about June. If it worked out with him, great. If it didn’t, she knew she could manage alone. But really, she hoped it would.

Squirrels on a branch sent down a shower of powder. She walked through the curtain of snow into a clearing where she had a better view of the water. The baby pointed: that tree, that rock, that airplane rumbling high above. She turned June toward the lake. Look, June. See how bright the water is? I used to come here as a girl, and you will too. You will learn to swim, like I did, and you will fish, and canoe, and build forts from pine branches like I did. A red-tailed hawk circled high above them, hungry, merciless. A quick wind rose and the lake thumbed page after page after page onto the shore.

June pointed. Her face was serious, her eyes focused on something far away. What is it, June? A duck? A chipmunk? Marlena looked in the direction of the baby’s gaze; the lake was empty but for a solitary canoe, stilled, no wake. June stretched her tiny arms out as if reaching for it. You’re not going anywhere, Marlena said, and she wished it was true, that she could keep June here, with her, in this moment, but June wriggled, trying to squirm out of Marlena’s arms, as she would always, as children do. Marlena shifted June to get a better grip, and they walked toward the lake, toward the road and its happy morning traffic, two figures growing smaller and smaller until they disappeared in the glare of the sun.

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