Page 31 of The Sister's Curse
I’d lived away from Bayern County when I was adopted, andwhen I was gone for college. But when I’d applied for jobs, Bayern County hooked me back in. Maybe it was the familiar whisper of the water maples or the cicada song in summer that drew me back. Maybe it was the way the land curved around itself in hills and valleys, hiding secrets in shady crevices and around winding roads. Maybe it was the people. Nick had come from here, after all.
I sat on the beach of Sandpiper Run, a man-made beach along the Copperhead River with truckloads of shipped-in sand strewn along the cleared river’s edge. The beach was pretty crowded, full of shrieks and sunburns. Teens checked one another out while small children played with sand toys. Many adults lay on beach towels and fiddled with radios, sinking into the sand.
A quarter mile down the beach, a knot of people sat conspicuously not dressed in swimsuits. Curious, I held up my phone and zoomed in on them. About a dozen women in dresses sat on a blanket with a picnic spread. Their attire looked very similar to the style of dresses I’d come to associate with the Greenwood Kingdom Church. I scanned the river. Boys in swimsuits ran back and forth from the water to the blanket, while the girls sat next to the picnic basket. Leah and her friends were among the girls, with the familiar pearl rings on their hands.
I would’ve liked to spy on the church picnic, but I had a job to do. I focused on the Girl Scout troop I was volunteering with. I was one of six den mothers watching over the troop today. The troop leader was on sunscreen duty, chasing after ten-year-old girls with lotion and bug spray. Monica was the snack fairy, hanging out under a beach umbrella with a cooler full of water and bags full of granola bars and fruit. Others tutored the girls for their swim badges.
I was unused to kids when I first started volunteering. Monica’sniece was in the troop, and she’d pulled me in. I’d taken it on as something of a science experiment. I had a pretty good idea of how adults thought and how they viewed the world. I expected the perspective of children to be utterly alien to me, and I was curious to learn.
But when they spoke, I understood. The girls had a sense of wonder about the natural world that had been dimmed out of most adults I knew. They could watch a praying mantis eat its mate with the same delight as they watched sparrow eggs hatch in a nest. The girls were surprisingly unburdened by the guilt and fear most adults were saddled with, and I’d been that way, too.
“Feral,” Monica would say, lovingly, rolling her eyes and pulling the girls away from trying to convince a reticent blacksnake to emerge from a hollow in a log.
Feral. I understood that. I hoped they’d carry some of that with them into adulthood.
I think I was a pretty good den mother. I liked spending time with the girls, but I could never envision myself with children of my own. The idea of being wholly responsible for a small human was, frankly, terrifying. Children were feralandfragile. I could easily destroy one, as my father had nearly destroyed me.
I never had been able to confront him about what he’d done. I wished I could demand answers. I wished he could tell me what he’d been thinking. I wanted to be able to scream at him. But I couldn’t. He was gone. And I was alone with my rage.
From a distance, maybe I could do some good. Today, I was the lifeguard. I sat in a folding chair at the edge of the beach, scanning. I counted the girls’ heads over and over.One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen.I’d made each girl wear a dayglow pink hair clip so I could distinguish them from other swimmers.
One, two, three…
I felt a little self-conscious wearing a swimsuit in public. I hadn’t worn one since I’d been shot last year. My black tankini covered the scars on my chest but did nothing to hide the hundreds of tiny bird-shot scars peppering my arms and right leg. They’d faded a lot, but as I tanned they remained stubbornly white. The girls stared, and asked about them. I told them I’d gotten hurt at work but was all healed up now. One of the other den moms distracted the girls with snacks, which I was thankful for. I wasn’t sure how much to tell them. These girls were inquisitive, but they weren’t as close to life and death as I had been at their age.
Four, five, six…
I was lucky to be alive. I kept coming back to Bayern County. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe Nick was right. Maybe it meant to chew me up and eat me alive. Maybe I’d just gotten lucky those times I’d brushed up against death.
Seven, eight, nine…
At what point should I move forward, create a life with Nick? I’d discovered my father’s secret grave, and I’d put his copycat in prison. I had redeemed myself. Maybe I’d done all I was supposed to do here, and it was time to move on. I mean, maybe Icouldmove on…I wasn’t feeling the heartbreak Nick had felt with his mother being taken from him. I just felt a low, simmering rage without an outlet.
Ten, eleven, twelve…
If I was honest, I wasn’t sure who I would be without this place. My adoptive parents had created a life for me far away from here. I just hadn’t fully taken on that identity the way I could’ve. Maybe it wasn’t too late to do that. Maybe I could choose to wake up from the spell that held me fascinated here.
…Where the fuck is thirteen?
I rocketed to my feet. Thirteen was Charlotte. Charlotte was a strong swimmer, but that didn’t mean much against water hazards.
I rushed toward the river, calling her name and blowing my whistle.
In my peripheral vision, Charlotte’s head popped above the surface. She grinned under her goggles. I exhaled shakily. She’d just been underwater for a moment.
“Miss Koray!” a girl shrieked.
I spun to my left. Tisha, Monica’s niece, was screaming and waving her arms, rushing out of the river, toward me.
“What’s wrong?” I demanded.
She pointed behind her. “That boy…he’s drowning.”
I saw no boy, only turbulence and bubbles in the brown water.
I blew my whistle again and bellowed for everyone to get out of the water. I plunged into the murky depths, pulling myself toward the thrashing. Hands flailed, and the head of a teenage boy struggled to rise above the waterline.
I grabbed the boy’s arm and slung it over my shoulders. But he turned and struggled in the river, and something else stirred. Something sharp sliced into my calf, dragged the two of us under.
