I moved over to the other bed in my curtained cubicle so that I could peer through the window. It was as dark as dark could get; I could barely make out the canal. The water and the woods and the sky were all the same shade of navy-blue. I sat there, listening to the crickets in the woods next door, feeling my options slip away from me as the minutes passed. I suddenly remembered Bruno talking about Isabel in Ned’s car, using his hands in a wordless allusion to my sister’s breasts. Oh, God.

It would be all right, I told myself. Maybe Bruno wouldn’t even show up. Then Isabel would come home, angry with Ned. That would be good. Maybe that would be an even better outcome for me—until Ned told her he’d entrusted me with the message that he would not be able to meet her. I hadn’t thought about that, about how annoyed Ned would be with me when I said I’d forgotten to give her his message. That would probably mess up any tiny chance I’d had with him to begin with.

The word rape kept slipping back into my mind. Was Bruno really a rapist? I thought of the girl who’d accused him. She had bruises, Grandma had said.

I got off the bed, unable to stand it anymore. The clock on my night table read eleven forty-five. I’d spent too much time thinking and not enough time acting. I was going to the beach. I quietly descended the pull-down stairs, thinking that if the current was moving in the direction of the bay, I would take the boat. If not, I would run to the beach. I wished I could take my bike, but it was in the garage and if I opened the garage door, I would wake up everyone in the house.

I should get Ned, I thought as I walked onto our porch. I should admit to him what I’d done and have him go with me. This was important enough, serious enough, for me to come clean with him.

I quietly left my house, then raced across the sand to the Chapmans’ back door. I lifted my hand to knock, but hesitated. The Chapmans’ house was dark, not a light on. I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t knock on the door, wake up his parents, and have to explain my stupid scheme to all of them. Certainly they would get my own parents involved and that would just waste time. I turned around, and although the night was very dark, I could see the outline of their Adirondack chairs, four in a row, as I ran back to my own yard and our dock.

The current was lazy, probably on its way to slack tide, but it was still pulling in the direction of the bay, and the water sparkled with phosphorescent jellyfish. I’d seen that glittery display of light before, but not yet this summer, and I decided it was a good sign, for no reason other than that I needed to think positively about what lay ahead. I untethered the boat and climbed down the ladder, then used the oars to push out of the dock.

The current caught the runabout and carried it slowly toward the open water of the bay. I sat near the motor, clutching the tiller handle to keep from being pulled against the bulkhead. How much time had passed since I’d checked the clock? Five minutes? Ten? The second I hit the end of the canal, I would start the motor and head toward the platform. Bruno probably wouldn’t be there yet if it was not quite midnight, and I would tell Isabel that I’d forgotten to give her Ned’s message. She’d get in the boat. I’d bring her home. And what if Bruno was already there? I’d make up something on the spot. Anything. I just wouldn’t let her stay there alone with him.

“Come on. Come on.” I urged the boat as it neared the bay. I was certainly far enough from the house to start the motor now. I pulled on the cord but received only a sputtering reply. I yanked again. And again. The motor was behaving as it had the day I took Wanda and George to the river, only this time I didn’t have George to get it started for me. I drifted into the bay as I fought with the motor. A slim finger of panic ran up my spine as the dark expanse of water surrounded me, and an unexpectedly stiff breeze pushed me away from the beach that was my destination. I had to get the boat started. I yanked several more times, my arm aching with the effort, my fingers burning, probably blistered. For a moment, I stopped pulling the cord. I looked in the direction of our beach, trying to see the platform. Without the sound of my sputtering motor, the air was quiet, blowing lightly and steadily into my face. And then I heard it: a scream.

I stood up, nearly toppling overboard, spinning my arms to stay upright. “Isabel!” I called, but I felt the breeze steal the words from my mouth and carry them behind me.

One more scream cut through the air, this time forming a word: “Help!” It was Isabel’s voice. I was sure of it.

I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Izzy!” I shouted. “Izzy!”

I dropped to my knees in the boat again, tugging with all my might at the cord to the motor. I was barely aware that I was sobbing—sobbing, shouting, calling for my sister—and all the while fighting with a boat that carried me deeper and deeper into Barnegat Bay.

CHAPTER 37

Lucy

1962

The moment I woke up in the attic, I knew I was alone. The reading light was on in Julie’s curtained bedroom, but the silhouette in her bed was a bulbous mountain that could not possibly have been her body unless she’d gained fifty pounds since the evening before. The windows were all open, the night sounds of crickets and lapping water sifting through the screens on a breeze. The curtains had not yet been pulled around Isabel’s bed and I could see that the white chenille spread was still tucked neatly beneath the pillows. I stiffened with the panicky feeling that was my companion when I found myself alone in the attic. I held my breath, trying to listen. Was someone behind the chimney that rose up through the middle of the attic? Or maybe in the bathroom, standing behind the curtain?

I tried not to lift my eyes to the ceiling, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. And there it was: the man’s head. I wouldn’t scream like I did that one embarrassing night. I was going to get out of there, but I wouldn’t scream like a baby while I was doing it.

I must have lain there for three or four minutes, my body paralyzed by fear, before I was able to sit up. I moved slowly and quietly, so as not to alert anyone who might be hiding behind the chimney or in the bathroom. I tiptoed to the door, but I nearly fell down the stairs in my race to get away from the attic. In the living room, I stood in the darkness, heart pounding. Where was everyone? The whole house was dark. What time was it? Julie was probably sleeping out on the porch, and Isabel must have stayed over at Mitzi’s or Pam’s house.

I walked down the hall and stood outside my parents’ room. Daddy was in Westfield, but I could hear the comforting sound of my mother’s even breathing. That was all I needed. I went back to the living room and lay down on the soft cushions of the sofa, inhaling the musty smell of the old upholstery as I drifted off to sleep.

“Lucy.” My grandmother’s voice woke me up. She stood in the living room with a pile of plates, ready to set the porch table for breakfast. “Did you sleep here all night?”

I opened my eyes, confused for a moment, then sat up on the couch. “Uh-huh,” I nodded. “Isabel wasn’t home and Julie slept on the porch.”

“What are we going to do with you?” she asked, walking out to the porch. I watched her glance in the direction of the bed. “Where’s Julie now?” she called back to me as she set the plates on the table.

“I don’t know,” I said. “She must have gone upstairs.”

“Go get her and tell her it’s breakfast time,” Grandma said. “Are you sure she slept down here? The bed doesn’t look like it’s been touched.”

Still feeling groggy, I climbed the attic stairs. Julie wasn’t in her bed. Her night-table lamp was still on and I walked behind her curtained cubicle to turn it off. I could see where she’d sloppily piled her bedspread beneath her sheet to try to fool me. I was not in the least worried. She’d probably slept on the porch, gotten up early and made the bed—which I had to admit was unusual for her—and then headed out to go crabbing or fishing.

I put on my bathing suit and pulled my shorts on over it, then went downstairs again. The morning smells of coffee and bacon were already strong in the air and I could see my mother taking her seat.

My grandfather carried a plate of bacon through the living room.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he said, tousling my hair with his free hand.

“’Morning, Grandpop,” I said, following him out to the porch.

“Where are Julie and Isabel?” My mother looked at me as I took my seat at the table.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I thought Isabel slept over at one of her friends’ houses.”

My mother frowned. “Whose house, do you know?” she asked. “I don’t remember giving her permission.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know,” I said.

“Is Julie upstairs?” my mother asked.

“Uh-uh. I thought she slept out here.”

My mother glanced at the bed, as my grandmother had twenty minutes earlier. I watched her frown deepen. “I made that bed the day before yesterday,” she said. “It looks untouched.”

Grandpop stood up so suddenly the table shivered as his thighs brushed against it. He was staring toward the dock. “The runabout’s gone,” he said. We all turned as he pushed open the screen door and walked into the yard. We watched him look right and then left when he reached the fence by the canal. From where I was sitting, I could see two small sailboats heading in the direction of the bay.

Grandpop walked briskly back to the house and onto the porch. “I don’t see her,” he said. I felt frightened by the worry in his voice, and I dropped my slice of bacon onto my plate, no longer hungry.