Both Brett and Jacob turn toward Turtle in surprise.
Turtle says, “What?”
Brett says, “Mom—could you—could you put on some pants?”
Caroline says, “Oh, girlie. I haven’t seen you since you were this high.” She holds out a hand three feet above the ground. “Your mom, Helena, was my best friend, and boy—I tell you—she was a—well.”
Turtle feels an immediate revulsion. She thinks, don’t you talk about my mother, you cunt, you stranger.
Brett’s mom now turns to look at the boys. “Tell me what’s happened,” she says.
Brett says, “Mom, could you—”
“Of course,” she says, rising and pulling on hemp drawstring pants while the boys take turns explaining.
Jacob says, “She just sort of showed up.”
“She was just out in the dark, no flashlight, no backpack, no shoes, nothing, getting along just fine, like she could see in the dark.”
“In the pouring rain, pitch-black.”
“You should see her feet. Calluses—it’s insane.”
“She just walks everywhere barefoot.”
“She doesn’t feel cold.”
“Or pain.”
“Only justice.”
“We think she might be a ninja.”
“She denies this.”
“But of course, she’d have to deny it.”
“If she said yes, she was a ninja, we’d know she wasn’t.”
“I wouldn’t describe the ninja theory as definitive, but it’s a live possibility.”
“Anyway, she led us out of the valley of the shadow.”
“She can see in the dark.”
“She can walk across water.”
“She has her own pace. She just stops and she looks and she stands there looking and you’re all, like, ‘What are you looking at?’ but she just keeps looking and you’re like, ‘Um, aren’t you bored yet?’ But that’s because she’s a Zen master.”
“She’s very patient.”
“Her conversational pace isn’t what you’d call usual.”
“I’m right here,” Turtle says.
“She’s thoughtful, but there’s something more and stranger than that.”
“It’s less thoughtful than watchful.”
“Yeah—yeah! Watchful. You ask her a question and she just, like, watches you and you’re like … ‘Ummmm?’ and if you wait long enough she comes out with an answer.”
“She can tie knots, she can find her way in the forest.”
“The animals speak to her and tell her their secrets.”
When they are done, Caroline says, “Well, boys. That’s very evocative.” Then she turns to Turtle. “How is your father these days?”
“He’s good,” Turtle says.
“Is he working hard?”
“Not too hard,” Turtle says.
“Is he dating?” Caroline asks. “I bet he is.”
“No,” Turtle says.
“No?” Caroline says. “He was always the kind of guy, had to have a woman in his life.” She smiles. “A real charmer, your father.”
“No, there’re no women in his life,” Turtle says, a little menacingly.
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that; must get lonely up on that hill.”
“I don’t know,” Turtle says. “There’s Grandpa, and there’s the orchard, and the creek; and then, he has his poker buddies.”
“Well,” Caroline says, “people change. But your father was one of the handsomest men I ever knew. Still is, I bet.”
“Mom,” Brett says in exasperation, “that’s gross.”
“He was quite a looker,” Caroline says, “and an intelligent man. I always thought he would do something.”
“He hasn’t done anything,” Turtle says.
“He’s raised you, and what a strong-looking girl you’ve come up to be,” Caroline says. “Though, I have to say, you look about half wild.”
Turtle says nothing to that.
Caroline says, “So, Julia, they met up with you a couple miles from here?”
Turtle nods.
“It sounds like it was pretty much in the middle of nowhere.”
“I was on a walk,” Turtle says.
“Starting where?”
“What?” Turtle cups her hand around her ear and leans forward.
“Where’d you start out?”
“At my house.”
“You walked here from Buckhorn?” Caroline says.
“Yes, that’s right,” Turtle says, “came up out of Slaughterhouse Gulch, through the airport, and then above the banks of the Albion, sort of past people’s backyards.”
“Well, sweetheart, you look roughed-up enough for it, that’s for sure. That must be miles and miles. With no water? No food?”
Turtle chews, opening her jaw and closing it. She looks at the floor.
Caroline says, “Sweetheart, I’m just worried about you. What were you doing out there in the middle of the night? How far is that from your home, do you think?”
“I don’t know,” Turtle says.
“Brett,” Caroline says, “why don’t you take Jacob out and show him the glass pyramids.”
The boys exchange looks, and Brett jerks his head in a come on gesture and they both leave. Turtle stands in the middle of the floor, wringing her hands together and looking at the base of Caroline’s pedestal.
“Did you know,” Caroline says, “I was almost your godmother?”
Turtle cracks a knuckle, looks up at Caroline, and can almost remember her from a dim past. She senses a need to go carefully here and to protect her own small life on Buckhorn Hill.
“Your mother and I used to tear up the town together, and I tell you, we did our fair share of tramping around in these woods, when we were a little older than you, and it was all kissing boys and dropping acid. After school we used to go down to the headlands, and there was this cypress on the bluffs between Big River and Portuguese Beach. We’d hang our feet over the bluffs and look down at the little hidden coves and out at the islands and we’d talk and talk and talk.”
Turtle is silent. She thinks, this bitch. This bitch.
“You have any good girlfriends in school?”
“No.”
“Nobody?”
“No.”
“How are you liking it?”
“Fine.”
“But there are women in your life, I hope?”
Turtle