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Then I see Kit’s expression—his utter bewilderment—and that doubt evaporates. His bafflement only grows as she scuttles backward.
“I’m not going to touch you, Sadie,” he says. “I thought you might be hurting Laney. I can see you weren’t.”
He leans her way, only a lean to speak over the wind, and she hunches into herself like a dog ducking a blow. He straightens fast. When he looks at me, I tap my head, and he nods. Yes, of course. She’s confused.
Kit hunkers down to her level, and it’s the most nonthreatening pose ever, but she shrinks in, her good shoulder rising as if trying to shield herself.
“D-don’t,” she says. “P-please. I’m sorry. Whatever I did, I’m sorry.”
Kit looks at me, his own confusion growing.
“She thinks you hurt her,” I say.
“What?” His eyes saucer. “I didn’t touch you, Sadie. Whatever happened—”
“Saw you.” Her chest expands, as if drawing in breath. “Saw you, saw you,sawyou!”
“What did you see?” he asks.
“You!” she spits the word. “Outside my window. Told me to come out. Go with you. Leave with you.”
“I… I would never.”
“Liar!” She rocks forward. “Saw you.”
“You’re saying you saw me outside your window, and I called up and asked you—”
“Waved to the boat. Beckoned to me.”
Kit looks my way. “I… I don’t understand.”
She hallucinated it. Saw what she wanted.
Her deepest desire come true.
The core of so many fairy tales. Something in the woods. Something beckoning. Your true love, calling to you.
I shiver. That’s my imagination again. I’m cold and drenched and exhausted.
Sadie must have dreamed Kit was outside her window saying he wanted her to leave with him. Then she got on a boat, and it exploded.
I’ll explain that to Kit later. For now, I shake my head, telling him not to unravel her delusion. There’s no time.
“Kit?” I say loudly. “I need you to go away. I have to help Sadie, and you can’t be here.”
He hesitates. Oh, he knows what I’m doing. He’s just not sure he can play his role. Finally, he squares his shoulders and gives an angry wave, as if to say “Screw both of you,” and stomps off.
I turn to Sadie, and I watch her expression for any sign of satisfaction, proof that she’s playing a role herself. She only shudders with relief.
“Okay, let’s go,” I say. “I’ll get you to the house.”
I put out an arm to help her up, and she takes it. As I get her on her feet, her one leg buckles. I’ve seen it do that before, and I don’t pay any attention now. It’s just a reminder that I need to take this slow and support her.
We move at a snail’s pace. We’re a few hundred feet from the house. I have a spot out here, where I write sometimes, and it’s close enough to the house that I can run back and grab a cold drink or use the bathroom. Now it seems impossibly far, like being in the water again, looking to shore.
Sadie wants to move faster. She keeps pulling at me, and I keep tugging her back.
“Need to get home,” she mumbles when we get into a dip where the wind dies and her voice can rise above the battering rain. “Let Milo in. Raining.”
