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they thought better of it. “—I thought Gavin would be interested in what I found out but I guess no one wants to be reminded of their crazy relatives … shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean …”
    “It’s okay, Christine, you don’t have to tiptoe around the subject.” I wonder if this is why Christine’s been so distant these last few months. Was she afraid that her discovery of Eugenie’s crazy sister would remind me too painfully of Neil? “Of course I worry about Bea inheriting Neil’s instability, but so far she doesn’t seem at all like him. She’s the most levelheaded kid I’ve ever met.”
    “You’ve done a remarkable job raising her.”
    “Bea’s amazing, but I’m not sure I can take credit for that. You remember what I was like after what happened with Neil—there were days when I was so depressed I couldn’t get out of bed. I used to wake up and find Bea sitting on the foot of my bed pretending to read to herself. If you hadn’t come and stayed with us I might never have gotten out of bed. After that I was so busy working for my dad during the day and going to night school that I had hardly any time for her. I look at her now—she’s not afraid of anything, she hardly seems to need anything or anyone—andI don’t know whether to be grateful for her independence or guilty that’s she’s had to be so strong to grow up with me.”
    “But you don’t wish that you never had her.”
    It’s such a wild suggestion, even for Christine, who has a habit of saying exactly what she’s thinking, that I stare at her. Blood rises to her skin and fills the curve of her cheek, making her face appear fuller than usual. She looks away and then says, softly, “I mean, you had to give up a lot when you had her.”
    “You mean not graduating from Penrose or going abroad to study art the way I wanted to? Lots of people dream of becoming a painter and don’t … who knows if I would have even if I hadn’t had Bea.”
    “So you don’t mind the loss of freedom?”
    “No, not that kind of freedom, at least.” I take a sip of my water, wishing it were wine, and look away from Christine, toward the river and the light on the boat landing in the park beyond the train station’s parking lot.
    “What I do miss is freedom from fear. Like right now,” I say, half laughing, trying to ease the tension that has crept into our conversation, “I’m waiting for Bea to get home from the kayaking trip she took upriver today. She spent the morning rowing against Poughkeepsie, but she still couldn’t wait to get out on the river when we got back. She should have been back an hour ago and I can’t help worrying that she’s tipped over and been dragged under by a current. The Hudson is full of treacherous currents—we’re not far from what the Dutch called World’s End. The current there tends to sink ships a whole lot bigger than Bea’s little kayak.”
    Christine follows my gaze out over the water. Without the sun on it the river looks cold and forbidding, the current moving relentlessly to the sea. “I remember what World’s End is, Juno,” Christine says reprovingly.
    “Well, then, you’ll understand why what looks like a pretty view to you looks like a death trap to me. Trust me, it’s not a pretty way to look at the world.”
    Francesca, hearing the tremor in my voice, rises to her feet and lays her long delicate muzzle in my lap. I stroke her silky ears, looking down into her large, liquid eyes to avoid Christine’s gaze.
    “I’m sorry, Juno. I know it’s been hard raising her alone. Have you seen Neil at all … I mean other than those
astral visitations
we spoke of earlier?”
    I laugh, relieved to hear Christine venture a joke even if it doesn’t seem as funny as it did before when we were crossing the college lawn. “No, no visits in the flesh. As far as I know he’s still at Briarwood,” I tell her, “but you know, all kidding aside, I
do
dream about him
—a lot
.