Chapter 10: The Boathouse

Dot's boathouse sat at the water's edge on the south shore, with one yellow light over the door.

Anson parked on the road above it and turned off his headlights.

"I'll be here," he said.

"I know."

"If you want me, say my name. I'll hear it."

I walked down the gravel path alone.

Tilda was waiting on the end of the dock with her arms wrapped around herself.

The lake behind her was black and still, and the boards creaked under my feet.

She turned when she heard me, and for a moment neither of us spoke.

She looked about twelve years old.

"You came," she said.

"You asked."

"I don't know where to start."

"Start with why you cut your hand."

She flinched.

"Mom told me to," she said. "She looked at me, and I knew what she meant. I always know what she means. I've known since I was six."

"What did she mean?"

"That if you said it, with the knife, she'd lose. So you had to be the one who hurt someone."

I said nothing.

I let the water slap against the pilings and waited.

"That's not why I asked you here," Tilda said. "It's about the night. The night they took you to the hospital."

My stomach dropped, slowly.

"I woke up because your door bolt slid," she said. "It was the middle of the night. I went down the hall in my nightgown."

"I was going to say something to you about the video. I was going to say I was sorry."

Her voice caught.

"Your door was open, and Mom was sitting on the edge of your bed."

"You were lying on your side, and you weren't moving. She'd put a pillow under your arm. She had Daddy's old razor in her right hand."

"She was holding your left arm straight out on the sheet with her other hand. I could see her ring pressing into your wrist."

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