The Bay at Midnight

“We were looking for you,” he said. “You know you’re supposed to let us know where you are. Throw that killie in the canal and come with me,” he said.

Feeling self-conscious, I tossed the killie over the fence. “This is Wanda Lewis, Daddy,” I said. “And her brother George. And her cousin, Salena.”

“You got a nice girl,” Salena said. “She’s welcome to fish with us anytime she like.”

Daddy nodded to her. “Thank you,” he said. He put his hand on my shoulder and I tried to measure the anger in his touch: Nine on a scale of one to ten. I was afraid to go with him. My hands shook as I gathered my up my gear.

“What about the boat?” I asked him.

“Grandpop can come over later to get it,” he said.

“Bye,” I said to the Lewises, then turned to follow my father. He was already halfway down the path on his way to the small sand lot where he’d parked the car.

He didn’t speak until we were both in the car and he’d turned the key in the ignition. Then he looked at me, shaking his head slowly as though he couldn’t believe I was his child.

“What in God’s name do you think you’re doing on this side of the canal?” he asked, a cold, hard edge to his voice.

“Fishing,” I said.

“You think they’ve got different fish over here than on our side?”

Actually, I did, but I took a different tack.

“Grandpop said I should try to make friends with them,” I said, then cringed. I was a terrible person for pinning the blame on my grandfather. Daddy didn’t believe me, anyway.

“You’re starting to lie way too much, Julie,” he said as he drove the car from the lot onto the road. “You have a good imagination, and that’s fine. But you have to remember there’s a difference between making up stories that are harmless—that don’t hurt anybody, including yourself—and telling lies.”

“There’s no girls my age near us, Daddy,” I said, and I suddenly thought I was going to cry.

“You can play with Lucy,” he said.

“I would, except she never wants to do anything.”

Daddy suddenly looked sad. He reached across and stroked his hand over my hair, his touch gentle, the anger gone and worry in its place, which was almost worse. “Honey,” he said, “I know you’re lonely this summer. But don’t try to mix with the Negroes. No good can come of it.”

“Wanda reads Nancy Drew,” I said.

“I don’t care if she reads Dostoyevsky,” he said, his voice remaining calm. I had no idea who Dostoyevsky was. “I don’t want you to go over there again. Understood?”

“If Izzy was doing it, you wouldn’t care,” I said.

“If Izzy was doing it, I’d lock her in the house for a year,” he said. He turned the steering wheel to take us onto the road leading to the Lovelandtown Bridge, then glanced at me. “You think I favor Isabel?” he asked.

“I know you do.”

He said nothing as we drove over the bridge, the steel grating rumbling beneath the car’s tires.

“Isabel was my first child,” Daddy said quietly, once we’d crossed the bridge. “She’ll always have a special place in my heart, but I love all three of you equally. I’m sorry if I ever let you think otherwise.”

Although I hadn’t meant to manipulate my father with my accusation, it definitely seemed to have worked to my advantage. Daddy hugged me when we got out of the car in our driveway and said he thought his lecture had been punishment enough. I cried then for real, because I loved him with all my heart—and because I knew I was incapable of being the obedient girl he wanted me to be.

That afternoon, I sat on the bulkhead, dangling my feet above the water, looking over at the Lewis family as they packed up to go home. George and Wanda waved to me, and I waved back.

“Your dad went over and got you, huh?”

I recognized the voice without even turning around.

“Flake off, Ethan,” I said.

“I think it was neat that you went over there,” he said.

I turned to look at him, surprised. He was leaning on the fence. He had on sunglasses that were as thick as his regular glasses.

“My father had a big fight with your father,” he said.

“What are you talking about?” I swiveled on the bulkhead, drawing my legs up so that I was facing him.

“Your father was looking for you, and my father was out here and your father said, ‘Have you seen Julie,’ and my father said, ‘She’s where she is every day, on the other side of the canal, fishing.’”

“Your father finked on me?” I asked.

“Your father said he was going over to get you, and my father told him that, somehow, you ended up with an open mind and your father was trying to close it. And your father called mine a liberal asshole, and said that what happens in his family is none of my father’s business.” Ethan grinned. “It was pretty keen.”

Pretty keen if you’re not the subject of the dispute, I thought. I had to admit, though,