“It just makes you sad when you have to go away from them,” her father said.
“I wouldn’t leave it.”
“You’re just a kid. You get dragged all over,” her father said. “Did you ever think you’d be here today?”
“It’s strange,” Alice said.
“It was a good idea,” Sam said. “I’m always right.”
“You’re not always right,” the little girl said.
“When have I ever been wrong?”
“You tell stories,” she said.
“Your uncle is
“Tell me another one,” she said to him.
“I can’t think of one right now.”
“Tell the one about the snakes’ shoes.”
“Your uncle was kidding about the snakes, you know,” Alice said.
“I know,” she said. Then she said to Sam, “Are you going to tell another one?”
“I’m not telling stories to people who don’t believe them,” Sam said.
“Come on,” she said.
Sam looked at her. She had bony knees, and her hair was brownish-blond. It didn’t lighten in the sunshine like her mother’s. She was not going to be as pretty as her mother. He rested his hand on the top of her head.
The clouds were rolling quickly across the sky, and when they moved a certain way it was possible for them to see the moon, full and faint in the sky. The crows were still in the treetops. A fish jumped near the rock, and someone said, “Look,” and everyone did—late, but in time to see the circles widening where it had landed.
“What did you marry Hans for?” Richard asked.
“I don’t know why I married either of you,” Alice said.
“Where did you tell him you were going while he was away?” Richard asked.
“To see my sister.”
“How is your sister?” he asked.
She laughed. “Fine, I guess.”
“What’s funny?” Richard asked.
“Our conversation,” she said.
Sam was helping his niece off the rock. “We’ll take a walk,” he said to her. “I have a long story for you, but it will bore the rest of them.”
The little girl’s knees stuck out. Sam felt sorry for her. He lifted her on his shoulders and cupped his hands over her knees so he wouldn’t have to look at them.
“What’s the story?” she said.
“One time,” Sam said, “I wrote a book about your mother.”
“What was it about?” the little girl asked.
“It was about a little girl who met all sorts of interesting animals—a rabbit who kept showing her his pocket watch, who was very upset because he was late—”
“I know that book,” she said. “You didn’t write that.”
“I did write it. But at the time I was very shy, and I didn’t want to admit that I’d written it, so I signed another name to it.”
“You’re not shy,” the little girl said.
Sam continued walking, ducking whenever a branch hung low.
“Do you think there are more snakes?” she asked.
“If there are, they’re harmless. They won’t hurt you.”
“Do they ever hide in trees?”
“No snakes are going to get you,” Sam said. “Where was I?”
“You were talking about
“Don’t you think I did a good job with that book?” Sam asked.
“You’re silly,” she said.
It was evening—cool enough for them to wish they had more than two towels to wrap around themselves. The little girl was sitting between her father’s legs. A minute before, he had said that she was cold and they should go, but she said that she wasn’t and even managed to stop shivering. Alice’s son was asleep, squinting. Small black insects clustered on the water in front of the rock. It was their last night there.
