The Invisible Circus - Jennifer Egan [17]
“Don’t think so, Bear,” their father said. “Not today.” Barry looked crestfallen, and their mother offered to go. They set off, paddling over the thick sand.
“Want me to sit for you?” Faith asked.
“I’m beat,” their father said. “You draw me for a change.”
“Okay,” Faith said with energy. She sat, the big pad covering her legs. She held the stick of charcoal between two fingers and looked at their father. They both laughed shyly. “It’s hard,” Faith said.
“Damn right it’s hard,” he said, closing his eyes and resting his head against the log. “Just draw what you see.”
Phoebe leaned against her sister. Together they took in their father’s pale, spent face. Faith made a few lines, charcoal trembling in her fingers. The longer their father’s eyes stayed shut, the more nervous they became. They had to keep him awake.
Faith stood up. The pad dropped to the sand, and their father’s eyes snapped open. “I’m going swimming,” she said, slightly breathless.
Phoebe looked up, surprised. This was not a swimming beach.
“In your clothes?” their father said.
“I wore a swimsuit.” She pulled off her sweater, hurrying, whipping off her stretchy pants to reveal a blue one-piece with a white ruffle along the bottom. The wind made her shiver.
Their father sat up. “I’ll be damned,” he said. “If you’d told me, I would’ve worn mine.”
“But you’re tired,” Faith said.
“Not that tired.”
Phoebe felt relief. Faith moved nervously on the sand. “Will you watch me?” she asked.
“Sure I’ll watch. Just don’t go too far out.”
“But watch.” Faith was always asking to be watched, having reached that age when nothing seems quite real without an audience.
Faith walked toward the sea. “She’s nuts,” their father said, and laughed. “Your sister is one hundred percent crazy.”
They watched Faith slowly enter the water. She was twelve, fragile in her adolescence: small breasts that astonished Phoebe whenever she caught sight of them, the slightest indentation at her waist. Phoebe saw from how slowly her sister walked that the water frightened her. So what, she thought anxiously. Get in.
Her father leaned against the log and gathered Phoebe into his lap. The top of her skull fit perfectly under his jaw. Together they watched Faith wade deeper into the water. “It must be cold as hell,” he remarked.
Faith turned to look back at them. “Are you watching?”
“We’re watching,” he yelled. “We’re wondering when you’re going to dunk your head.”
The instant he said it, Faith dove underwater and began to swim. With careful strokes she moved parallel to shore, first the crawl, then the breaststroke. She turned around and came back the other way, doing the backstroke and sidestroke. Now and then she paused, calling out to make sure they were watching. Phoebe fattened their father’s yell with her own—she was happy, Faith was keeping him awake.
“You must be freezing to death,” he shouted.
“I’m not,” Faith cried through chattering teeth. “I’m warm as a desert.”
But gradually Phoebe felt her father’s head grow heavy above her own. Faith did the butterfly. “You see that?” she called. But the wind had risen, her voice was faint. Their father’s eyes must have fallen shut.
“Daddy?”
Phoebe raised her arm, but apparently her sister couldn’t see it. “Dad?” Faith called again. When there was no reply, she resumed swimming, faster now and away from shore. Go on, Phoebe thought, Faster! She felt unable to move, as if she could act only through Faith, as if her sister’s movements included her. Go, go, she thought, watching Faith’s shape grow smaller. Good! He would have to wake up now.
The next time Faith stopped, she looked tiny. If she called out, Phoebe couldn’t hear. Faith lingered there, looking back toward shore as if waiting. Phoebe felt ready to explode with the urge to run to the water, shout that their father was sleeping again and Faith had to do something. But he rested so solidly against her, pulling long, deep breaths,