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"Don't care," I reply and stay on the ground watching her from below.
"We don't wanna get caught." She squints, still trying to see out the tiny square.
I take her hand and tug her down. "Tell me something. Why're we hiding?" My arm wraps around her waist and pulls her hips close to mine.
She puts her hands flat on my chest and pushes but I don't let her go.
"Is it cuz your dad thinks I'm a punk?"
She blushes and pushes her hair back. "I'm sorry about that."
"I'm not a punk-ass kid."
"I know that. Don't take it personally. My dad doesn't like most guys who show interest in me."
"So screw him. You make your own decisions." I'm testing her. I know he has a lot of control over her, but I want to know why and how deep it goes. I already know he wouldn't allow her to have a dog and he wouldn't want her to date me.
"I wish I did." She looks down at the sandy floor of the lighthouse tower.
I take her chin between my thumb and index finger and force her to look at me. "I think you're underestimating your dad. If he loves you like he says he does, he'll let you choose your own life."
Her pretty brown eyes grow sad and her mouth turns down in a frown. "Things don't work the way you'd think they should when it comes to him."
"I think you should try it."
Her bottom lip juts forward and trembles. "I've tried. It doesn't go well."
Right. The bruises. He beats her into submission. Once again, I want to beat the hell out of Vaughn Bianchi.
"Anyway." She forces a smile to her lips. "Tell me why you can't swim."
Okay. She doesn't want to talk about that yet. I get it. Why can't I swim? I don't know.
"I can swim. Just don't like it." I shrug.
"Why?"
It's hot and stuffy in the lighthouse. "Let's go outside."
We climb through the tiny door and sit with our backs against the outer wall of the lighthouse, our butts in the sand. The fresh ocean air feels good.
"So tell me why you don't like to swim." She bumps my shoulder with hers.
"Couple times I've been pushed in, panicked, thought I'd die."
"Who pushed you in?" She tugs at a blade of grass sticking up out of the sand.
Your brother, the asshole, but I'm not telling her that story. Not yet. "Growing up, most of the foster homes didn't have pools, but I'd been to the Boys' Club a few times and learned to swim there. I was still learning when I got sent to a family out in Rochester. They were a five minute walk from Finger Lake. This kid, Alphie was his name, he had it out for me. Most of the kids didn't appreciate the foster kid coming in and having to share their toys, but Alphie especially made it known they weren'tadopting no orphans. He pushed my head under, smashed it into the muddy bottom, and held it there. I guess since then I've just avoided swimming altogether." I haven't put it into words before, but that's the truth. Until her brother pushed me in again, I hadn't tried swimming.
"That's terrible. I'm sorry that happened to you. Kids can be so mean."
"Yeah."
"You should definitely try to overcome your fear."
I shake my head. "Not necessary. Don't need to swim nowhere."
We're quiet for a long time, just watching the waves when she says, "I'm going back to Manhattan tomorrow."
