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out of the water and shook them dry. “There’s no one out there this time of night except those big damned fish. What are they called . . . dolphins.”
    Nia lifted her own feet out and felt around for her shoes. “Dolphins aren’t fish,” she said.
    Bernice was already walking away.
    Nia glanced back at the water and saw the mystery woman again. This time, the woman didn’t duck away, but she stayed there, her naked torso rising up out of the water. She was much closer to the pier, only a few yards out in the bay, and Nia could see her more clearly. Her skin was dark, and her hair hung so long that it floated around in the water at her waist.
    Somehow, Nia suspected that Bernice would not turn around even if she called out again—so she did not tell her cousin that the woman’s silvery, empty eyes followed them both until they were back in the trees.
     

     
    At supper, Marjorie seated Nia between Bernice and Antonio, who scowled and spit at each other around her, or through her, if she leaned forward too far. Occasionally, Antonio made a vague stab at conversation; but Bernice would not let the smallest comment go unattacked.
    “It’s not so hot tonight, is it? Not as bad as it has been,” Antonio tried.
    Bernice laughed sharp and loud. “How would you know, you lazy bastard? You’ve been sitting inside all day on the porch.”
    Antonio squeezed his fork and lifted it to his mouth, where he unlocked his jaw long enough to snatch a mouthful of fried plantains. Marjorie stared at her plate and fiddled with her food. Under the table, her thigh lurched.
    “Honestly, Mother. If you want to say something, have out with it. There’s no need to get violent. Besides, that’s the table leg you kicked just now, and the last two times you hit Nia in the shins—only she’s too nice to say anything.”
    “You could take a lesson from her.” Antonio swallowed his plantains and picked up another forkful.
    Marjorie stumbled into the conversation. “Please don’t antagonize her, dear.”
    “Yeah, Antonio. Don’t antagonize me.”
    “Now
you
stop it, too,” Marjorie fussed.
    “This is
my
house.” Antonio almost shouted. “I paid for it, and I’ll antagonize anyone inside it if I damn well please.”
    “We’re not in
your
house yet.”
    “Sweetheart, please don’t talk that way to your—”
    “Shut up, Mother.”
    “Don’t tell your mother to shut up!”
    Bernice jumped to her feet and wadded her napkin. “Nia, let’s go.”
    Nia froze, fork poised midair. “I’m sorry? What?”
    Bernice snorted. “Didn’t you hear me? Or were you still daydreaming about your new friend, the mermaid?”
    All was suddenly quiet.
    “What? No. What mermaid?” Nia took another bite, and while she slowly chewed, she played with her fork. It made faint screeching noises as she pushed the tines around, following the pattern around the dish’s rim.
    Bernice stood behind her own chair, hands planted on the seat back. No one spoke, and all eyes were on the visitor, so she quit scribbling on the china and tried to explain herself. “When we were outside, I thought I saw a woman swimming by the dock. But I probably didn’t. It was awful late—right before supper. What was it you wanted again, Bernice? Where did you want to go?”
    “Outside. Mother, Nia and I are going for a walk.”
    “We are?”
    “We are.
Now
.” She pushed her plate away and dropped her napkin with a flounce and a flourish.
    Marjorie smiled like she was too tired to muster more of a reaction. “Go ahead. But it’s dark out there, and there are hardly any people. I don’t want you getting lost. You could get bitten by a snake, or worse. Take one of Mr. Coyne’s lamps.”
    “We won’t need it.” Bernice leaned over and whipped Nia’s napkin out of its place on her lap. She squashed the small clothand threw it onto the table. “There’s plenty of moon. Come
on
, Nia.”
    Nia stood and gently shoved her chair under the table.