Carolina Moon

to the door and hooked its spindly top under the knob. She decided it was every bit as security-proof as the thin and rusted chain. Still, using both gave her the illusion of safety.
    It was a mistake, she knew, to allow herself to become so fatigued. Resistance went down. But everything had conspired against her. The potter she’d seen in Greenville had been temperamental and difficult to pin down. If he hadn’t also been brilliant, Tory would have walked out of his studio after twenty minutes instead of spending two hours praising, placating, and persuading.
    The car had taken another four hours, between getting towed, negotiating for a reconditioned radiator at the junkyard, browbeating the mechanic to do the repair on the spot.
    Add to that, she admitted it was her own stupidity that had landed her in the By the Way Inn. If she’d simply booked a room back in Greenville, or stopped at one of the perfectly respectable motor lodges on the interstate, she wouldn’t be stumbling with exhaustion around a smelly room.
    Only one night, she reminded herself, as she eyed the dingy green cover on the bed. For pocket change, it offered the questionable delights of Magic Fingers.
    She decided to pass.
    Just a few hours’ sleep, then she’d be on her way to Florence, where her grandmother would have the guest room—clean sheets, a hot bath—ready. She just had to get through the night.
    Without even taking off her shoes, she lay down on the spread and closed her eyes.
    Bodies in motion, slicked with sweat.
    Baby, yeah, baby. Give it to me. Harder!
    A woman weeping, pain rolling through her hot as lava.
    Oh God, God, what am I going to do? Where can I go? Any place but back. Please don’t let him find me.
    Scattered thoughts and fumbling hands, all panicked excitement and raging guilt.
    What if I get pregnant? My mother will kill me. Is it going to hurt? Does he really love me?
    Images, thoughts, voices washed over her in waves of shapes and sounds.
    Leave me alone, she demanded. Just leave me alone. With her eyes still shut, Tory imagined a wall, thick and high and white. She built it brick by brick until it stood between her and all the memories left hanging in the room like smoke. Behind the wall was all cool, clear blue. Water to float in, to sink in. And finally, to sleep in.
    And high above that pale blue pool the sun was white and warm. She could hear birdsong, and the lap of water as she trailed her hands through it. Her body was weightless here, her mind quiet. At the edges of the pool she could see the grand live oaks and their lacing of moss, and a willow bowing like a courtier to dip its fronds in the glassy surface.
    Smiling to herself she closed her eyes and drifted.
    The sound of laughter was high and bright, a girl’s careless joy. Lazily, Tory opened her eyes.
    There, by the willow, Hope stood waving.
    Hey, Tory! Hey, I was looking for you.
    Joy struck first, a bright arrow. Turning in the water, Tory waved back. Come on in. The water’s great.
    We get caught skinny-dipping, we’re both going to get it. But giggling, Hope shucked off her shoes, her shorts, then her shirt. I thought you went away.
    Don’t be dopey. Where would I go?
    I’ve been looking a long time. Slowly, Hope eased into the water. Willow slim and marble white. Her hair spread out to float on the surface. Gold against blue. Forever and ever.
    The water darkened, began to stir. The graceful fronds of the willow snapped up like whips. And the water was cold, suddenly so cold Tory began to shiver.
    Storm’s coming up. We’d better go in.
    It’s over my head. I can’t reach the bottom. You have to help me. As the water churned, Hope flailed out, her thin young arms beating, spewing up curtains of water that had gone the murky brown of a marsh.
    Tory struck out, strong strokes, frantic speed, but every arm span took her farther away from where the young girl struggled. The water burned her lungs, dragged at her feet. She felt herself going under, felt herself drowning with Hope’s voice inside her head.
    You have to come. You have to hurry.
    She awoke in the dark, her mouth full of the taste of the swamp. Without the heart or energy to build her wall again, Tory rolled out of bed. In the bathroom, she splashed rusty water on her face, then raised it, dripping, to the mirror.
    Eyes shadowed and still glazed from the dream stared back at her. Too late to turn back, she thought. It always was.
    She grabbed her purse and the unused