The Purgatorium

Chapter Thirteen

As they walked up the hill from the bunkhouse toward the road, Daphne combed her long hair with her fingers, drying it in the gentle breeze, all the while looking about for people from the Purgatorium and wondering what her parents would think when they found out what was going on. At the top of the hill, the wind grew stronger, whipping her hair around her face. She fought with it until it was nearly dry, then she fastened the band in back to make a ponytail.

The road was not paved and was rocky and muddy and as wide as a single car lane. From the top of the hill, it leveled off onto a headland that dropped sharply to the water below. The wind was fierce on the headland, and the sky was cloudless. In a short while, Daphne's clothes were dry except for the thin padding of her strapless bra.

The water below was much more volatile on this side of the island, crashing against the bluffs with such force that Daphne was sure the ground was trembling beneath her feet. As high as they were, Sierra Blanca was still higher, blocking her view of the rest of the island, its grassy knolls and streams much different from this endless rock. Sparse, tall grass grew along the side of the road, occasionally tickling Daphne's arms and legs as it danced in the wind. There wasn't a tree in sight as they trudged a mile or so across the headland. Daphne felt her shoulders getting burned.

Kara would have enjoyed this hike. She had been shorter than Daphne, but more athletic and faster, even though she had cared more for music and dancing than sports. Daphne was the one who had participated in sports all through school, and she used to get frustrated, when Kara played with her, at how unevenly they were matched despite Daphne's hard work. But both girls had loved the outdoors, unlike their mother, especially when they went fishing, because that's when their father was the most talkative and the most relaxed around Joey and his growing antisocial behavior.

Once they were out on their pontoon boat at Inks Lake, all but their mother. Joey, fifteen, sat quietly, as he had been doing lately, slumped on the sofa seat.

"Don't you wanna fish?" their dad asked him.

Joey didn't reply.

Daphne punched his shoulder. She would have been twelve or thirteen. "Fish with us. Let's see who can catch the first one."

"What's the point?" he asked. Then he whispered over and over, "What's the point? What's the point? What's the point?"

"Just for fun," said nine-year-old Kara. "It's better than sitting there."

"That's alright," their dad said. "Sit there and enjoy the lake."

Her mother didn't usually go along because she wasn't the outdoorsy type and because she was busy. Although she didn't work, she was involved in activities that kept her stressed and uptight. She was a board member of their homeowner's association, led a book club, volunteered as a mentor at the elementary school, belonged to a Bunco club, and, when Kara was still alive, studied to become a master gardener. She could be the most giving person in the world. The gifts at Christmas were over the top, and there were often little surprises waiting for all three kids on their beds when they got home from school, like a new book, or a poster, or brand new markers. In spite of her tendency to be giving and loving, Daphne's mother spoke out in anger without thinking, always regretting her words and making apologies, but the stinger of her words penetrated Daphne's skin and could not be removed.

She should have gotten out of bed that night she heard the banging when Joey went to Kara's room. He couldn't help himself. It was Daphne's fault. She gazed at the ocean, full of longing and regret over a mistake she couldn't undo no matter how badly she wished it. She could sail through the air and into the sea right now and end her agony.