Part 3

“How is your partner?”

“We are no longer together. He is in a bit of a spiral right now, eating Prozac and dreaming about swimming with dead bodies at night. After my vacation, I want you to come back with me. I will take care of you.”

“I wish I could go with you. You are so lucky, Cammi. You are so young. You are so lucky,” sighed Zoe, and leaned on her shoulder.

“I would give it all up right now if you would be with me. I’ll give it all up for you.”

Something rustled behind the door. Their fingers untangled. The door cracked open, and a head appeared.

“Are you still out here?”

“Yes. Just having some more wine, sis,” Zoe said.

“Just lock the door when you’re done.” Her gaze searched their faces.

“Sure,” they answered, and the door shut. They sat in silence until the rustle inside ceased. Camille found Zoe’s hand again.

“I’m so depressed. I’m just old. I’m just getting old and I’m all alone.” Zoe rubbed her eyes, and her voice switched from animation to the solemn imploding weep Camille heard earlier between the explosions of insincere, jovial laughter.

“Old? Are you kidding? You’re not old.” Camille squeezed Zoe’s hand and pulled it out from the darkness under the table and into the candlelight. The fertile moon rose somewhere out of their sight, and its solemn light draped the sky and filled the world with sheer silver. The trees cast long, dark shadows over the pale, cataleptic world. Zoe and Camille sat in the shadows.

“Nobody understands me. Nobody wants this body.”

“I want it.” Camille clutched her hand, and Zoe’s hand squeezed back. Camille drank, delaying the decision to kiss Zoe.

“That’s so kind of you,” Zoe smiled, “but I’m old, lonely, and broken.” Zoe let go of Camille’s hand with a nudge of annoyance. Her face looked away.

“Forget it. What are you, like twenty-nine? You’re not old at all.”

“Compared to you I’m a relic. I haven’t accomplished anything. Nobody wants me anymore. I’m just a memory of a young woman,” she hid her face in her hands, and Camille could sense tears.

“What in the name of the Gorgons are you talking about?”

“It’s a secret I won’t tell,” she whispered into her palms.

“Zoe?”

“Forget it,” Zoe wiped her eyes. Camille squatted next to her. She grabbed onto her arms. Camille’s eyes searched for Zoe’s.

“This weight is killing me,” she said and cried. “I must tell someone.” Zoe’s nails clutched Camille’s shoulders.

“What is it? You can tell me anything. I’m like a well. Nothing escapes my lips.”

“I was wrecked when I was fourteen.” Tears sprang to Zoe’s eyes, and Camille hid Zoe’s small body in her arms.

“I’m sorry?” Camille wanted Zoe to say the words again.

“I was wrecked by a man when I was fourteen. I was such a beautiful girl.” She sobbed. Then Zoe, in anxious agony, leaned into Camille and grabbed her face between her hands. “You can’t tell anyone.” Camille inhaled Zoe’s enchanting fragrance and the disquiet of truth. “You can’t tell. You can’t. Do you understand?” She squeezed Camille’s face between her hands, and with sorrowful eyes read Camille’s face.

“I won’t,” Camille said tenderly.

“You promise me! You can’t tell.” Her shoulders shook, and her eyes shone like amethysts.

“I vow I won’t.” Camille laid her head on Zoe’s breasts and held her tighter. Camille inhaled Zoe’s body. Zoe’s arms wrapped around her head, caressing her hair.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Zoe. I didn’t know.”

They cried together.