Henrietta stared. His hair was matted against his forehead and there was a drop of water clinging to his cheek almost like a tear. Why would he have said that? It could not possibly be true. It was not that Henrietta could not imagine the world without her mother in it, because she had imagined it plenty of times; after Hector and her father she was no stranger to unexpected loss, so of course the notion had occurred to her. It was that the world with her mother in it and the world without were so vastly different that Henrietta was convinced she would have known when one transitioned to the other. Everything would have changed. She would have felt it somewhere deep in her body.
"No, she's not," Henrietta said dumbly. She didn't think he would lie to her, after having been so kind to her on previous occasions and having tried to protect her a moment ago, but he must have been mistaken. There was no possibility that her mother had died.
Although that did leave the unanswered question of where she was. She should have been clambering back to the boardwalk by now, or at least yelling shrilly from the water. Instead, the only sounds were the gentle lapping of the water and the distant music from the ballroom.
She still didn't believe her mother was dead, but something was wrong. Henrietta put one hand to her mouth and fretfully bit her nail. She leaned forward slightly and a breeze she hadn't noticed before tussled her hair, which made it difficult to see — but there was something he was holding onto in the water, something big and awkward and — dead weight. That was the phrase for the way the thing he was holding looked: it was dead weight.
Henrietta's fingernail broke beneath her teeth.
"No, she's not," Henrietta said dumbly. She didn't think he would lie to her, after having been so kind to her on previous occasions and having tried to protect her a moment ago, but he must have been mistaken. There was no possibility that her mother had died.
Although that did leave the unanswered question of where she was. She should have been clambering back to the boardwalk by now, or at least yelling shrilly from the water. Instead, the only sounds were the gentle lapping of the water and the distant music from the ballroom.
She still didn't believe her mother was dead, but something was wrong. Henrietta put one hand to her mouth and fretfully bit her nail. She leaned forward slightly and a breeze she hadn't noticed before tussled her hair, which made it difficult to see — but there was something he was holding onto in the water, something big and awkward and — dead weight. That was the phrase for the way the thing he was holding looked: it was dead weight.
Henrietta's fingernail broke beneath her teeth.
