too close to us.
—Daphne du Maurier, Rebecca
11 THEN
June
Riverhead & Herron Mills, NY
PAISLEY WANTS TO do the Penguin Encounter at the Long Island Aquarium, so on Monday morning, Emilia calls to book two tickets for the one-thirty group, then hands over the keys to her car. I’ve driven it a couple times, little errands around Herron Mills, but it’s about forty-five minutes to Riverhead, and the pending drive makes my nerves spike. I’ve had my license for a year now, but I don’t have much highway experience. Plus, this time, I’ll have Paisley with me. I hide my jitters beneath a big smile, reminding myself I learned to drive in Brooklyn. I can handle Long Island.
The drive is undeniably beautiful. While Paisley entertains herself in the back with Emilia’s iPad, I will the scenery to soothe my nerves as we coast from the South to North Fork: lake shores, vineyards, farmland, and the largest golf course I’ve ever seen. But I can’t relax. My palms are slippery with sweat on the wheel, and every electronic chime from Paisley’s game makes me flinch.
About halfway there, the puffy clouds above us darken, and rain splatters the windshield. It’s barely more than a drizzle; the sun is still shining through the clouds. But my entire body tenses. As raindrops patter against the roof and the road becomes wet and black beneath us, all I can imagine is losing control, tires skidding across the highway, our small car colliding with oncoming traffic. My vision fills with smoke, blood, broken glass. I twist around, seat belt biting into my neck, and a small whimper escapes my lips: Paisley’s broken body is slumped across the backseat. Through the smashed window, dark water rushes in, filling the car, my nose, my lungs.
“You okay, Anna?” Paisley is asking.
I breathe. The water retreats.
“Fine,” I manage. Twist back around, focus on the road. I flex my fingers against the wheel, unknot the cramps. What was that? Paisley’s fine. We’re both fine. Heart still hammering, I drive at five miles under the speed limit until the sky clears up and we leave the rain behind.
Google Maps directs me into the parking lot, and we spend the remainder of the morning at the indoor exhibits—everything from alligators to sand sharks to marmosets—while we wait for our scheduled time with the penguins. And I’m still fine. No more dark visions. No panic knotting inside my chest.
By the time we meet our penguin expert and guide at the AQUATIC ADVENTURES sign, the morning’s drive feels like it happened to another girl. Max Adler is tall and muscular, with a mop of brown hair, and looks like he spends a lot of time in the sun. He’s young, maybe early twenties, and very enthusiastic about the African penguins with whom we’re about to get up close and personal. Paisley, who has been chattering nonstop about the little black and white waddlers since we got here, suddenly gets quiet and tugs on my hand. I crouch down next to her.
“What’s up?” I whisper.
“Does he have to be our guide?” she asks in my ear.
I frown. “I think so, yeah. Do you know him?” We’re missing the rundown of the rules and regulations, and I give Max half a smile to show I’m paying attention. When our eyes meet, he pauses just long enough to garner some curious glances from the rest of the tour group. Then he seems to collect his thoughts, and continues.
“I’ve seen him around,” Paisley whispers.
Unsure what that means but fairly certain we’re in no immediate danger from the penguin guy, I give her hand a reassuring squeeze and straighten up. Max finishes his overview, then leads us toward the Penguin Pavilion. As soon as we’re inside the exhibit, Paisley visibly relaxes. The squat little birds are adorable—swimming, sunning themselves, and napping in little hutches nestled along the back wall. We learn that the average lifespan of the African penguin is fifteen to thirty years, and that the birds at the Long Island Aquarium were imported illegally into the US from South Africa, where they had been captive bred. They’ve been living in the pavilion since the US Fish and Wildlife Service intervened in 2004.
Another staffer, Molly, takes over to explain penguin care and handling, and that everyone in the group will get to meet a fluffy, heart-melting little penguin chick, which is totally worth every penny of Emilia’s money. As we wait for our personal meet-and-greet, Max walks over to us, and I