Anna often found that she was not dealing directly with life but with fears of life. When she told her ex-husband over the phone that his tone was disrespectful, what she truly felt was a fear of disrespect, which would imply that she was losing. She felt constantly enmeshed in a battle to prove to him that she was happier than he, which often manifested in a need to demonstrate that she was better off in terms of career, attractiveness, health, and so on; however, the ironic element was that she could never admit to herself that she cared what he thought of her or what he was doing with his life outside of the effects on their children, so she remained incapable of realizing that she was not dealing with life itself but with fears of it.
In truth, Anna was not glad that he would be absent for a month, because she enjoyed the rare solitude at home that he provided her by taking the children every other weekend and on Wednesday evenings. She could not admit this to herself completely either, however, because she was terrified of any evidence that she did not deeply love her children. She was terrified of this precisely because she did not deeply love her children and knew that this was unacceptable as a member of society and to her own self.
And so on.
Anna finished the brief conversation with her ex-husband, which always left a sour taste in her mouth, as she turned into the gravel lot behind her house. It was a very expensive beachfront property of which she was quite proud, but this was hardly enough to dispel the unpleasant feeling. To compound it, the instant she entered the house she could tell that something had gone wrong, but she had no time to explore the reason behind this intuition because the sound of padding feet quickly led to an explosion of Timothy.
"Mooom! Penelope was so mean to me today and we spilled a lot of milk and I gave my hamster a baby carrot and he liked it and look at the shells I found!" He stuck out his handful of shells.
"Very nice, Tim," she cooed. "What happened with you and Penelope?"
"He knocked the milk out of my hand. I cleaned it up. It was an accident. No big deal." The voice came from the sofa, where Anna had not consciously noticed her daughter in repose.
"Is that right, Tim?" She knew that Penelope was telling the truth, but she couldn't take her word immediately without upsetting Tim.
"I guess. She was mean though. And she called me Timothy."
"Well, your name is Timothy," Anna replied with a dash of warmth and of humor conveyed in a little smile that was careful not to mock.
"Hmph," he replied. He hugged her leg, then wandered away down the hall to his room.
But damage control was not yet complete. Anna, who had not even set down her briefcase, turned to her daughter. "Penelope, are you OK?"
"Yeah." She switched on the TV.
"You sure?"
"I said yeah, mom."
Anna sighed. "OK."
In the bathroom, she inspected her face closely. She had started dyeing her hair a couple of years ago, but there wasn't much she could do about the wrinkles that were deepening or new ones that were forming. She had not really wanted her life to be defined by motherhood. She had wanted it to be defined by romantic love and partnership. Every year, she felt the possibility of new, lasting love slipping further away, and every year, evidence of this grew more firmly inscribed on her face. But how could she find someone when she was almost constantly either working or caring for her children? Anna felt that she barely even knew who she was anymore.
That night, she ordered pizza for dinner, sensing that they could all use it. Fun foods always cheered Tim up, but Penelope stayed far away, her face clouded by thoughts that Anna could not access. After they ate, Penelope said she was going out to the dock.
"Tim told me you guys saw something out there last night. Sounded like a shark. Don't put your feet in the water, OK?"
"It wasn't a sha--...yeah, OK. I wasn't going to anyway." She tucked her smartphone in a pocket, shoved her feet into sneakers that she never untied, and slipped out of the house.
She must be upset about her father, Anna thought. But still, it feels like she hates me sometimes. Well, she's almost a teenager. That's just how they are.
"Can I have another slice?" Tim asked.
Anna looked up, forehead resting against one hand, and forced a smile. "Sure."
＊
Penelope sat on the dock with her feet dangling in the water. She knew that this was foolish. She did not care. Summer vacation was turning out to be one big awful bore. If we lived with dad, it wouldn't be like this. Penelope was not very old, but she already understood that who you are with is often more important than where you are.
Long minutes passed without a sign from the creature. Penelope made its sound several times, then sighed and laid back to watch the clouds flowing across the night sky. I miss dad, she thought, and then she thought it over and over. Barely any stars were visible: too many lights down below.
Fangs sunk into her leg. Penelope jolted and at first drew in a deep gasp of horror and pain, giving the creature just enough time to drag her into the water without anyone hearing the gurgled scream that followed. She tried to break away, but this only increased the pain. Dragged under and through the dark salt waves, Penelope's body and mind were in a panic, and even the flickerings of conscious attempt at doing something useful, like beating at the creature's body or trying to preserve oxygen, did not manifest. There was a final desperate struggle, and then the fateful intake of water, agonizing burning in the lungs, blackness.
