“Don’t cry, Tracy,” said Barbara. “Please. I’m sorry.”

Tracy closed her eyes. She was warmer now, at least; Barbara was correct that putting their bodies together was useful for retaining heat.

“Do you like him?” Tracy whispered.

“No.”

“Why did you do it?”

Barbara paused.

“I do bad things sometimes,” she said. “I have that problem. I think—what would be the worst thing I could do in this moment? And then I do it. Almost like I can’t stop myself.”

Against her will, Tracy understood what Barbara meant. She, too, had had those thoughts—the difference was that she was too afraid to act on them. She imagined that most people were.

“You should get that examined,” said Tracy, and Barbara laughed a little. Tracy smiled. Despite everything, she liked to make Barbara laugh.

“Oh, I have,” said Barbara. “My father has made me see a shrink since I was five.”

“The same one?”

“All different. Every year there’s a new one. This year’s is Dr. Roth. I call her Dr. Sloth, because that’s what she looks like. She talks like one, too. Like this,” said Barbara—and she did an impression of someone sluggish and dull.

“At least she’s a woman,” said Barbara, after a beat. “I like women better.”

“Me too,” said Tracy—though she wasn’t actually sure that this was true.

“What does Dr. Roth think is wrong with you?”

“Impulse control,” said Barbara. “I don’t have enough of it, according to her. My father agrees.”

“You don’t get along with him.”

“Hah,” said Barbara. “The understatement of the year.”

“Is that why you came to camp this summer?” said Tracy. “To get away from him?”

“Partly.”

“What’s the other part?”

Barbara was quiet.

“To get away from all of them,” she said. “They’re having that party this summer, and I just didn’t want to be there for that. All their terrible friends. I don’t like any of them.”

Tracy had another theory.

“Is it easier to see your boyfriend from camp?”

Barbara nodded. Tracy could feel her chin moving up and down against the back of Tracy’s head.

“Easier to sneak out,” said Barbara. “Up at the house, someone’s always awake.”

“What about your mother?” This was the most they had ever talked about Barbara’s family. Normally, she changed the subject. “What’s she like?” Tracy said, pressing on.

A pause.

“She’s useless,” Barbara said. “She barely functions.”

“What happened to her?”

Barbara’s arms slackened a little around Tracy.

“My brother went missing,” she said, quietly. “And he never came back. That’s what happened to her, I think. Because I’ve seen pictures of her from when she was a teenager, and she looked okay. She looked like a different person.”

Tracy put her hand over Barbara’s. She squeezed it. She could feel herself sobering up in the cold. She had the feeling that she would be embarrassed by some of this, or all of this, tomorrow; that it would be difficult to look at Lowell and Walter and Barbara. But for now, she used what remained of the bravery the alcohol had given her to lace her fingers through Barbara’s and pull her arm more tightly around herself.

“Did you know that, about my brother?” Barbara said. “Does everyone know that?”

Tracy nodded. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Silence.

“My mom thinks he’ll come back,” said Barbara. “But that’s a secret from my father. She only says that stuff to me. My father gets mad when she even mentions Bear.”

“Do you think he will?” said Tracy.

“No,” said Barbara. “I don’t.”

In the dark, Tracy could hear Barbara opening and closing her mouth.

“What is it?”

“I think about him a lot. I wish he hadn’t gone away,” said Barbara.

“Do you wish you could have met him?”

“No. I mean, that’s part of it,” said Barbara. “I’ve seen pictures of him and he looked like a good person. Everyone says he was.”

She paused. Tracy held her breath, not wanting to break the spell.

“When I was younger,” said Barbara, “I used to have these imaginary conversations with him. I used to pretend he still lived with us, that I had an older brother who looked out for me. Protected me from my parents when they fought, or when they got mad at me.”

Tracy nodded. She—an only child—had had similar daydreams.

“But also,” said Barbara, “if he hadn’t disappeared.”

She did not finish the sentence.