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k The Dance She had been there twice before, both times as she traveled from Lexington to Whitesburg, where she worked. She had driven the first time off the usual path, discovering the park like a hidden present . A swim suit had been stowed in the trunk of the car, as always, and Abby had stopped for only an hour. It had been a beautiful day, the beach crowded with Sunday families. It was a gem in the sunlight, each ripple a facet designed with care. A bridge crossed the reservoir high on the right, the speed boats miniature beneath its by Barbara Smith span. Hills surrounded the park, a thousand feet in all directions, thick with maples and a few evergreens, the roadbeds blasted out, leaving jagged cliffs. On the side of the hill away from the beach lay a campground, tents and trailers set like salt and pepper shakers on a green plush cloth. The steps and bathhouse had been built from the very same rock that had been moved for the roads. The second time she stopped for a whole afternoon, again on a sunny day, but with only fifty people or so, late in September. That was the time when the 31 pick-up truck, rusted red, slid to a halt in the gravel at the top of the hill. There'd been six men in the truck, three in the cab and three in the back. They'd all been drunk—or stoned—or both—all shirtless and wearing big hats. Their jeans were filthy. All six had piled out of the truck and down the hill, hollering and cursing as they came. In sixty seconds they had emptied the beach, the women and children not even stopping at the bathhouse to change. Abby had watched the men from her car as they swam—boots, hats, and all. She hadn't been scared, but neither had she waited around for them to see her. Today was the third time, soon after the second. This time it was raining. It seemed silly to stop to swim in the rain, but Abby was tired, and it would soon be too cool to swim, and there was still a long road ahead. Just a few minutes to wake her up. There was only one other car in the lot—an old army jeep, and the bathhouse was deserted. She took her clothes with her, rather than go back to the car, and piled them under a picnic table. They wouldn't get more than damp. It was along, narrow beach, the closest building the campers wash house on the other side of the hill. The weather what it was, there were no attendants around. Down at the far end of the swimming area, a quarter of a mile or so, four or five people stood shoulder-deep in the water, laughing. Abby ran to the water, her long hair already wet, her skin tingling in the late fall rain. She dove as soon as she could, swimming underwater out to the ropes. There she swam upstream, watching some birds, some cars on the highway far across the wide reservoir. Again she dove, heading this time toward shore. Her eyes were open in the murky green-brown, and she could feel the coolness even on her eyeballs. Then she saw the legs, male legs, she thought, one pair and then another on the right. She surfaced. There were five men altogether, two in front of her, one on her left, and, closing in and laughing, two others behind her. They looked alike—between 5?0" and 6' tall, shoulders thick, grinning through dark beards and long hair. "Hey, baby," said one in front of her, "you swim real good." Abby, holding herself steady, said, "Thanks." "Been swimmin' long?" another one asked. "All my life." She could give only straight answers. "Let's see," said Ui^ first man. He reached out and, putting a knuckle under her chin, lifted her face. "That's about twenty-five years of swimmin'. Poor darlin'," he shook his head, "you must be gettin' tired." Abby was still to surprised to be scared. She smiled...

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