The backyard wasn’t manicured,exactly, but it didn’t need to be. The grass rolled right down to the lake’s edge, dappled with taller patches of native grasses and sections of clover. The house itself loomed behind them, big windows catching the morning sun, cedar siding weathered to gray. A tentcompany had rolled in just after breakfast, men in matching polos hauling poles and tarps across the lawn.
Maggie and Izzy were supposed to be “helping,” which in practice meant stringing lights along the dock pillars.
“Higher,” Izzy grunted, stretching on her toes.
Maggie leaned back from where she crouched, laughing. “Izzy, that’s not higher. That’scloser to average human reach.Want me to grab you a stool? Or maybe some stilts?”
Izzy shot her a glare, still trying to loop the cord around the weathered post. “Not all of us are giraffes, Maggie.”
“You say that like it’s an insult,” Maggie said, knotting her end of the light string with ease. “You’re just jealous I can reach the cereal on the top shelf without a ladder. Superior genes.”
“Superiorego,” Izzy teased.
The lake glittered behind them, the autumn air sharp but clear, a breeze rippling through the trees. Somewhere behind the house, Danica’s mom was scolding someone about folding napkins properly, her voice carrying across the yard.
Danica’s mom had always been a sweetheart, like an older version of Danica, and she’d always reminded Maggie of her own mom. When Maggie had brought up that fact to her therapist, Lauren had nodded and said, “Sometimes when someone reminds us of who we lost, it’s really just our way of noticing what we still need.”
A noise interrupted her thoughts.
A long, trumpeting honk that sounded halfway between a bugle and a horror movie soundtrack.
The tent workers froze mid-pole. One of them muttered, “Oh god, not again.”
From the far side of the yard, the swan appeared — white feathers gleaming, wings flapping like sails, black eyes locked in with unnerving intensity. It barreled straight through the workers, scattering the group of grown men like bowling pins.
“Run!” one of them yelped, dropping a mallet as the swan hissed, actually hissed, like some kind of viper.
Izzy ducked behind the dock post. “Oh no.”
Maggie squinted. “That’s it? That’s the terror everyone’s been talking about? It’s just a goose with a nice suit and superiority complex.”
Izzy’s eyes widened. “Mags. Don’t?—”
“No, seriously,” Maggie cut in, rolling up her sleeves. “Geese are terrifying, yes, but this thing? It just needs to know who’s boss. Look at it — acting like it owns the lawn.”
The swan honked again, louder, wings beating the air.
“See?” Maggie said, already stepping off the dock toward it. “I think it just responds to fear. I’ll just herd it back into the water, easy.”
Izzy warned, “Do not engage with the swan.”
But Maggie was already halfway across the grass, arms spread like she was wrangling a toddler. “Shoo! Back in the lake, your highness. This isn’t your runway.”
For a second, it worked. The swan hesitated, wings half folding. Maggie smirked. “See? Just a bird with a god complex.”
Then, the damn thing lowered its head, spread its wings, and charged.
Maggie’s smirk evaporated as six feet of furious feather and rage thundered at her. She tried to stand her ground —show no fear, it’s just poultry, it cannot hurt you— but the swan hissed like Satan’s kettle and snapped its beak an inch from her knee.
She yelped and stumbled backward.
The tent workers were already retreating to the far side of the lawn, shouting warnings: “Don’t turn your back on it” and “It goes for the ankles.”
Izzy was doubled over on the dock, half laughing, half hollering, “I told you not to mess with the swan.”
Maggie tried to recover, sidestepping, hands out like shewas negotiating with an unhinged and armed toddler. “Okay, okay, I get it, you’re the boss, but?—”
Out of nowhere, Gladys came to her rescue, barking and running after the swan.
