By the time I finish dinner, I feel like I ought to do something, although I’m not sure what. Eventually, I do what I always do when I’m feeling uncertain: I text Abi and Penelope about it. Penelope gets back to me first, which isn’t surprising. Abi’s been distracted lately.
Penelope’s response is also not terribly surprising.
Go check it out yourself.
I sigh, frowning down at my phone. Of course she’d say that, growing up the way she did. With the sister and mother she has.
And do what exactly?
I drop the phone on the counter and fix myself a bowl of strawberries and cream for dessert. There was a farm stand selling the strawberries when I drove into town the other day, with a hand-painted sign readingLast of the season!How could I resist that?
My phone dings.
Just check it out. See what’s out there. If it seems sketch, you can take it to the kid’s parents.
I roll my eyes. This is typical of Penelope. She likes putting herself in danger because, from what I gather, her whole childhood and adolescence always existed at the edge of danger. Now, she channels that energy into protesting. She’s the sort of person who knows about anti-surveillance makeup and how to get pepper spray out of your eyes and what to do if you get arrested.
And if there is some dude out there? What then?
If the kid’s not scared of him, then he can’t be that dangerous.
I scowl. Penelope’s conception of what is and isn’t dangerous is wildly different from mine.
I shove my phone in my pocket and carry my strawberries out to the pier to consider my options. There’s still plenty of light left, all of it soft and hazy and golden-tinged, the kind of lightthat gives everything a halo. The lake throws up sparks as it laps against Oliver’s boat, still tied to my pier.
I stare down at the boat. I think about Penelope’s message.Go check it out yourself.
I take a big bite of my strawberries.
It wouldn’t be too hard to row over there once I’m finished. Poke around. Just to see. Then I could even take the boat back over to Oliver’s pier when I’m done.
I could look at it as an adventure, I suppose. Same as the adventure of moving to this lake house.
I pull out my phone and find that Abi’s chimed in.
Abi
Um, isn’t this kind of dangerous?
Penelope
Again, if the kid’s not scared, Chloe will be fine THIS ONE TIME. Enough to decide if it’s sketch or not. Better to take action than do nothing at all.
I fire off a reply before I can stop myself.
I’m doing it. Will let you know when I’ve landed.
Both of them start typing at once. I pocket my phone and polish off the rest of the strawberries. I wanted to sit out in the golden light and relish them, but what are some fresh strawberries compared to a bit of danger?
I leave my bowl and spoon sitting on the pier and then lower myself down into the boat. It’s a lot more rickety than it looks, and it sinks beneath my weight, making the water splash aroundthe sides. In my pocket, my phone buzzes a couple of times, but I don’t check to see what either of them has to say. I’m already in the boat. I’m going.
I untie the rope and push off, the boat slicing sideways through the water like it wants to move along the shore. It takes me a few minutes to figure out how to use the oars, and they feel awkward and clumsy as I dip them into the surface. The boat spins sideways, and I slap the water around until I manage to at least point myself in the right direction.
Then I row.
Well, I attempt to row. For a few minutes, it feels like I’m not even moving, like I’m stuck in some swirling eddy and I’m never getting out. I can not fathom how a ten-year-old could do this. But then I heave with as much of my meager upper body strength as I can manage, and the boat shoves forward, toward the peninsula.
Once I get the hang of rowing, though, I find I actually kind of like it. I like the rhythmic slap of the oars against the lake, and the warm rush of the wind as it pushes my hair back away from my face.
