Page 188 of Secrets Along the Shore
The boat scraped against the rocky shallows as I climbed in, careful not to tip it. I untied the rope from the dock’s cleat. Once seated, the motion came back to me like muscle memory—oars sliding into their slots, hands wrapping around the worn grips.
Pull.
Push.
Pull.
The rhythm steadied my heartbeat, drowned out the noise in my head. Every stroke was a meditation, a return. The lodge grew smaller behind me, and I didn’t look back.
I knew exactly where I was going.
Midway across the lake, I slowed. The sun was rising now, low and golden, its reflection like a path across the water. I coasted for a moment, letting the boat drift.
This was the place. Right here.
This was where we’d meet.
Becca and her sister would paddle out from their side, usually laughing, sometimes whispering. We’d bring sandwiches or candy and trade them like currency. We’d talk in gestures and giggles. They’d taught me how to tie knots and skip stones. I’d taught them how to sign “tree” and “fish” and “quiet.” The younger Bishop girl caught on instantly, while Becca fumbled, but that was okay.
Now, years later, I sat in the same boat, in the same place, the water lapping against the sides. I turned to look toward the opposite shore to their house.
It was a little older now. Some paint had stripped from the siding. A shutter hung crooked over one window. But it was the same three-story house with the wraparound porch and white-trimmed windows. Same place I’d waved to so many times before.
I squinted, shielding my eyes. And there—there, behind a gauzy white curtain—movement.
A shadow.
Someone was watching me.
My breath caught.
Slowly, I raised a hand and waved.
The figure didn’t move. Then, in one swift motion, the curtain snapped shut, and the shadow vanished.
I stared, waiting, hoping for a sign. A flicker of movement. A wave. Anything.
Nothing.
The rejection was like ice down my spine. Familiar. Cold.
I knew that feeling. The same emptiness from the night the girls stopped coming. The same silence that followed. Not literal silence, but the kind that makes you feel like you’ve been erased.
I dropped my hand.
A flash of motion behind me drew my attention back to the lodge. A car pulled into the driveway—red. It was hard to tell the model from the distance, but it was probably Evan’s Jeep.
I needed to go.
But before I picked up the oars again, a sensation that someone else was on the lake swept over me. I twisted in the boat, searching thesurface. There was nothing—no boats, no birds, no other signs of life. Just the lake, wide and deep and far too still.
But the feeling didn’t leave. I looked down into the water—dark and bottomless.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I muttered, but my fingers gripped the oars tighter.
Row.
Row faster.
