Chapter 6: Six A.M.

At six on Friday morning I took two mugs of coffee out to the dock.

My father was already there, in his old canvas hat, with a fishing rod he had borrowed from the boathouse.

The lake was glass, and the mist was still lying on it in strips.

"You didn't sleep," he said, taking the mug.

"I slept a little."

I had not.

I had lain awake counting a card number I had never given Colin, and hearing Nate say it from memory.

Colin had slept beside me with one arm over his face, and I had not woken him to ask.

"You've got your mother's eyes when you lie."

I sat down next to him with my feet over the edge.

He cast, and the line went out in a long, easy curve.

He had run a milling machine for thirty-eight years and he had never once raised his voice at anyone, including the foremen who deserved it.

I used to think that meant he had nothing to say.

"Dad, I'm sorry about last night."

"What for?"

"The motel. The card table. All of it."

He watched his line and did not answer for a while.

"Colin called us in May," he said. "Did he tell you?"

"No."

"He said the lake house might be tight with the whole family coming. He said he'd pay for a nice motel in town if we didn't mind."

My hands tightened on the mug.

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