Chapter 8: The Boathouse

The boathouse stood where it always had, at the far end of the lake path.

Its roof sagged into the reeds.

I had told myself I would never go near it again.

On our second afternoon in Pine Ridge, my daughter took off down the lake path after a dragonfly.

I followed her, because I had no choice.

My boys came pounding behind me with sticks.

"Stay on the shore where I can see you," I called.

"We know!" yelled my older son.

The dock ran out over gray water, and the boards were old and soft.

I walked out to the end, the only place I could watch all three at once.

I heard his boots before I saw him.

"Sorrel."

Thane stood at the head of the dock with his hands in his pockets.

He had a bruise along his jaw from the front lawn, and he hadn't shaved.

"I'm allowed to walk on a public dock," I said.

"It isn't public. It's ours."

"Then you're allowed to throw me off it."

He didn't smile.

He came out slowly, and the boards creaked under his weight.

He stopped a careful two feet from me and looked out over the water.

"I've been out here every night for five years," he said.

"Why?"

"It's the last place I was happy."

I kept my eyes on my children.

"You said you didn't know me," I said.

"I know."

"You told a room full of people you'd never touched me."

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