In the weeks that followed, I drove north whenever work allowed. Sometimes Marcus came to help repair the dock, and sometimes I worked alone with the radio playing quietly inside. I learned which floorboards complained in the morning, where the light fell on the kitchen table in late afternoon, and how quickly rain could cross the lake without warning. I met a retired couple two doors down who brought over a basket of tomatoes and asked whether I needed help finding a reliable roofer. Nobody cared about my divorce. To them, I was simply the new neighbor trying to keep the old place in good condition.
Rachel and I stayed in touch, though not every conversation was about James. Her legal case moved forward, with the records and witness statements helping her attorney establish the history that mattered. Eventually she called to say the most difficult part of the separation had been resolved, and she wanted to thank me for sharing the information about the Friday meeting. I told her she had been the brave one, walking into my kitchen with screenshots while trying to protect her children. She said neither of us had wanted that kind of courage, but sometimes you used the strength you had because someone else needed it.
A few weeks later an envelope arrived containing a drawing from Lily. Rachel had told the children that I owned a cottage by a lake, and Lily had apparently decided it needed a picture. She drew blue water, a green house, a bright yellow sun, and three people jumping from a dock while a fourth watched from the porch. Along the bottom, in careful uneven letters, she'd written that she hoped the fish were friendly. I put the drawing on my refrigerator. Seeing it there gave me a reason to smile on mornings when the house still felt too quiet.
That summer Rachel brought Lily and her little brother to Pine Lake for an afternoon. I grilled lunch, Marcus brought a cooler of drinks, and the children spent most of the day exploring the shallow water near the dock while we watched closely. Lily wanted to know whether the fish really lived beneath the boards and whether the porch swing could hold four people. Her brother threw stones into the lake with such concentration that every splash seemed like a major discovery. When they finally jumped from the dock into the water, their delighted screams echoed across the cove.
Rachel sat beside me on the porch while the children ate watermelon on the steps. We talked about ordinary things: her new schedule, school supplies, the cost of replacing a water heater, the peculiar way children ask the hardest questions just when adults think the conversation is over. There was