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All the Water in the World

Karen Raney
Chapters (62)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. PART I
  4. Eve
  5. 1
  6. Maddy
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. Eve
  12. 6
  13. Maddy
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. Eve
  19. 11
  20. Maddy
  21. 12
  22. 13
  23. 14
  24. 15
  25. PART II
  26. Eve
  27. 16
  28. 17
  29. 18
  30. 19
  31. Maddy
  32. 20
  33. 21
  34. Eve
  35. 22
  36. 23
  37. Maddy
  38. 24
  39. 25
  40. Eve
  41. 26
  42. 27
  43. PART III
  44. Eve
  45. 28
  46. 29
  47. 30
  48. 31
  49. 32
  50. 33
  51. 34
  52. 35
  53. 36
  54. 37
  55. 38
  56. 39
  57. Coda
  58. 40
  59. Acknowledgments
  60. Reading Group Guide
  61. About the Author
  62. Copyright

Cover

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Dedication

This book is dedicated to Summer Dale (1996–2012) and Kelly Morter

PART I

Eve

1

A lake is a black hole for sound. The wind, the crack of a hammer, the cries of birds and children weave a rim of noise around the water, making its silence more profound. When a turtle or a fish breaks the surface, the sound appears to come from within. Maddy, who is a natural philosopher, would want to know whether it really is sound, or just the possibility of sound, that issues from such breaches. I mention Maddy because to have a child is to have a twofold mind. No thought or action belongs to me alone. This holds true more than ever now.

Every morning that summer I made my way to the dock, moving my cup of coffee up and down to prevent a spill. Some days when I arrived, the mist was a thick white lid. Some days it was lifting to expose the pan of still water. Some days I could see circles of rain popping out on the lake before the drops reached my skin. Robin never came with me. He was busy building the new room in the attic, a blank place that smelled of raw wood and glue and had a completely different light from the rest of the house. Being up in the thick part of the pines, it should feel like a tree house if it’s ever finished.

When I reached the shore, the day I met our neighbor, the mist had already cleared. The colors were intense, almost unbearably so: sap green, white gold, blue of every kind. The dock wobbled underfoot as I stepped down, making me aware of both the mass and the instability of water. I set my cup on the low table at the end and brushed the dew off the two Adirondack chairs, whose green surface was bubbled and flaking. Those chairs needed repainting, but I knew if I mentioned it to Robin he would say in his hearty voice, “Hey, Eve, that’s a good job for you!” and I have more than enough to do while I’m here.