“Tomorrow night,” I replied, happy to be conspirators again. “She’d love it. I don’t think she’s spent much time outdoors.”

“You two got close in London?”

“I don’t know about close.”

“She admires you.”

“How do you know?”

“Male instinct. Though anyone prepared to be that awkward, I find a little scary.”

“Anyway, I’m glad you like her.” I turned around and Robin turned with me. A line of boot-shaped holes led away, connecting us to the shore. “Maddy never saw the room,” I said.

“The moon?”

“The room.”

“I should have finished it a long time ago!”

After a moment I said: “It’s finished now,” and I lunged across the ice, plowing up giant petals of snow. He did the same, in another direction. We stood looking at each other. I made my way to him over the churned-up surface.

“When was she last at the lake?” he asked.

“In June. She drove up with Jack.”

“Did she know it would be the last time?”

“I hope not.”

A giant whip cracked under our feet and lashed toward the far shore. I froze in place. I had never been on the ice when it happened. Robin reached for my hand, and, glove in glove, not daring to speak, we made our way toward the shallows, where the ice was thicker, instinctively forcing our boots flat along the surface instead of lifting them. Moving on ice was something you did either with great elegance or with great clumsiness.

We came to a stop on the blank place where in summer the dock juts out from the shore. Now that we were safe, I was reluctant to leave the lake. The house seemed far away, half ablaze and half in darkness.

“It wasn’t a real crack,” said Robin. “Just the lake making random noises.”

“I want to hear it again.” All at once the need was urgent. “I want to hear it! Anything!” I pulled off my hood and let go of him to listen. What currents were moving in the midnight air seemed to converge where we stood, waiting for the lake to declare itself. Speak! Give a sign! No sign came. No second crack, no murmuring, groaning, or clapping, no promise or hint or response of any kind. Only the two of us, breathing into the frozen silence.

Coda

40

“Can you tell me when my mom’s coming back?” Yank the stranger by the chin like mothers do to drive their point home to a kid, though mine never had to. I always tried to be good and so did she.

Her fingers gripped my chin with surprising strength. Defiant means: Don’t mess with me. What does beseeching mean, again? Please help me. I could not move or look away or press stop.

“I’m here, Maddy! Right beside you.”