And Gayle decided that she was going to have to make up a story.

Because there was no way she was going to tell the story of what had actually happened.

Because she would look like the biggest jerk in the world if she told people what had actually happened.

And—anyway—who would believe her if she told them?

8

As Ginette passed Lendall Tardy’s house, she thought about how happy Lendall and Gayle seemed.

And how they had been together forever.

And then she thought about how she felt like she and Pete were going to be together forever after they had confessed their love for one another on the bench at Skyview Park.

But now—they weren’t together at all.

They were far away from each other. And getting farther away with every step Ginette took.

Although—according to Pete and his theory on what it means to be close—every step Ginette took was bringing her closer to Pete.

But it was also bringing her closer to home, which was another few minutes’ walk down the Road to Nowhere.

And she was looking forward to being home. And going to bed.

She was tired.

Telling someone you love them for the first time takes a lot out of you.

Having them tell you that they love you back—for the first time—takes more out of you.

But having them say that you aren’t close to them at all—when you’re sitting right next to them—after confessions of love have been made—takes just about everything that’s left out of you.

It was 8:20 when Ginette passed Echo Lake Park, a wooded expanse that linked up with the North Maine Woods and the Allagash Wilderness and separated the two westernmost potato fields of Norsworthy’s Potato Farm. Nestled among the evergreen trees was the park’s main attraction, Echo Lake, one of Maine’s six thousand lakes and ponds. Echo Lake’s waters were fed by Echo Lake Brook, which was linked to a chain of streams and lakes and rivers that were home to landlocked Atlantic salmon, Arctic char, and the largest population of native brook trout in the United States.

Ginette had spent a lot of time at Echo Lake, swimming and fishing and kayaking and canoeing in the summer, and skating in the winter.

Marci and Phil Pelkey used to spend a lot of time at Echo Lake, too, swimming and fishing and kayaking and canoeing and skating. But life and its complications and responsibilities—like work and family obligations—had made it more difficult for them to find the time to go swimming, fishing, kayaking, canoeing, or skating—or do much of anything for fun—anymore.

But on the night when all the extraordinary things did or didn’t happen, Marci had managed to get Phil to go skating at Echo Lake. For fun. Like they used to. And Phil didn’t really want to go, because it was going to be more work than it was worth, he said, to clear the ice of all the snow that had fallen earlier in the day. So he asked his wife if she wanted to go to the Snowmobile Club up in Eagle Lake for a nice dinner instead of going skating.