I let my waving hand drop. As the boat sails past, we continue to watch each other, our gazes locked together. I watch the figure of my little sister grow smaller and smaller as the distance between us lengthens. I watch until she is nothing more than a smudge on the horizon. My heart breaks as it never has, as I am filled with waves of self-doubt and guilt.

Then I turn around and face the open water, ready to take on the rest of my life.

Ready to find my father.

PART TWO

CHAPTER TEN

Ryan sits in the stern___, steering the boat, Jack beside him, paws up on the rail, his tongue lolling. I lean back, letting the wind catch in my hair, tousling it behind me. It is surprisingly windy and because of the speed, the wind is bracingly cold. My nose is stinging and my cheeks are frozen.

It feels good to be on the move, to know my journey has finally begun. After all these months thinking about this moment, it has finally arrived. It’s especially great to be on the water, away from the cities and destruction. Out here, you can almost pretend the war didn’t happen.

The water sparkles beneath us as we cut through it at speed. I let it relax me. If it weren’t so cold, I’d almost be tempted to sunbathe.

“Take a look at that!” Ryan calls over his shoulder.

I sit up and see where he’s pointing. Up ahead are lots of small islands dotting the water. Some are filled with trees, like mini floating forests. Some are linked by bridges, now rusted and falling apart. On others there are houses; big, grand buildings that are beginning to crumble into the water.

“Did people live in those?” I say, surprised.

Zeke holds up the map and points to the St. Lawrence River, which we are currently sailing down. “Must be the Thousand Islands,” he says, tapping the blobs of green that run along the length of the river.

I watch, awestruck, as we weave in and out of the islands. I can’t even begin to imagine the sort of community that would have lived here, needing a boat to get to their neighbor’s house, or to the mainland for school and work. The houses are very plush, making me think that they must have been inhabited by rich people.

We pass a house that would have been a mansion in its heyday. It’s covered in thick ivy that strangles all the windows, turning it into something out of a children’s fairy tale. For a moment, I wonder what it would be like if we all pulled over and moved into one of these mansions, lived out our days here, in crumbling opulence. I wonder if anything inside is still intact. Chandeliers? Marble fireplaces? Priceless rugs? Antiques?