“Boots, walk around town, or dinner first?” Chase asked as she parked in a small lot between a touristy gift shop and a pizza parlor on the main thoroughfare through Lake George. The village, as it was still called, although Lily suspected it was larger in population than the designation implied, hadn’t changed much since the last time she’d been there, which had to have been more than a decade before. Perhaps even the last year of college. The resorts still looked the same, mostly low-slung motor courts interspersed with newer condos and individual freestanding units on either end of the village. Once outside the commercial area, every free bit of roadside property was developed until reaching the million dollar mile, a stretch of road bordering the lake, so named for the early twentieth century mansions of the wealthy families who had once flocked from New York City to Lake George in the summer. Many still privately owned by those families, they stood as reminders of the historic past, multistory stone edifices overlooking sweeping lawns that led down to private beaches with docks and boathouses and pavilions. Curving drives and stone patios sat framed by meticulously manicured gardens. Lily had the fleeting thought that she’d rather spend the summer in the mountains than behind some of those constraining walls.

She said to Chase, “Let’s walk, pick up the boots, and be done with everything before we eat. Then we won’t have to rush the meal.”

“I can get behind that,” Chase said as they walked along the beach in the center of town where the big tour boats docked. Long lines of tourists snaked out into the street waiting for the next departure.

“Ever been on one of those?” Chase asked.

“No,” Lily said, “but I gather we’ll be doing that on the Fourth.”

Chase pointed to one of the paddleboats, slightly smaller than the largest triple-decker tour boats, with two decks having areas of open seating fore and aft, and an enclosed section in the center for the less intrepid passengers. “That’s the one we’ll be taking, the William Henry.”

“Did you spend much time in the village when you were young?” Lily asked as they strolled past T-shirt shops and arty boutiques offering handcrafted ceramics, paintings, and sculptures interspersed with eateries and a few designer clothing shops.

“Not often. A trip into the village was a real outing for us. I looked forward to it for weeks. But then when I got here, everything felt so strange. So noisy and busy, and there wasn’t really all that much I really wanted. Except ice cream.”

Lily laughed. “I suppose that was hard to come by where you were living.”

“Pretty much nonexistent,” Chase said. “My father did most of the cooking but my mother baked. So we never went without treats, but ice cream was a little tough to conserve.”