Outside, she finds her father sitting on a patio chair, staring at the hedge with a meditative gaze, his plastic chair a step beyond the umbrella’s circle of shade. How odd it is to see him sitting in daylight, and darkness, at the same time.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Hm?” her father says, drawing himself out from whatever inward place he has been.

“What are you doing out here?”

He blinks. “What is there to do?”

She presses her lips together. “I’m going out for a bit. Can I borrow the station wagon?” As she waits, she feels about seventeen years old. That was the year Sunil had taught her how to drive in the Zellers parking lot. That summer, she drove the family all the way to Wasaga Beach for their yearly vacation, with Sunil in the front seat, easing her through every highway merge and lane change, while their parents sat nervously in the backseat. There was nothing to worry about, he reassured them. A twinge to think of his confidence in her.

Her father turns away, resuming his yogic watch of the hedge.

“Did you want me to pick up anything? Maybe some of the cereal you like? Or those muffins with the….” Kavita stops. She knows she is talking to herself. “Okay then.” She backs away. “I won’t be long.”

She waves him goodbye, not that he sees.

Menthols and gum on the dashboard, she drives. Half an hour later, she pulls into the marina parking lot. Turns off the ignition. Sits with her hands in her lap and looks around. On the green she sees a woman stretched out on a blanket, reading. A man playing tag with a toddler. A couple of guys tossing a football back and forth.

Now that she is there, having a smoke seems trivial. She senses something else has brought her to the marina. Could it be Sunil? Maybe there is an answer tucked under a pebble that can make sense of all the senselessness surrounding her now.

Squinting against the light of midday, she turns to face the harbour. A few sails are on the water. In the distance, she sees the lighthouse. Its magnetic pull moves her forward.

The breeze carries with it the fetid water of the river, thick today with the scent of earthworms. As she walks along the pier, her memories overlay the surroundings like an acetate transparency. She sees the old man fishing, the young family of four feeding fries to seagulls, the woman reading. Her feet move her no farther.