I dive in and go under, and I have to remind myself not to breathe, because the iciness of the lake nearly causes me to gasp. How were you floating there unfazed in this freezing water? I open my eyes, but it’s too dark to see anything. I kick as hard as I can to the bottom, waving my arms frantically, searching for you, but I feel nothing—not you, not the bottom, not branches or fish or anything. Only cold, cold water swirling through my outstretched fingers.

I can’t reach the bottom. I can’t find you. The underwater world might as well be deep space, and I wish I could stay there for a long time, explore the dark places at the bottom. Is this what death is like?

I stay under as long as possible, until a red haze begins to press in at the edges of my eyesight and I’m about to pass out. I turn and let my sorrow drag me to the top. The cold of the water no longer bothers me. I am numb to it. I burst through the surface and gorge myself with air, unable to take it in quick enough.

Scanning the surface for bubbles, I tread water and gather myself to take another plunge, but as I breathe, Tom pops up lightly from the depths.

“Did you . . .” I begin.

He doesn’t answer. He gives me a look that has a warning, one I don’t recognize. Is he telling me to be careful? To stay back? To prepare myself for the loss of you? He takes a few deep breaths and sinks into the water, his feet breaking the surface as he kicks his way straight down from the spot where you vanished moments before.

The Glassy Sea

The fall after Mary and I got married blurred past with high school activities that tried to mark our senior year. We spent as many of our days as we could together. I kept promising her I’d get her a small diamond ring as soon as possible, but she smiled and turned the twist tie on her ring finger.

“I’ve already got you, Paul. I don’t need a ring.”

Did she prefer the twist-tie ring because it didn’t draw any unwanted attention or questions? The truth is, she was changing. The laughing, lighthearted Mary I had met at the Halloween party one year before had begun to withdraw during our first summer at the cabin, and by the time school was in full swing, she’d become almost a recluse. It wasn’t that she avoided Tom, Shirley, or me, but when we were all together, I’d so often find her staring off into the distance, eyes glazed over. Those moments always gave me a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach—they made me feel like I was losing her, that she might leave me. But just as quickly, she’d snap out of it, her eyes clearing, and she’d smile bashfully at me and take my hand. The few times I voiced my concerns, she waved them off gently. I let her do that. It was easier that way.