From high atop a cliff on a rocky outcropping just west of Isle Royale, Kate watches a boat approach from the north. Even before she can make out the shape of it, she knows it is one of Walter’s. Had she known all along that if she came to this spot he would find her? But how could she possibly know that? She remembers being here before, though. Something about the way the cliff feels under her hands when she climbs it, the way the rough rock scrapes against her palms. It’s familiar, giving her a feeling somewhere in her brain like the hairs on her arm standing on end. She has done this before.

Kate doesn’t remember how she got here, but there is another boat floating placidly in the small cove below and she has a vague idea that her granddaughter is down there, too. Her name escapes Kate now, but it will come back – it always does. Until, she supposes, the one time that it doesn’t. That’s when she will know it’s all over. If she is still able to know things at all. She peels back layers in her mind: the lake, the marina, a boat, her granddaughter handing her a key, a hotel, a long drive, a sandwich, a hospital, a waterfall. That was what started this whole thing: the waterfall. At least the waterfall is still there, for now. She circles it cautiously, sneaking glances at it, praying it doesn’t disappear, too. The layers peel back somewhat easily now, but even as she thinks these words she can feel them slipping away from her. What came after the boat – the drive, the hospital? Gone – the way a star disappears when you try to look right at it. The past few days are now only something that she can glimpse out of the corner of her eye.

She watches as Walter pulls his boat up along the other boat and ties them up together. There are two others with him, the boy and his wife, who climb from one boat to the other as Walter picks his way over the rocks in his workboots and jeans, carefully, precisely, never losing his balance. He pulls himself up over the last section of cliff and comes to a rest by sitting next to her.

“Hi, Katie,” he says.

“Hi, Walter.”

Below them, the boats rustle against each other as the lake laps up against the edge of the rocks. Kate can see her granddaughter inside the cabin, talking to the boy and his wife. She wonders if she will ever find out what this trip has been about, or if she has known all along and just forgotten. Just like almost everything else – she only has frustratingly random snippets, images, out-of-context moments that bring her no clarity, no cohesiveness, no narrative of what the past few days have been about.