“June, I was exhausted. I’d worked all day in the sun; then I spent hours getting my mom settled down after the neighbor found her out on the street. I was fast asleep when you arrived. I knew it was you and figured you’d just decided that you didn’t want to be alone after the dead birds so came here. I didn’t feel the need to wake up and have a full conversation with you about it.” He waits for an answer, but I just stare back at him, assessing the believability of his reasoning. “Okay?” he says firmly.

“Okay,” I say back.

I’m not sure why I’m so suspicious when it comes to him. Especially when there isn’t even an ex-girlfriend I know of or any sign of another woman. In fact, there doesn’t even seem to be much of a dating history. Maybe that’s the problem. I know Ezra so well and so little at the same time. There’s a thirty-year gap in our history, and other than what he voluntarily tells me, I don’t know much.

What I do know is that he’s gorgeous, kind, considerate, successful, funny, and smart but has never been married and has never spoken of a long-term relationship. He bends down and kisses me gently on the lips before leaving the room to make me breakfast. I slide back down under the duvet, wondering why such a catch of a man has, as far as I can tell, remained uncaught.

After Ezra leaves for work, I head to Avril Island. The police called while I was eating breakfast and said they’d be by around noon. As I arrive back in the light of day, the night before just feels like a bad dream.

The morning couldn’t be more perfect. The lake is like glass, the only movement a duck cutting through its silky surface. The sky is a clear blue, not one cloud in sight. Dragonflies zip above me, catching early-morning bugs. Nothing could be scary in this setting.

I sit with my feet hanging off the end of the dock. The water is so still I can see right down to the round rocks and old logs that cover the bottom. The odd fish swims lazily through the underwater obstacle course.

It’s mornings like these that I remember from childhood. Looking back, it feels like every single one was like this. May and I would bring our cereal or toast down here, still groggy from sleep. We would have woken up, put on our bathing suits and maybe a pair of shorts. Grabbed some breakfast and a towel and headed down here. We’d eat in silence, both of us taking from the morning what we needed. Then we might go swimming if we’d woken up enough. Or lie on our towels on the dock in the sun—the boards already warmed with its heat.