Wheeling my suitcase down the sidewalk, I pass the bright-red ice cream stand, the Red Engine—same sign, same wooden structure, just a new coat of paint, ready for summer, which is only a week away. It’s closed, resting itself for high season when the cottagers arrive.

The chip truck is still there as well, and it’s open for business. Its metal frame is rusting around the edges where it sits on gray cinder blocks, grease stains decorating the pavement all around it. The scent of malt vinegar hits me along with memories of chips shared with my mother and sister.

Every time we made the trip into town, my mother allowed us to get our own cardboard boat of hot, greasy chips. My sister bathed hers in ketchup. I coated mine in vinegar and salt. My mother never got her own, preferring to pick at ours instead, fooling herself that the calories didn’t count if they were stolen from her daughters. I consider stopping to buy some for old time’s sake, but my sensitive stomach pushes me on.

The marina isn’t far, right where it always was, but it’s been updated—more gas pumps, more boats, a few more floating docks. I scan the area for Jim, the owner. His mop of white hair spilling out from under a red ball cap always made him easy to spot. It takes a second to dawn on me that it’s a vain search, considering the man was in his late fifties, at least, the last time I saw him. He’d be dead by now for sure. The thought is lead inside me, which makes me wonder if I’m really ready for this.

A flash of red appears from a side door, and I spot Jim’s ball cap. It’s not the friendly old man wearing it, though. It’s his son, their likeness unmistakable. I yank my suitcase off the sidewalk and down the gravel path toward him.

“Hello,” I call out, and he turns, shielding his eyes with one hand against the sun. “I need to rent a boat.” I pull my suitcase up onto the dock and stumble. He steps forward to help, but I manage to right myself before he makes contact.

“What kind of boat you looking for?” he asks.

I survey the boats in the water around me and on land. I hadn’t really given it any thought. I shrug. “I guess I just need one to get me and my suitcase out to the island.”

He nods. “What island would that be?” I’m taken aback by his blatant nosiness, and he must see it in my expression. He sighs. “So’s I know what kind of boat you need. Is it far from here? Shallow water? That kinda thing.”