I don’t follow them. Instead I watch from inside the cottage as June leads them both down the path into the woods, the sight of which brings a chunk of memory floating up to the surface. It’s definitely part of the one I had the last time I was here, of West coming up the path toward me and my mother in the middle of the night.

In this bit of the memory, I’m standing at the very same window I am now, watching my mother and West disappear together into the forest with only the light of the moon to guide them. My mother is carrying a shovel; West is carrying something in his arms. I can’t see what it is, because he’s facing away from me, but I can tell by his pace and posture that it’s something heavy.

The memory has a distinct feeling to it, one that surges in me now. I stood here watching something that caused me terror. I don’t want to know what he’s carrying or where they’re going. I don’t want to know why. The resistance brings the fading on. My visits are getting shorter, the bits of memory clearer and more ominous. I wonder how much time I have before the entire memory rises up to show itself. Will it break me apart completely, send me back to the quiet for good? Whatever is going to happen, I know it won’t be long now …

JUNE

The police say that nothing was seen last night by the police boat but that they’ll have a boat go by again a few times tonight to check on things. I take them to the place on the island where I saw the tin boat leave from, and I show them the tree with the cross. The male police officer just stands there looking bored, while the female police officer asks me some questions and takes a couple of photos of the tree.

They think it’s a good idea to stay at a friend’s for the night and wait for me to pack a bag before we all leave the island at the same time. I can’t help but feel that I’m abandoning her all over again.

The day is hot, scorching to be exact; we’ve definitely entered a heat wave. Just tying my boat up to Ezra’s dock in the sun causes sweat to roll down my back. Coming around the boathouse to make my way up to Ezra’s apartment, I notice Willa digging in the garden. She’s not wearing a hat, and her face is bright red and shiny with sweat. She really shouldn’t be out in the sun on a hot day like this. She’ll get heatstroke for sure, if she hasn’t already.