We’re back on Avril Island. The fact hit me as soon as I surfaced next to June and saw the familiar green boards of the cottage, the metal glider sitting rusted on the front verandah, the thick forest circling the expanse of lawn.

June was screaming at the trees. I could feel her loneliness, her despair and desperation. It flooded me like sewage water. I don’t know if it was seeing June suffering or if there was more to it, but surfacing there on Avril Island made me uneasy, anxious. It was the first time I’d had those emotions since dying.

Instinctively I spoke some encouraging words to her, which of course came out as weighted silence. I willed her to be brave, which I’m pretty sure she felt, because she stopped screaming, shifted her shoulders back, and marched inside. I moved with her.

It was obvious from the state of the place that nobody had been there for a very long time. I couldn’t remember why. I spread myself out into the pine walls and down into the floorboards. There was a stillness and an emptiness that can only be found in buildings that have been uninhabited for a long time. I was sure I felt sadness trapped there in the bones of the place. Wanting to escape it, I quickly pulled myself back together and out of the depths of the lonely old building.

June was down on her hands and knees to scrub the inside of the fridge. How long did she plan on staying? I wondered. Why had she come back all on her own?

Independent ventures weren’t like June. I’d be lying to say I wasn’t surprised that she’d come all this way alone, managed to drive a boat, to get the water running, to be in this much solitude. I was proud of her but at the same time confused and a bit concerned.

I spent the afternoon watching June clean and unpack food that she’d brought, drinking glasses of wine along the way. She stopped only once to eat some carrots and celery, a little something to absorb the alcohol but not nearly enough to nourish her. She’d turned from curves to angles since I’d died. Her bones were more pronounced than ever. Eventually she put on her swimsuit, opened a new bottle of wine, refilled her glass, and headed down the path to the lake.

The sun had set the sky orange and the breeze was gone, leaving the lake a sheet of dark glass. June dipped one toe in and cringed. The lake doesn’t really warm up until mid-July, so it must be earlier than that. She dropped the towel and, before she could lose her nerve, pushed off the dock into a graceful dive, disappearing into the deep water.