He writes back right away, thanking me for the invite, saying he’d love to, he just has to finish making his mom some dinner and then he’ll be come by. Reading it over, I can’t help but smile at his honest enthusiasm at the invitation. Then I chide myself for playing my own game of nonchalance. Ezra doesn’t play games, so neither should I.

After grabbing a few carrots to shove in my mouth while I wait, I sit back down at the table and read the last article on the page. It’s titled Where Is West Keen Now? Apparently, he disappeared shortly after my father did. The article claims that West’s absence more or less confirms his guilt in the case of my father’s disappearance. With no body, however, there were no charges to be made.

I sit back, drink the rest of my wine, and stare straight ahead in a quiet stupor. Ezra’s dad went missing as well? Did he ever come back? Does that mean he actually did have something to do with my father’s disappearance?

The buzzing of my phone interrupts the unanswered questions. It’s Ezra, saying he’s on his way. An unexpected kaleidoscope of butterflies swarm my belly. “My god, June, get a grip,” I say to myself out loud, then get up from the table to go brush my teeth and put on some makeup. Something I haven’t done for ages.

With a glass of wine in hand for fortification, I make my way down to the dock to meet Ezra. He pulls his boat in with expert ease, hopping out to tie up before I even have the chance to help. He’s changed into jeans but is still barefoot and achingly good-looking.

“Sorry if I put you on the spot with such short notice,” I say, once he’s done tying up.

“Not at all, June. I was really happy to get your text. I mean, it’s already been thirty years—why wait any longer to catch up?”

“Have you been here this whole time, on Lake Champlain?” I ask, wanting to get right down to the interrogation but knowing I’ll need to lead up to it.

He looks out over the lake, squinting his eyes against the sun that’s only just beginning its descent. “Aside from a few vacations, I never left.”

“Well, I can see why. It’s beautiful up here.” Everything that comes out of my mouth sounds so fake and self-conscious.

He turns to look at me again. “It is, but that’s not why I stayed.” I can tell by the heaviness in his eyes that there’s a lot of history behind his statement.

I gesture toward the cottage. “Shall we go up for a drink?”