It’s got to be a group of kids fucking with me. Until I arrived, they were using Avril Island as some secret meeting place. My presence has pissed them off, so they’re trying to freak me out. It’s the only plausible answer.

I make a mental note to put up NO TRESPASSING signs, maybe some fake security-camera signs as well. Feeling only slightly better at the thought, I return to the main trail. Wanting to rid my mind of locked doors and reappearing crosses, I push myself hard on the run back, arriving at the cottage dripping with sweat, my legs burning, and my brain, fortunately, empty.

I choose the dress with red flowers for my date with Ezra. I aired it out on the line earlier today, along with all the other dresses. It was quite a sight, a dozen versions of my mother blowing in the wind. May would have taken a photo for sure. I couldn’t bring myself to.

I’m standing naked in my room, going through my underwear, trying to decide which pieces look the least worn. I brought only comfortable underthings with me on this trip, not imagining there’d be a reason for anything else.

Thinking of the expensive collection of lingerie just sitting in my mother’s drawer down the hall, I wander down to her room, all the while wondering how weird it would be if I wore my mother’s underwear. Pulling out a black lace bra, I easily find a pair of underwear that matches. I’ll just try it on, I think.

The underwear fits perfectly; the bra is a bit tight, but in being so, it gives me some very attractive cleavage. Surveying myself in the mirror I’m able to forget that they belong to my dead mother. Who will ever know, anyway?

I get the dress zipped up, slide into the matching shoes, and then lean over the bathroom sink to apply some makeup. I find a tube of red lipstick on my mother’s dresser, and after cleaning the tip with some makeup remover, I’m able to spread some on my lips.

By the time Ezra arrives, I’m already on the dock waiting. He’s brought a different boat this time. It’s much bigger, with a flatter hull and a covered area where the steering wheel is. He eases it up to the dock and hops out. He’s wearing khaki shorts and a black T-shirt and no shoes, of course. I feel absolutely ridiculous in my dress, heels, and red lipstick.

“My god,” he says. “You look stunning, June. And I hope you don’t mind me saying, but from a few feet out I would have sworn I was looking at your mother’s ghost. And that’s meant as a compliment,” he’s quick to add.

“Well, I’m feeling slightly overdressed. I’m not sure what I was thinking.”

He holds a hand out to me. “It’s perfect. I mean it.” I take his hand, and he pulls me in. “Don’t change a thing,” he says into my ear, his voice low and gruff.