I don’t look at her, because it’s hard to stay mad when we’re out on the water and all I’m thinking about is our first few trips: our escape from the reporters, the first time she saw the sunset from the river, as we forged out into the big lake. I take the papers from her and hold them for a minute before opening them. I’m not sure what I expect. A goodbye letter of some sort, I suppose. Olivia doesn’t want to leave with me mad at her, but I don’t know if I can give her that. I don’t know if I can get over it that quickly and let go of her all over again. The white paper is folded and creased, and I open it to reveal an essay. I read it as Olivia continues to push us down a jagged line through the river: HOW TO RUIN SUMMER by Olivia Henry.

When I’m done reading Olivia’s essay we’re close to the lake and the sky is warm, but it’s still another hour until sunset. We cut through the beach, heading into the lake, and I think about the first time we did this; the way Olivia froze up as we neared the end of the river, when I told her we’d be “sucked” out. I didn’t know her then, but I do now. She didn’t tell me everything over the last few months, but she showed me a lot. And now she’s even shown me something I never asked for—her writing. I take the papers in my hands and fold them three more times before tucking them into my pocket. The canoe shifts a little when I do, and I sneak a glance back at Olivia, to see how she’s handling this last leg before we hit the lake. The current has picked up now, and there isn’t much paddling to do, only steering. Her eyes are ahead, fixed on the horizon, but they meet mine for just a second, and she smiles.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice soft, because I feel like I should say more but don’t know how—or what.

“You’re welcome.” She gives me a shy smile and her eyes go back to the water. “I’m going to try not to drown us,” she says lightly, and I laugh. “I forgot a few things … including the cushions.”