Jewel sat at the end of the dock in last year’s faded blue bathing suit, a blue plaid shirt in a heap beside her. She dangled her legs, scissoring the air above the lake. From time to time she’d lean forward to look for the little fish that swam among the pilings and bit if you held still but didn’t if you kept moving.

From way out on the lake Jewel heard the wail of a loon and just caught sight of its checkered back before it dived. She wondered why it was hiding, how long it would stay under. It was the sort of thing Lane knew and would tell her if he were still here.

Jewel spread Lane’s soft shirt across her lap. He’d let her have it, only as a loan, he’d said, before he left for boot camp.

 

The edge of the dock cut into her legs, and she knew that when she stood up there’d be a red line across the back of her thighs that itched and burned at the same time.

She’d wait and watch for the loon to come back, to see its black head break the surface of the lake. She knew if she waited long enough, and looked hard enough, she’d find the loon. She was sure of it. The loon would resurface somewhere. It would, she was sure.