Later that night, Mom, Dad, and I are sitting on the porch. I’m in the chair and Jess is on the steps, texting. Amy, probably. Mom and Dad are in the swing, Dad’s long, thin fingers circled around Mom’s hand. The only sound is the cicadas humming and buzzing.

I can tell Mom and Dad are trying not to look worried in front of us, but I overheard them while they cleaned up after dinner.

“What if people cancel their reservations?” Dad said in a soft voice. “The deposits are nonrefundable, but we’ll be out a lot of money. Without the lake, there’s not much to do around here. If we plan those marshmallow roasts and movies under the stars, will people still want to come?”

Mom sighed. “I read online that algal blooms are getting worse and there’s more of them. I didn’t think it could happen here.”

They were quiet as dishes clinked and cabinets opened and closed. Their footsteps creaked on the old wood floor.

“We have some money saved up from snowplowing, don’t we?” Mom asked.

Dad: “Not that much, to be honest. We spent a lot on those ads. Plus, we replaced every mattress last year. That wasn’t cheap.”

Mom: “Maybe we should put off the roof repairs until we hear from the health department. Or the new windows?”

Dad: “Maybe.”

In the winter, when the cabins are closed, Mom and Dad run a snowplowing business. They’ve had some good customers—the urgent care clinic, the high school—but I know they’re not sure who will still need them for the next season.

Jess shouts “Cool!” and breaks the silence on the porch. “Amy’s going to do a song from Hamilton for her audition! She has an incredible voice. I’m sure they’ll take her.”

Mom nods. “I hope we can meet Amy soon. Invite her over?”

“Yeah, okay.”

I take the broken-heart key out of my pocket. “I found this at the edge of the lake yesterday.”

Mom reaches for the key. “Wow. I remember these from when I was a kid. How strange.”

“I guess it just washed ashore.”

“That’s so random,” Jess says, not looking up from her phone.

Mom traces the curved lines with her finger. “Hard to tell which cabin it was for.”

“I thought six, maybe?”

“Could be.” She puts the key on the table. “A memory of a different time, a different place. I wonder what Gramps did with all those old keys.”

“What was it like?”

“Back then?” Mom closes her eyes. “Slower. Softer.”

“Yes,” Dad says, even though he didn’t grow up here. Mom and Dad met in college. “Memories are like that.”

“I vividly remember swimming in the lake when I was little,” Mom says dreamily, touching her toes to the floor, gently rocking the swing. “The other side seemed a million miles away.”

“Everything always looks so big when you’re a kid,” Dad says.

“I used to think that under the surface there was a magical land, filled with fairies and goblins. Water spirits. I’d search for them, keeping my eyes open underwater for as long as I could.”

“Did you ever see one?” I ask.

She laughs. “Once, I was positive I saw a mermaid—I told everyone and they were all very amused—but I think it was just a large fish. I refused to believe that mermaids could only live in oceans.”

“Hey, I know there are lake mermaids,” Dad says. “I’ve read about them. They’re rare, but they’re out there.”

Jess rolls her eyes and bumps down a step. “Dad.”

Mom stops the swing with her foot. “I’m always so busy now. But there are times when I look out at the lake, and it’s like I’m a kid and Gramps is in his shirt and suspenders behind the desk. Gram’s baked a pie, and my dad is fixing something, whistling and talking to guests. I’m in the water, pushing myself deeper, hoping to spot a mermaid.”

Dad pats her hand and we’re quiet again. Even the cicadas seem to get quieter. Then a voice blasts from Jess’s phone. “Hey! What’s up, Oliver?”

I jump, and so does Mom.

“Hey, Miller!” Jess turns her phone toward us and I glimpse a girl on the screen with long brown hair. “This is Amy, everyone!” Jess says. “We have the same number of letters in our last names. So we’re meant to be BFFs, right? She’s going to do her audition song.” Jess looks at the screen. “Okay, go.”

Amy starts singing. She sounds pretty good but stops halfway through. “That’s all I’ve practiced so far.”

Jess claps. “That was completely amazing!”

Amy says thanks, then groans. “My dad is calling me.” They tell each other goodbye about ten times until Jess finally puts her phone down.

I get a twinge of annoyance. “Aren’t you worried about the lake? I can hardly think about anything else.”

“Well, yeah. But other things are still going on. I’m helping her practice. This is important too.”

“It’s just a little audition. The algae, that could affect everything. I started reading about it online, and—”

“Hey!” Jess leaps up. “I’m trying to be a good friend!”

“I didn’t say you weren’t.”

She slaps the railing. “It wasn’t my fault that Emily fell into the mud at the class party and ruined her new skirt! She told everyone I pushed her because I wanted to win the race, but I didn’t!”

“Oh, Jess,” Mom says softly. “Are you sure you didn’t push her?”

“I didn’t! She cut in front of me and tripped. But no one saw. They all believed her!” She stomps her foot.

“Sounds like it was just a mix-up,” I say. “Maybe you could explain—”

“Don’t try to help, Annalise!”

Dad raises an eyebrow. “Jessica.”

She huffs. “How come you never get mad at her? Of course you wouldn’t!” Jess runs into the house and bangs up the stairs. A minute later, I hear her door slam.

Mom looks at Dad, then gets up. “I’ll go talk to her.” She goes inside.

It’s just me and Dad, and the cicadas. I don’t know what to say. Dad’s quiet too. Finally, he leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “Everything will work out. Somehow.”

I don’t know if he means with Jess or the lake.

“Sometimes your sister reminds me of an excitable puppy, always getting into things and barking like crazy. You never know when she’s going to nip your ankle.”

“That felt like more than a nip.”

“I don’t think she meant it.”

I sigh.

Dad clears his throat. “When we started the process to adopt you, it was complicated and stressful. We weren’t sure if it was going to happen. I worried enough then to last me for the rest of my life. But”—he smiles—“here we are.”

I blink back tears. What if the adoption hadn’t happened? Sometimes I think about that in the dark, when I can’t fall asleep. Where would I be?

“And the algae,” Dad says. “It might look bad, but let’s not worry until we have to, okay? Maybe this’ll turn out to be nothing. We’re going to sit tight and wait for the results.”

I wipe my eyes and nod. “Okay.”

Dad stands, steadies the swing. “I’m beat. It’s been a long day. You coming in?”

“In a minute.”

He goes inside. I walk down the steps and park my bare feet in the grass. I listen for night sounds, but everything’s still. It’s like the whole of Renn Lake is holding its breath, waiting to see what the test shows. Even the moon seems dimmer.

I pick up the key from the table, then put it on the mantel next to the picture of Mom’s family. I never knew her dad or grandfather. They were both gone before I was born. Sometimes I wonder what they’d think of me.

Something stirs from deep in my heart as I look at their faces, speckled with bits of sunlight through the tree branches. And I realize I know what I want to do when I grow up.

Jess figured it out a few days ago when we were on the porch and she was talking about living in LA. I see how much you love them, she said. The cabins.

Actually, I think I’ve known since the first time Renn said hello.