Jane Hawk at the wheel of the canopied electric boat, all but silently cruising across the quiet lake, the waters silver under the tarnished sky, parting for the prow with the faintest sibilance, at the moment no one else abroad in a day too cool to encourage either fishing or exploration of the scenic shoreline…
In addition to the marina at the resort, another operated in town. She had rented the boat there from a vendor who had explained the simple controls of the vessel and plied her with interesting facts about the history of the lake. Although he had been pleasant, even cheerful, and considerate of her as she’d boarded, something about him troubled her. She wondered if he might have recognized her in spite of the wig, contacts, and glasses. But as she motored away from the dock, he didn’t produce a cellphone or hurry away to seek help, but stood for a minute, waving her off, as though she were a friend rather than a tourist and as if he genuinely cared that she should enjoy her touring. When she had cruised a mile, she decided that what seemed odd about him was nothing more than his enthusiasm in a job that most would have found tedious, especially on such a slow day, as well as a civility bordering on courtliness that she seldom encountered in this culture that grew ever more coarse.
Two-thirds of the way between the east and west shores, Jane arrived at the walled estate, where the pier projected from its shoreside gate. She didn’t slow, but motored on, in case she might be a watcher watched. Nevertheless, sans binoculars, she studied this approach to the mansion.
Half an hour later, on her return trip, she made less speed and dared to use the binoculars. A boy of perhaps fourteen or fifteen stood at the nine-foot-high pier gate, each fist wrapped around an iron picket, gazing between them at the lake. She thought he might be the same one who had appeared at the casement window beside the smaller boy and put an arm around his shoulders and led him away. He stood now as though he had contracted the younger child’s melancholy trance, staring at the water as the other had gazed out the window.
Jane wanted to steer the boat to the pier and tie it up and go to the gate and ask the boy, What is this place? Are you all right?
Instead, she piloted the boat to the marina from which she had rented it, where the vendor was precisely as pleasant as he had been earlier. Then she set off to explore the town on foot.