Search and rescue dragged the lake, all search and no rescue. In the distance the salt factory silhouette teased shade. The air nudged Sarah’s skin, thick and dripping with heat. Grass scratched and tickled her legs as a mosquito crawled up her arm and anchored itself to a grey hair. Without thinking she brought a hand down with a sweaty clap, scraped the body away and watched the thin dribble of blood left in its wake. Her dress, its green darkened by the incessant humidity, clung to her skin, her breasts, her larger than healthy belly, her thighs, and her underwear. Even her feet were soggy in their sandals, as if she’d been in the lake, helped push out the canoe.

Earlier that morning she followed Colin down the tow path to the lake. ‘Let me help.’

‘I’ve got it.’ As he hoisted the canoe above his head the painted fiberglass wobbled, his arms more elderly sinew than muscle. She walked behind with the paddle, his lunch, and life jacket, eyes fixed to pale grey T-shirt, a Father’s Day gift for a man who didn’t wear T-shirts. Years ago. There was a damp patch, dead centre beneath his shoulder blades. Frogs chirped and filled the path, unafraid, as Colin’s feet skirted the small creatures without intention. Sarah actively avoided them. The damp patch grew bigger, Sarah reached out to touch it, but he was too far away so she sped up, slipped under the canoe, reached out, but hesitated. For a moment she wanted to ...