More Than Good Enough

By Matt L. Holmes

Why is enough never enough for some people? What would ever drive someone to put their seemingly-perfect life at risk in the pursuit of something better?

And how can others be so happy with so little? How is a person like that able to look upon their meagre existence and declare it more than good enough?

These are some of the questions Miles Galloway grapples with as he grows up and begins to see the world for what it truly is. More Than Good Enough chronicles his journey from the childhood summers spent at the family cottage to the start of his career as an investigative journalist. Along the way, Miles comes face-to-face with some of the darkest aspects of humanity and is forced to question his own personal set of values.

In his sixth novel, author Matt L. Holmes delivers another riveting family drama in the tradition of No Brother of Mine and Old Wounds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Matt L. Holmes
• Release date: Jan 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9780991947591

Matt L. Holmes

Hi. My name is Matt Holmes, and I'm a retired computer guy in his mid-50s who enjoys writing fiction and non-fiction. I've self-published nine books so far, with more on the way. Six of those books have been novels, almost all of which are available here on Smashwords. My latest book is called More Than Good Enough. It's by far my longest novel yet, weighing in at a little over 200,000 words. It chronicles the 20-year journey of its main character, Miles Galloway, as he matures from a naive 10-year-old boy into a hardened journalist trying to shed light on the issue of sexual predators.

Book preview

More

Than

Good

Enough

By Matt L. Holmes

More Than Good Enough

Copyright © 2017 by Matthew Linton Holmes

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction, and as such, is the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced or re-transmitted without the express written consent of the author.

Mark Wagter created the front cover image, based on a few vague suggestions provided by the author. It is used here with permission from Mr. Wagter, who retains all rights to the image.

The back cover sketch of the author was commissioned by the author from Gene Ha, artist on such comic books as Justice League of America and Top Ten. It is used here with permission from the artist. The author retains all rights to the image.

ISBN – 978-0-9919475-5-3 (softcover),

978-0-9919475-6-0 (electronic).

Print versions of this book and other works by this author are available via Amazon. Kindle versions of all of this author’s works are available at the Amazon Kindle store. Other eBook formats can be purchased directly from the author.

Correspondences to the author can be directed, via e-mail, to:

[e-mail]

Other Books by Matt L. Holmes

Game Over

No Brother of Mine

Old Wounds

Leap of Faith

Hour of the Wolf

Chapter I

I can’t say how long the boy had been standing off to the side of me before I noticed him on that Sunday afternoon in July of 1988. My 10-year-old butt was parked on the south shore of Fork River Lake, head down while I used a small piece of sandpaper to rough up the area around a hole in my dark green rubber dinghy. I know the beach had been deserted when I got there, a fairly typical situation in those days. The north side of the lake, three miles across the water from where I sat, was a little more heavily populated though that wasn’t saying much.

When I’d plopped myself down, the sun had been under some puffy white clouds. It was only when it poked its face out that I became aware of a shadow stretching across the grey and black rocks to the left of me.

As I glanced in the direction of the late afternoon sun I saw a small kid with short brown hair, several years younger than me by the looks of him. He was only about 10 feet away and yet I hadn’t heard him approach across the rocks. His Boston Bruins t-shirt was faded almost to the point of being unrecognizable, and he had on a light blue pair of shorts and white sandals. There wasn’t much to read in his blank expression, though his dark brown eyes locked on mine without even a flicker of shyness or fear.

I gave him a quick little smile before turning back to the task at hand. The boat had begun to leak earlier that afternoon, much to my dismay, and so I was busy using a patch kit to repair it. Dad had been openly skeptical about my chances of success, making me all the more determined to prove him wrong.

The boy’s shadow disappeared again a minute later as the sun went back into hiding, prompting me to sneak a peek in his direction to see if he was still there. Sure enough he hadn’t moved, as far as I could tell. Not even a little. He could have been a statue that someone had plunked down on the beach while I wasn’t looking.

I motioned to him, with my head, to come closer, before turning my attention back to the job at hand. My seven-year-old sister Stasi was forever wanting to know what I was up to and I imagined that this new arrival might be just as curious.

It sprang a leak and I’m trying to patch it, I said without glancing up. Just like you do when your bike gets a flat.

He took a couple steps in my direction, movement I could just barely track out of the corner of my eye. It seemed to me that he glided toward me like a ninja, though, as he didn’t make a sound on the stones underfoot.

Is he botherin’ you? a girl’s voice called out from farther away, causing the boy to stop dead in his tracks.

I sat up straight and turned in that direction, peering past the boy until I spotted a vague female shape maybe 20 feet behind him.

Nope, I replied loudly, shaking my head. I just thought he might want to watch me fix this stupid thing.

The speaker came closer as I responded to her question, eventually reaching the boy and laying one hand on his shoulder. I could see her clearly now. She was definitely a woman, rather than a girl, although she wasn’t all that tall and appeared to be a lot younger than my mother. Her hair was a much lighter brown than the boy’s, almost blond, and just barely covered her ears, with bangs that were cut in line with her eyebrows just above the dark sunglasses concealing her eyes. It seemed to me she was overdressed for July in a grey, unbuttoned sweater over top of a blouse and long, black slacks. At least her shoes were open-toed and more in keeping with beach wear.

Well go on then, she said to the boy, giving him a little nudge in my direction.

He closed the distance between us tentatively. Once again I marvelled at how silently he moved. My sister was a jackhammer compared to him, slipping and sliding on the rocks and running a non-stop monologue as she went.

I’m using this sandpaper to scuff up the rubber, I began, as soon as the boy reached my side, so I can glue the patch –

Mama, look! he exclaimed as he suddenly took hold of my left hand with both of his, holding it up and nearly yanking me forward off my seat.

Simon! Don’t you grab like that! the woman scolded him, coming to us quickly and pulling the boy away. Then she added, He gets carried away sometimes... he’s only six.

It’s OK, I said, getting up to stand beside them. He was just freaked out by my missing finger.

Oh my good Lord, the woman responded, removing her sunglasses to stare at the empty slot at the end of my left hand. You poor thing. How did it – How did you lose it?

It just fell off one day, I replied with a shake of my head, using one of my favourite lines for the occasion. Like fingers do, right? I added, speaking directly to the boy.

His eyes went wide and then he spun his head around to peer up at his mother.

Hey, I’m just joking, I explained, laughing and giving Simon’s right shoulder a gentle shove. Then I told his mother, It got caught in a door when I was little. Snipped it clean off.

She had a horrified, sympathetic expression on her face while the boy seemed to be considering both explanations I’d provided, trying to decide between them.

That musta been so awful, the woman said after a moment. All that blood, and it musta hurt like crazy...

I don’t even remember it, I admitted, holding my hand out for her to see. I think I was only two or three when it happened, just a little kid.

Oh my... she breathed softly, stuffing her shades into a pocket in her pants. You really don’t remember?

Well... sometimes I dream about this really big explosion that makes no sound at all, like the brightest light you could ever imagine. I think maybe that’s what it felt like and that’s why I have that dream once in a while.

And your folks, they couldn’t get you to the hospital to sew your finger back on? she asked, gently taking my hand and examining the spot where my pinkie used to be. Her thin fingers were soothingly cool on such a warm day.

I was at a neighbour’s when it happened, and my dad says the neighbour’s dog got my finger and ate it, I told them as she continued to carefully turn my hand over in hers.

Dear Lord, she replied almost silently.

I think he’s joking, but I don’t know, I said with a shrug, trying to convey how little I cared about the whole thing. I don’t even miss it, really. Baby fingers are pretty useless, if you think about it.

What a great way of lookin’ at it, she replied brightly, letting my hand go. Isn’t that right, Simon?

The boy glanced from his mother to me and then back to her again before finally nodding.

I’m Miles, by the way, I informed the two of them then, suddenly recalling my mother’s frequent reminder that it was very rude indeed not to introduce yourself when you met someone new.

Very nice to meet you, Miles, the woman replied, smiling. My name’s Hannah and this little monkey’s Simon. Are you rentin’ a cottage here, too, this week?

I shook my head. My family’s cottage is just back there, I told her, hooking my thumb in the direction of the White Swan behind me, though the trees hid it from view. We’re here all summer, every summer. My parents are both teachers.

How wonderful! she exclaimed. I bet you must just love it here.

It’s OK, I guess, I replied, shrugging again. I wish we had a TV, and I miss some of my friends from school, but it’s not bad.

Well, we’re only here for seven days so I don’t expect we’ll have time to miss a darn thing from home, will we, Simon?

Her son ignored that particular question, moving to sit down beside the dinghy and run his right hand along its surface.

Do you want to help me fix it? I asked him, squatting down closer to his head level.

He nodded without looking in my direction, so I settled in beside him.

Hannah pulled her sunglasses back out, put them on and then moved several feet toward the tree line and away from the water’s edge where we were. She located a patch of earth that was relatively free of rocks and sat down, her legs folded underneath her.

How about you sand that spot a little more while I get the glue ready?

Simon accepted the brown rectangular piece of sandpaper I handed him, though he made no move to do anything with it.

Just rub it around that area, I instructed him, gently moving his hand to the location of the leak. We want it to be all rough, not smooth like the rest of it, OK? That way the patch will stick to it better and no more leaks. Then I can prove my dad wrong.

I glanced toward Hannah and saw her give a confused little shake with her head, the sunlight reflecting off her glasses as they moved.

He said he didn’t think it was fixable, I explained. My dad believes once you get one leak, you’ll get a dozen. He told me I might as well throw it away and buy a new one, but I’ve had this one since I was little.

Hannah nodded appreciatively as her mouth formed a silent ‘oh.’

I peeked at Simon, to see how he was making out with the sandpaper. He was doing his best, though it was clear even to my 10-year-old eyes that he was only going through the motions, barely making a difference. And whenever he’d sneak a glance at me, it was usually to peer at my missing finger rather than up at my face.

Are you a big Bruins fan? I asked him after a few moments of silence between us, nodding toward his t-shirt.

When he didn’t respond or even glance in my direction, Hannah offered up, He’s not much into sports, Miles. We got that old thing he’s wearin’ at the thrift shop back home.

Oh, OK, I responded, a little disappointed. I only asked because I’m a big Wayne Gretzky fan. I was trying without much success to unscrew the tiny metal lid on the glue tin that probably hadn’t been opened in a couple of years.

Does he play for the Bruins? she inquired as I continued to watch Simon’s efforts.

I chuckled, thinking she was kidding, but then cut it short when I noticed the earnest expression on her face. No, he plays for the Edmonton Oilers, I informed her slowly, feeling as though I was speaking to someone from Mars. And the Oilers beat the Bruins this year for the Cup. Gretzky won the Conn Smythe again.

Hannah took all of this in silently, nodding at the end. Simon, on the other hand, didn’t seem the least bit interested.

You really don’t know who Wayne Gretzky is, or are you just pulling my leg? I asked a moment later.

I guess I don’t follow sports much, either, she admitted.

But he’s the Great One, I exclaimed, putting down the glue container, still unopened. The greatest hockey player ever! He’s won four Cups already with the Oilers, and they’ll probably get another eight or nine before he retires. C’mon, everybody knows who Wayne Gretzky is...

Not everybody, she corrected me with a smile. Why just today alone you met two folks who don’t know him from Adam. Isn’t that funny?

I smiled at the ease with which she deflected my clumsy words. Then, eager to change the subject, I asked, So which cottage did you guys rent?

Hmm, it’s not very far from here, she replied, glancing over her left shoulder into the trees. Just a little ways back there, she added, pointing.

Does it have a red wooden sign out front that says ‘The Wren’ on it?

That’s it, she confirmed, nodding as she brought her head back around. I forgot all about that sign. So you know it?

It used to be owned by my family, too, I told her, resuming my efforts to open the glue lid. Until my uncle lost it in a poker game a while ago. I let out a grunt of frustration as the metal refused to turn no matter how hard I twisted.

Hannah got up and came to my side. She took her shades off once again, hooking them into the V at the top of her blouse before squatting and reaching for the tin.

It’s stuck pretty good, I warned her as I handed it over, taking my first close look at her face as it hovered just a few inches from mine.

I noticed dark lines under her eyes and very faint brown hairs on her upper lip, as well as several freckles on each cheek that were barely visible. Her dark green irises reminded me of the colour of the lake on a starry night. There was something undeniably kind and friendly about the way she talked and moved, the sort of thing any kid my age would instinctively recognize. Especially in a woman.

I think I just need a hammer or pliers to loosen it, I offered up feebly.

She looked into my eyes steadily as I spoke, her face expressionless as though she were thinking about something else completely.

I stared back at her, unable to pull my eyes away. I was vaguely aware of her small hands, just below my field of vision, working over that stupid glue tin.

Ha! she exclaimed finally, blinking and ending the brief but intense staring contest we’d inadvertently fallen into. I think you musta loosened it some, Miles, she told me, holding the lid in one hand and the glue container in the other. The thin black brush, attached to the inside of the lid, had begun to drip tiny globs of glue back into the tin.

You’re pretty strong for a girl, I remarked appreciatively, the words already out of my mouth before I remembered this was no silly girl my own age I was talking to. This was a woman – a mother, for crying out loud – and what would my own mother say if she heard me being so disrespectful to an elder?

I guess I musta had my Wheaties this morning, huh Simon? Hannah asked her son, a big grin spread across her face. She gently lowered herself down onto her bum, both hands still occupied with the glue, settling awkwardly onto the stone beach beside the two of us.

Uh huh, the boy responded, only the second thing I’d heard him say in the time since he’d arrived on the scene. My sister Stasi would’ve said more than that in the first 30 seconds of meeting someone, even if she was half asleep at the time.

I took the sandpaper back from Simon and ran my fingers over the spot on the boat that he’d been working on. I gave it a couple quick swipes with the paper and then judged it rough enough.

That’s good, I said to him. Now we’ll smear some glue around on it.

I took the tin lid from his mother’s hand, dabbed its brush briefly on the lip of the container she was still holding, and then applied a bit of glue to the rubber.

See? Just like that. Now you try, I instructed him as I finished, passing the lid into his small right hand.

He followed my example, smearing a bit of the adhesive around and then getting some more on the brush before finishing the job.

Perfect, I said, nodding. Now there should be a piece of material in here that’ll work... I rooted around in the repair kit box, rejecting a few samples before finally locating one that seemed about the right size.

Together, Simon and I pressed the dark blue rectangle onto the dinghy, smoothing it out as best we could. Hannah had retrieved the lid from her son and now she screwed it back into place as we flattened the patch.

That’s all there is to it, I informed the boy with a smile. Now we just have to let it dry and hope for the best. My mom said it should dry overnight so I can’t test it out ‘til tomorrow, but would you like to go for a ride in it when it’s ready?

Simon immediately turned toward his mother though his expression didn’t leave much doubt as to his preferred answer.

You sure you wouldn’t mind? Hannah asked me, nibbling her lower lip slightly. I don’t want him to be a bother...

Nah, it’d be fun, I assured her. My little sister’s scared of the water, so I almost never get any company when I go out. And don’t worry: we’ll both have life jackets on and everything. I’ve got one that fits Stasi even though she never wears it, so it should be good for him.

Why’s Stacy afraid of the water? Hannah asked, furrowing her brow.

It’s Stasi, actually. Rhymes with lazy. It’s short for Anastasia though nobody calls her that except Mom. And I don’t know why she’s such a chicken about going near the water, she just is. She doesn’t even like sitting at the edge and letting it wash over her legs.

Maybe it’s all these darn stones, Hannah offered, shifting uncomfortably beside me. I ‘spose I was expectin’ sand, though I didn’t really give it much thought ‘til we got here.

We hear that a lot, I admitted. Everybody wants a sandy beach. I shrugged, adding, It seems completely normal to me, for a beach, I mean. You get used to it pretty quick, anyway.

Miles, you said your uncle used to own the cottage we’re in but he lost it in a poker game. Were you just kiddin’ around?

Shaking my head, I told her, It’s what my dad says happened. He might be making it up, I guess. All I know is Uncle John definitely doesn’t own it anymore.

A woman named Doris was the one I talked to, Hannah said. That was over the phone, back in May. I called her up and she gave me directions and told me where to find the key. But I never did meet her.

They only started renting the Wren out last year, I explained. At least, that was the first we saw anybody in it for quite a while. Most of the time it’s empty.

Really? she replied. It’s such a comfy place. I woulda thought it’d be rented out all summer long.

It’s pretty small, I pointed out. My sister and I played in it when we were little, and even then I thought it was more like a tree fort than a cottage.

Well, we like it, Hannah assured me. Don’t we, hon? she added, smiling at Simon.

Uh huh, he said again.

I should probably get going, I told them after a brief silence. It’s getting close to supper-time by now, I guess. But I’ll be back around 10 tomorrow, if Simon wants to do some boating.

He’d love it! Hannah enthused, reaching out to give my shoulder a gentle squeeze. Are you sure you don’t mind?

I stood up, briefly gaining the high ground on Hannah before she followed suit. Nah, it’ll be cool, just so long as he doesn’t talk my ears off.

Simon frowned at that jibe while his mother laughed, throwing her head back.

_________________

After dinner that night, I mentioned to my family that I’d met the latest occupants of the Wren. I described the way they’d come upon me on the beach while I was patching the boat, and how I’d gotten Simon to help me while I talked to his mom.

I’m glad to hear it’s not teenagers this time, Mom offered up as she scrubbed a pan at the kitchen sink. A mother with a little boy sounds much quieter to me.

Do you think Simon would like to play with me? Stasi asked as she stood beside the chair I was sitting in. She was literally hopping from one foot to the other as each word came out, her cinnamon-coloured curls bouncing up and down. We could have a tea party, and I could wear my red dress, she added before I could answer.

I think you’d wear him out in the first 30 seconds, I informed her. And he didn’t seem like he’d be interested in playing with dolls and stuffed animals.

I said a tea party, not dolls, she replied, scowling. I know boys don’t play with dolls.

Well, I’m going to take him out in the dinghy tomorrow morning. I guess you could come along if you wanted...

Stasi let out a long, dramatic sigh. It’s no fair. Why are you taking him out in your boat, Miles? You said he looked about my age.

Yeah, a year younger, I guess. But he’s not afraid of water, unlike some people. Sorry, squirt.

She considered that for a second or two. I’m not ‘afraid of water,’ she told me, making air quotes with her fingers the way she’d seen kids on TV do it. I’m just cautious about drowning.

We should all be cautious about drowning, Stasi, Dad interjected from the kitchen table. That’s just common sense.

Oh, and since you won’t be using it, I’m going to let Simon wear your life jacket tomorrow, Stase.

My sister responded with an even more theatrical sigh but let the matter drop. She obviously wasn’t prepared to call my bluff where going out on the lake was concerned.

Did this Hannah woman seem nice? my mother inquired as she removed the plug from the bottom of the sink and let the water run out.

Yeah, I guess so, I replied. She helped me get the glue bottle open, without me even asking. And she was really friendly and easy to talk to. Simon’s real quiet, though. He hardly said a word the whole time we were working on the patch job.

Maybe he’s just shy around strangers, dear, Mom suggested. Not everyone’s as outgoing as you and your sister.

Outgoing? Is that what we’re calling it now? my dad chimed in from behind his newspaper, at the table.

I laughed. What do you call it, Dad?

He placed his paper down and cocked his head to the side, seeming to give the question great consideration. Then he said, In a word, precocious, before picking the newspaper back up and disappearing behind it once again.

Precocious, atrocious, we are the most-est, Stasi sang out, doing a little dance across the kitchen floor.

You guys have been calling me precocious for as long as I can remember, I pointed out as I watched her go. Shouldn’t I be fully ‘cocious’ by now?

Both of my parents chuckled softly at my attempt at humour, and then Mom said, Miles, why don’t you go check on your grandfather? See if he’s done with his dinner. I completely forgot about his dishes, I was so interested in hearing about your new friends.

I nodded and headed to the bedroom at the back of the cottage.

My grandfather had suffered a serious stroke about six months earlier, and though he’d made an impressive recovery, he still wasn’t able to get around all that well. We’d moved him into the house with us back in March, once he got out of the hospital. The home that he’d lived in with Grandma for nearly 40 years, and that my dad and Uncle John had grown up in, was put on the market in April and sold within a few weeks. While Grandpa wasn’t thrilled to see it go, he’d gotten a lot less attached to things in the two years since Grandma’s death. ‘Fatalistic’ was how my dad had described this change in his father, and all things considered, I suppose he wasn’t wrong.

Peeking around the edge of the doorway into his bedroom first, I checked to see if the old man was asleep before disturbing him. He was sitting up in bed, still in his blue flannel pyjamas, staring at the wall on the opposite side of the room. How he could wear such heavy clothes in the middle of the summer, I didn’t have a clue. Then again, I didn’t have a senior citizen’s circulatory system, so what did I know?

His dinner plate sat atop a small serving tray on the table beside his bed, looking like it had barely been touched. Some days he felt well enough to get dressed and come out to socialize, and other days he didn’t. I could immediately tell what kind of day this was.

Didn’t like the meatloaf? I asked cheerily as I entered his room.

His eyes snapped onto me, though he didn’t move his head at all. What’s that, Miles? he demanded hoarsely.

The meatloaf was kind of dry tonight, I admitted as I sat lightly on the edge of his bed. I had to practically drown mine in ketchup before I could force it down.

Now, now, he admonished me, rousing himself and waving a long bony finger in my direction. Your mother’s a damn fine cook, and you’d best not be disrespecting her if you know what’s good for you.

She won’t think she’s a damn fine cook if I take your plate back with all that food still on it, I pointed out.

He considered that for a moment and then slowly nodded.

I reached over and retrieved the tray, handing it to him so he could position it properly onto his lap.

And exactly what did you get up to today? my grandfather asked as he picked up his fork and knife and began to work away at Mom’s meatloaf, peas and potatoes.

I spent the next several minutes recounting my meeting with Hannah and Simon once again, filling in more details than I had at the dinner table. William Galloway, despite having been laid low by a stroke that spring, was still a details man. He was a believer in specificity, a fact made obvious whenever he described his experiences working for the railroad. He’d spent over 35 years at CN, first out on the rails and then in an office, before finally taking a pension.

Now tell me, what did you make of the two of them? he directed my way once I’d wrapped up my recap, wiping at his mouth with the napkin Mom had included on his tray.

What do you mean? I responded, squinting at him and wondering what more there could be to say on the topic.

I mean, what sort of conclusions did you draw about the pair? he pressed me, squinting back at me.

I don’t know, I replied indifferently. That they seemed nice enough?

Hmm, fascinating. And nothing more than that?

I paused, trying to imagine what he might be after. My 10-year-old brain understood that adults often viewed things differently than kids, though I wasn’t sure why or even how.

What do you mean? I repeated, finally.

Well, what do you suppose your Miss Hannah does for a living, for example?

I shrugged, not having given the matter any thought at all until he brought it up. She could just be a mom, couldn’t she? A housewife, I mean.

Did she mention a husband? he inquired, raising an eyebrow. A Mr. Hannah?

No, I conceded.

Hmm. Hard to imagine three of them trying to cram into the Wren, wouldn’t you say? Two full-grown adults, and a boy the size of our Stasi, to boot? Doesn’t sound like a very comfortable setting for a family to me.

I shrugged again. Why is it so small, anyway? I asked, seizing the opportunity he’d provided. You built both cottages so why’d you make the Wren so dinky?

Well now, that’s a question with considerable baggage attached to its answer. Both cottages, as a matter of fact, were originally intended to be the same size, or close enough to it. That was the plan, at any rate. However, as I’m sure you’ll learn for yourself over time, man plans while God laughs.

I guess it would be pretty cramped for three people, I agreed, when he didn’t go on. So that probably means Simon’s dad didn’t come with them. They never mentioned him, anyway.

The old man nodded at that. He’d always been evasive on the topic of the two cottages and I’d never understood why. Family lore had it that William, who’d been one of the Canadian soldiers responsible for liberating the Netherlands toward the end of the war, had been given nearly eight acres of undeveloped land along the shore of Fork River Lake in 1947. This gift came by way of the Vissers, a wealthy Dutch family in New Markham who owned more than 50 acres in the area back then. Grandpa was one of four local boys who’d served in the same regiment over in Holland, each of whom received a similar slice of land along the southern edge of the lake.

Grandpa and Grandma didn’t do anything with the property right away, as they were just starting out and needed to be in the city so Grandpa could find work. Six years later, though, after Dad and Uncle John were born, Grandpa started clearing a couple of areas on his parcel of land in preparation for constructing two cottages there. It was his vacation project in those days, he’d told me once.

Anyway, he chose spots a little more than an eighth of a mile apart and roughly 200 feet in from the water. Nowadays nobody would pass up the chance to build right on the shore itself, but back then privacy was more of a priority according to my grandfather.

The idea was to have two cottages, one for each of their sons, and to pass the properties down once each boy reached the age of 21. As Grandpa had explained to me a couple years earlier, he and Grandma couldn’t imagine they’d have any use for a cottage by the time they were old enough to have full-grown children, and that’s why they didn’t build three of them. Not to mention that it would’ve been that much more expensive, and it wasn’t like they were rolling in cash back then.

I also knew that the original structures were long gone by the time I came along, having been torn down and replaced sometime in the early 70s. That was when they got electricity for the first time, along with hot water and indoor plumbing. Good thing, as I can’t imagine having to go outside to pee, even if my dad does claim it was no big deal.

All of that was pretty straightforward in my mind. What was more of a mystery was how the Wren ended up being less than half the size of the White Swan. Or why Uncle John got such a raw deal just because he was the younger son.

You be careful when you go out in that inflatable deathtrap of yours tomorrow, Grandpa warned me suddenly, frowning.

I laughed. I’ll have my life jacket on, don’t worry, I assured him. I’m not stupid, you know.

He gave me a skeptical look though he let the comment pass.

Why did you want to know what Hannah does for a living? I prodded him after a moment.

He shrugged, and then said, In case you hadn’t noticed, Miles, I don’t get out as much as I once did.

No, really? I replied. I actually hadn’t noticed until you mentioned it just now.

And as such, he continued, as if I hadn’t said a word, I take my entertainment wherever I can find it. In idle speculation, for instance. It keeps the mind active, if nothing else.

I nodded.

So then one might ask: what sort of employment would a young woman with a small child be likely to seek out in this day and age? Did she strike you as a retailer, someone who might work a cash register or re-stock shelves all day? Or more like a secretary, answering the phone and tap-tap-tapping away at a typewriter from nine to five? He mimed a busy typist, rapping on his tray with the fingers of both hands.

I don’t know, I grumbled, frowning. How the heck should I know?

Well, how was she dressed? he pressed me. Did her clothes look expensive? And did she use a lot of five-dollar words, or was she cussing the air blue like a sailor?

I laughed. She did talk a lot about having her period, now that you mention it.

Grandpa sighed, shaking his head. If I had a bar of soap at hand, you little heathen, it would be getting better acquainted with your mouth right about now.

Relax, I don’t even know what a period is, Grandpa, I informed him, still laughing. I just know it’s something girls get and boys don’t have to worry about. And it’s like a curse word except not really.

That pretty much sums it up, he agreed, shifting a little on the bed.

Like I said, she seemed really nice. I wouldn’t say she uses big words, exactly, though. Not like you do, anyway, and Mom and Dad. She uses regular words, like a regular person. And she was dressed regular, too, I’d say. Nothing fancy. She said Simon’s t-shirt was from a thrift shop, whatever that is.

Grandpa nodded, seemingly satisfied that I’d provided about as much information as I was capable of. He shifted again slightly and then said, I won’t miss much when I’m gone, my boy, but I will miss these little dialogues of ours.

I rolled my eyes. Why do you keep saying things like that? When Dad came up here to open the cottage in May you were so sure you weren’t going to make it to the end of June, and yet here we are almost done July and you seem pretty lively to me.

He made a sour face. There’s an art to predicting one’s ending, Miles. An art I apparently haven’t quite mastered yet, despite my best efforts. Rest assured I’m working on it, however.

You’re such a goof, Grandpa, I replied. You’ve still got lots of good years left in you.

We shall see.

I lifted his plate and utensils up off the tray that was still resting across his lap. Are you coming out to join us tonight? I asked. I think we might be doing charades or Trivial Pursuit in a little while, if Stasi and I can talk them into it.

Thank you for the invitation, he replied, but I think not. I’ve got a good book to read and I plan on making an early evening of it. Perhaps you could send your sister in when you get a chance so I can wish her good night?

Nodding, I stood up and took the remains of his dinner back out to the kitchen.

_________________

Fork River Lake was originally named by the Iroquois tribe that settled near it hundreds of years ago. Not surprisingly, it’s the final destination for most of what flows down the Fork River after it branches off from Lake Huron and flows south. The river itself is only about 30 miles long, two mostly-parallel fingers of water with just one name between them. Each is about 20 feet across at its widest, the pair separated by an eighth of a mile or less along their length, and never more than a few yards deep. All Fork River really does is connect one of the Great Lakes to a much smaller, less impressive body of water.

Spending my summers there as a child, I knew that the shoreline was approximately 10 miles long, and roughly circular in shape. The lake’s diameter was just over three miles at its widest, with a very small island in the eastern half, about a third of the way across from the south shore.

Nobody that I knew back then had ever bothered coming up with a name for that patch of land in the midst of Fork River Lake, as we all just called it ‘the island.’ There was only one, after all, so there wasn’t much chance of confusing it with any other island.

I had paced out the island’s dimensions one bored morning in the Summer of ’87. I discovered it was somewhere in the neighbourhood of 200 feet by 150 feet. So 30,000 square feet of real estate, which definitely makes it sound bigger than it felt when you were on it. ‘You can stand on one side of the island and practically piss across it’ was the expression one of the older boys had used the previous summer, when trying to convey just how tiny and insignificant it really was.

In other words, as tourist attractions went, Fork River Lake and its island were both pretty lame.

_________________

As soon as I woke up the following morning, I made my way outside to check the dinghy. It was right where I’d left it, tied to the back wall of the cottage. Squeezing its sides I could immediately tell that the patch job had done the trick. It was still completely inflated, and ready to go. The weather was cooperating, too, as it was just a little overcast with hardly any wind. It felt like the perfect day for a bit of boating.

Grandpa joined us at the breakfast table that morning, seeming to be in better spirits than the day before. He was dressed, too, bundled up as if he were going mountain climbing once he’d gotten some food into him. I knew he probably wouldn’t even venture as far as the screen door, but it was still good to see him making an effort.

Everyone quizzed me about my plans for the morning. Where was I intending to take Simon? Would Hannah be going along to supervise, and if so could she fit in the dinghy? Could either of them swim? I just shrugged my way through most of it, my mouth full of French toast and sausages. It was obviously a slow news day, as my father liked to say in those days.

By the time the meal was over, it seemed like the whole family might be heading down to the beach with me. Mom wanted to meet Hannah, Dad wasn’t convinced the patch would hold in the water, Stasi was intent upon sizing up Simon’s tea party potential, and even Grandpa was making noises about digging his brown sandals out of the hall closet. I must’ve shown my displeasure at the idea of leading a parade down to the shore, however, as by the time 10:00 rolled around it was only my sister accompanying me through the trees. She did her best to help, too, grabbing one end of the dinghy without me having to ask.

Hannah and Simon were waiting for us when we got there. I saw them, sitting on a grey blanket just in from the edge of the lake, a second or two before Stasi and I completely cleared the woods. Simon was wearing a red bathing suit and nothing else, while his mother had light blue shorts and a white t-shirt on. Both of them were showing considerably more pale skin than they had the day before.

Good morning, Miles! Hannah called to me from where they sat, waving. As we got to within a few feet of them, she added, And is this lovely helper of yours Stasi, by any chance? I couldn’t help noticing that she got my sister’s name right this time.

This is her, all right, I confirmed as the two of us set the boat down gently on the rocks well back from the water’s edge. Stasi, this is Hannah and Simon who I told you about.

I’m very pleased to meet you, Stasi said very formally, making sure to look each of them in the eye as she spoke. She had her hands clasped behind her back and tapped at a rock with the edge of the flip flop on her right foot.

And we’re very pleased to meet you, too, Hannah replied, smiling. Say hello to Stasi, Simon.

Hi, the boy said flatly, fixing me with his gaze, his face expressionless.

Pleased to meet you, Stasi said again, holding out her right hand for Simon to shake.

Hannah put a crooked finger up to her mouth, a look of expectation on her face, but didn’t say a word. She appeared to be as interested in seeing how Simon would react as I was.

After a painfully awkward pause, Simon reached out and briefly squeezed the tips of Stasi’s fingers before withdrawing his arm again.

Stasi’s not going in the boat, I explained once that had played out. She just came to meet you guys and say hi.

And to help carry the dinghy, Stasi elaborated for their benefit. It’s heavier with the extra life jacket in it, she added, causing me to roll my eyes at Hannah.

Hey, do you want to stay with me and watch the boys while they go off on their adventure? Hannah asked my sister, patting a spot beside her on the blanket. I brought oranges, she went on, pointing toward a small wicker basket that rested on the other side of her, and some animal crackers.

I would like that very much, ma’am, Stasi informed her earnestly.

Let’s get you two into your special getups, then, Hannah said, standing up.

Can you swim? I asked Simon as I retrieved the smaller jacket off the floor of the boat.

He shook his head immediately.

Well, don’t worry. With this thing on, you can’t possibly drown, I assured him. Not even if you tried.

That’s good to know, isn’t it, hon? Hannah asked him as she helped me pull the orange-and-black vest over her son’s head. I should get one of these in my size, shouldn’t I?

Can’t you swim, either? I asked her, frowning at the thought of an adult who couldn’t jump in and save a drowning child if she had to.

Nope, she responded, shaking her head. My folks never taught me how.

But you came to the beach for a whole week, I pointed out as I tightened the straps on Simon’s jacket and gave him a thumbs-up signal.

Sure, ‘cause I love the water, Hannah explained. I just can’t swim. I can still wade in it, though. And it’s so pretty here.

I nodded slowly, slipping into my own jacket and snapping it in place. We’ll just go a ways along the shore in that direction, I told her, pointing east, and then come back. We won’t go too far out and I’ll make sure we’re never out of sight.

That sounds like fun, doesn’t it? she asked Simon, getting a silent nod in response. Thanks for doin’ this, Miles. Do you want a couple oranges to take along?

No thanks. They’re too much trouble to peel, and we’ll be too busy rowing anyway.

Hannah smiled and then turned to my sister. Stasi, maybe you and me can take care of the orange peeling, and then all four of us can have a snack when the boys get back.

My sister nodded enthusiastically, probably overjoyed that she hadn’t been sent back to the cottage or pressured to go out on the lake.

OK, Simon, I said, it’s time to get this show on the road, like they say.

Except for it’s a boat on a lake, Miles, Stasi pointed out, breaking a long silence by her standards. She was clearly on her best behaviour with our new friends.

Hannah helped us get the dinghy into the water while my sister remained on the blanket, watching with great interest.

When we reached the point where the water was about a foot deep, I lifted Simon up over the edge of the boat and into one end of it. I plopped him down on his butt only to have him immediately shift so that he was kneeling, his legs bent under him, with a better view over the side of the dinghy.

These rocks are murder on my feet, Hannah muttered to me as we guided the craft farther out from the shore. I shoulda kept my flip flops on.

You’d be slipping all over the place, if you did, I told her. You need to be able to feel your way along with your toes.

She gave me a skeptical expression in response.

I’m going to hop in now before it gets any deeper, I told her a moment later.

With that, I hoisted myself up onto the side, my bare belly squeaking against the dark rubber as I slid across it. I bumped up against Simon’s knees briefly, then pushed myself to the other end of the dinghy, close to where Hannah was standing, both hands still on the boat. As I sat down and stretched my legs out, I had to spread them wide to avoid ramming Simon again. It really did barely fit two kids, despite being called a two-man dinghy in the catalogue.

I reached down to either side of me and brought up the two aluminium oars, snapping them into their locks while Simon looked on, keenly watching my every move.

I’ll show you how to row and then you can try it, I told the boy.

I’m headin’ back before I drown, Hannah informed us, letting go of the side of the dinghy and moving away toward Stasi. I watched her go, stepping gingerly as she slowly made her way through the water.

When she was far enough away that I didn’t think I’d splash her, I gripped the oar handles on either side of me. Simon ducked his head down slightly, trying to get a better view of how I was managing it on my left side without a pinkie.

I turned my hand so he could see it better. It’s like I said yesterday, baby fingers are pretty useless. If I’d lost my thumb, or even my pointer finger, now that would be a big deal.

He absorbed that information silently.

As I began to row, Simon kept glancing from me to the water and back again, fascinated that I could propel the two of us along simply by dipping the oars into the water and drawing them back toward me.

Rowing’s actually harder than it looks, I told him after we’d gone about 30 feet. You really have to pull hard or else you won’t get anywhere. And you have to pull the same on both sides or else you’ll just go around in circles.

OK, he said, nodding and rising up on his knees and reaching both hands toward the oars.

No, hang on, it’s not your turn yet. I want to get us farther along and then you can take us back to your mom and Stasi.

He frowned but sat back down again.

You probably noticed that when you row, the boat goes backwards, I mentioned between strokes as I continued to power us along, just out from the southern shore. That makes it tricky because you’d really like to know where you’re going. Otherwise you might crash into a tree or get hit by a car.

That made him frown again, until I let out a short laugh.

Or maybe just another boat, since we’re on the water, I explained. So you need to check over your shoulder every once in a while, so you can see where you’re going. Though I guess we won’t bump into too many trees out here, will we?

Simon shook his head, a serious expression on his face.

I was definitely getting the impression that Hannah didn’t joke around with him even as much as our parents did with my sister and me. Not that my parents were big kidders, by any stretch. But this was a whole new level of seriousness.

Thinking of my parents reminded me of one of Grandpa’s questions the night before, and so I asked, Hey, did your dad come to the beach with you guys this week?

Simon didn’t respond, his attention still fixed on my arms and the paddles in the water.

Was he busy working? I persisted. Too busy to take a week off?

Simon shrugged ever so slightly, seemingly not the least bit interested in the topic.

My mom and dad are teachers, I told him. So they get the summer off every year. That’s why we’re always here in July and August. Which I guess is a good thing but it gets a bit boring sometimes, you know?

He nodded, though I wasn’t sure he’d actually understood anything I’d said.

I was beginning to think Simon was the quietest, most withdrawn kid I’d ever met. Some of Stasi’s friends back in New Markham were fairly shy, but Simon seemed almost... retarded, in some ways.

Except that wasn’t quite right, either. My mom volunteered a few weekends every year at the Association for the Mentally Retarded, and I’d met a bunch of those kids at an AMR picnic once. They actually came across as friendly and open when they interacted with you, very demonstrative and expressive.

Simon was the opposite of that: guarded and somewhat reluctant to engage, attentive without being at all forthcoming about what he was feeling or thinking. I’d never met a kid quite like him before.

Every once in a while, as I rowed us farther east, I made sure I could find Hannah and Stasi sitting on the shore. Usually, when I’d check on them I’d see my sister gesturing with her hands in one way or another, obviously in full voice now that she’d gotten comfortable with Simon’s mom. I wondered what Hannah would think of this little talkaholic, especially considering what she was obviously used to with Simon.

I occasionally pointed out what passed for landmarks in the area and other items of interest as we moved along the shore.

That’s the one and only island, I told him, cocking my head toward the right. I think it must’ve gotten pushed up by a volcano or something a long time ago, because it’s just a bunch of dirt and grass. It’s like the lake’s got this big, ugly zit on its face. Right on its lip.

He grinned a little at that, staring intently over my right shoulder without uttering a word.

And there’s a bunch of new buildings going up across the lake. That’s just started this year. Normally there’s only a few other kids here every summer, like maybe three or four, if we’re lucky. My parents think there may be more starting next year, though, because of all the construction.

Simon nodded, and then went back to watching me row.

After several minutes of silence, him lost in his thoughts and me in mine, I manoeuvred the dinghy into a 180 degree turn and announced, Now it’s your turn to do all the work.

He took to it eagerly enough, just as he had with the sandpaper and glue the day before. And once again, his technique was pretty lousy, at least at the beginning. He tended to skim the oars over top of the water for most of the pull, or else draw them through but with the blades turned such that they didn’t meet much resistance. In either case, we barely moved in the water.

After some coaching, however, he began doing pretty well for a six-year-old. I’d guess it took us nearly 20 minutes to get back to the girls, with me doing the final stretch after I realized just how exhausted the poor kid was getting. He never complained, though, or asked to be spelled off. It was only the occasional gasp for breath that gave him away. I congratulated him on how far he’d gotten us and then took over.

Hannah waded out on a diagonal line to meet us while Stasi mirrored her along the shore, the wicker basket in both hands. I noticed that my sister was just inches from the edge of the water as the distance between the two of them slowly widened.

That looked like so much fun! Hannah called to us from 15 feet away. Simon, was that you doin’ some of the rowin’ on the way back? It sure looked like it was you pullin’ back on those big ol’ paddles.

Yeah, he did a great job, I replied as she reached the side of the dinghy and laid both hands on its side. I think he’s a natural at it.

Well, what do you say to Miles for takin’ you out like this? she directed at her son.

Thanks, Simon said, staring down at his knees.

You’re welcome, and thanks for doing so much of the work for me. We could go out again tomorrow morning, if you want.

That made him glance up, scanning my face to see if I was joking. Then he nodded.

What a nice offer, Miles, Hannah told me as she lifted her son out and shifted him onto her right hip awkwardly, holding onto the boat with her left hand and guiding it toward the shore.

After removing both oars from their clips I laid them on the floor of the dinghy and climbed over the side into about a foot and a half of water. Together, we led the craft to where Stasi was waiting on the beach.

Hannah got Simon out of the life jacket while I slipped out of mine, and then the four of us walked back to where the grey blanket lay, Hannah with Simon still on her hip and the two of us leading the dinghy by its line through shallow water while Stasi stayed dry.

Were you afraid someone was going to steal the basket? I asked my sister as we went along the rocks.

It has all the oranges in it, she replied, swinging the basket gently as she walked. They’re all peeled and I didn’t want them getting wet if the tide came in.

I shook my head at the way she imagined Fork River Lake having tides, reaching over and mussing her hair gently with one hand.

Here we are, Hannah announced, as we arrived back where we’d started and she placed her son down. And now it’s snack time.

Hannah and Stasi had peeled and split several oranges, making them the perfect size for even Simon’s small hands.

As we ate, Hannah asked, Stasi, how come you don’t like goin’ in the water, hon?

My sister swallowed the bit of orange that was in her mouth and then replied, I don’t want to get grabbed by the under toe.

Hannah looked puzzled for a moment. What’s that?

You know, the undertow, I said, reaching for another slice of orange. When the waves go back out and they pull stuff with them under the water?

Oh, sure, she replied, nodding slowly. I just didn’t know what the name for it was.

That’s the under toe, Stasi announced, gesturing theatrically with both arms. It can grab people by their toes and pull them right under... and then that’s all she wrote.

Hannah laughed lightly at my sister’s choice of words.

Then I said, How would you know, Stase...? You’ve never gone in long enough to realize we don’t actually get any undertow here.

Mom told me all about it, she explained. How every year, lots of kids drown, especially in the oceans and the Great Lakes.

The Great Lakes have way bigger waves than we get here, I informed her. The biggest wave you’ve ever seen on this beach, like after a boat goes by, wouldn’t even get noticed on Lake Superior or any real lake.

Hannah watched this exchange silently and then began to hum lightly to herself.

What are you humming? I asked.

Just a little song I know, she replied. It’s called The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald, and it’s all about the Great Lakes, I think.

Huh, I said, not sure what to make of this information.

I really stink at geography, she admitted, screwing up her face. If it weren’t for that song, I bet I couldn’t name any of the lakes. Isn’t that funny?

I can name them all! Stasi exclaimed, before Hannah had finished speaking. And I’ve never even heard about the wreck of the Edmonton fizz general.

Hannah clapped her hands together, a huge smile on her face. Stasi, that’s wonderful... c’mon now, let’s hear ‘em all.

Well, first there’s Lake Superior, and then Lake Huron... and Lake Ontario... and... oh, Lake Michigan... She’d been rhyming them off slowly, before finally running out of steam.

You’ve only got this many, I informed her, holding up my left hand, its three fingers and thumb spread wide. And you need this many, I added, wiggling all five digits on my right hand in her direction.

Hannah laughed at my display while Simon looked from one of my hands to the other, counting silently.

I can’t remember what the last one’s called, my sister muttered eventually, a defeated expression on her face.

Hannah leaned in close to her, whispering for several seconds.

And Lake Erie! Stasi announced suddenly, beaming.

Yeah, that’s real impressive, since Hannah just told you, I pointed out. That doesn’t count.

"All I did was sing a bit of music in her