Page 6

The hull bumps against the dock, and I tie off at the bottom of the steps.

The island is a shelf of rock rising out of the lake. From where the lift comes down, no one can see it at all. I built the dock and cut the steps into the rock myself. I built the retaining walls over the years, one course at a time, and filled the beds behind them with the pale plants that grow down here without sun – white leaves and thin stems that bend toward the lamps. The house stands on the broad slab at the top. I keep it well. After the cold of the caves, I’m surprised by the warmth inside the door every single time.

The fire is low. In the main room, there’s a hearth, an open kitchen against one wall, a dining table, my writing desk, and furniture I carried out of the ruined hall one piece at a time and mended. Two velvet chairs stand before the fire, their color faded to a soft rust. The table is set for two, as it always is.

I put the book, the donuts, and the cards on the table, then I go to lay another log on the fire.

“The lake was quiet today,” I say. “Nothing moving on it but me.”

I turn toward Prima’s chair, the one nearest the fire, and wait.

“No. Nothing came down that I couldn’t carry.” I go to the kitchen for plates. “The children sent pictures. A whole bundle. Would you like to see them?”

I stop with the plates in my hands.

“I thought you might.” I continue and set the plates on the table. “And there are glazed donuts for dinner. Don’t look at me like that. I know you love them. That’s why I took them.”

I glance at the back of the chair.

“The pie went back up, and also the potatoes.” I listen for a few seconds. “Because I wasn’t hungry, that’s why. Are you comfortable? Are you warm enough? I can move you closer.”

I set the donuts out on the table while I wait for her answer, then I nod.

“There’s a book too. A new one.” I pick it up and turn it so she can see. “A wanderer. He wants to see the ocean more than anything, it says here. Do you want it first, or do you mind if I take it?”

I hold the book out to her and listen to the fire.

“You want to know how it ends before either of us has opened it. That is exactly like you.” I chuckle and set it down. “We’ll see. I’ll start it after dinner, and you can have it when I’m done.”

I walk back past the hearth. My hand grazes over the back of her chair as I pass, the way it always does. I gather the cards from the table, bring my own chair in, close to hers, and sit. I untie the string that holds them together. The first one is a cat, or something with ears, in brown. I hold it up so she can see it.

“A cat,” I say. “Look at the tail. Whoever drew this put more work into the tail than the rest of it.”

I wait, then I laugh, low, and move to the next, which is a house under a blue sky. The sky is a thick band across the top of the paper, pressed hard, and the sun is in the corner. I turn it toward her.

“Every one of them draws the sky the same way. Right across the top.” I tilt it so Prima can see the door of the house, which has been drawn with a handle. “I know which house this is. I know the girl who drew it, and I knew her mother when she was her age.”

One card has writing on it in big letters, and it asks whether I am well.

“They want to know if I’m well,” I say. “I know, but it’s not like I can tell them.”

The next card asks me to sing. I look at it, set it under the others, and pick up the one after.

I go through a horse, a dog or possibly a bear, two figures holding hands under a round sun, and another house with its band of blue sky above. Then there is another one asking me to sing, in letters that slope down toward the corner of the page. I put that one under the pile too and move on.

“They think of me,” I say. “That’s the thing. They sit down with their colors and they think of me.” I hold up a picture of a bird. “Look at that. I’d keep this one on the desk if I didn’t keep all of them.”

I hold the last drawing up to her, then I gather the whole bundle together and lay it on the low table in front of our two chairs. I will put them away later.

A log breaks in the fire and sends up sparks. For several minutes, I stay beside her with my hands on my knees and watch the flames. I don’t say anything, and neither does she.

Then I stand and turn to her chair.

“Do you want a glazed donut?”

I stand there and wait.

“Yes, of course. I’ll help you up.”