The lake was open water. There was no fork in it, no hidden turn that could bring her back to a house. Elena stood on the dock and searched the southern shore for the yellow landing stage near the village. She could not see it around the headland, but she knew where it was.
“It will take us an hour,” she said. “Less if we share the rowing.”
Miles looked at the small boat. “I've never rowed.”
“Then I'll do it.”
“Elena.”
“There's a pub by the landing. People. Lights.”
“The water was coming into your car.”
“We don't have to keep it out of the whole lake.” She heard the false brightness in her voice. She was talking to a frightened beginner, telling him his feet could learn a pattern he did not yet believe possible. Usually that worked. “Get the lifejackets from the shed.”
He hesitated, then went. Elena put her shoes under the dock bench and checked the boat's rope. Her father had taken her rowing as a child. After the accident she had kept away for two years, then gone out with a friend because she could not bear Daniel's watchfulness. They had argued when she told him. He had said he wanted her safe. She had said she wanted to be able to go somewhere without him deciding what safe meant.
She had enjoyed the lake that day. She remembered it now with angry gratitude.
Miles returned with two orange lifejackets. Elena pulled hers on and fastened it, then made him tighten his. He obeyed with a look she might have disliked less in a different man. His phone sounded while he was struggling with the buckle.
“It's Sana,” he said.
“Answer.”
He shook his head, but the phone kept ringing. At last he took it out. A woman's voice came through, loud and unalarmed.
“Do you remember approving three boxes of enormous mugs? We have received bowls with handles. You could bathe a cat in one.”
Miles shut his eyes. “Send them back.”
“They won't come until Monday. The cupboard doesn't close.”
“Put them on my chair.”
“That's where you sleep through accounts.” A pause. “Are you all right? You sound terrible.”
“I had a bad afternoon.”
“Where are you?”
“I'll ring you. Soon.”
“Miles, don't do that thing where—”
He ended the call. Elena watched him put the phone into a waterproof pouch from the shed. He handed her a second one. She sealed her own phone inside and looped its cord through the strap of her lifejacket.
“You could have told her.”
“What should I have said?”
Elena had no answer that would have fitted a woman standing beside three boxes of cups. She got into the boat.
Miles sat in the stern, shoulders hunched. Elena loosened the rope and pushed off. For a little while the boat did exactly what boats did. It moved when she pulled the oars. Water curled away from the blades. The house dwindled behind Miles, and its kitchen window became an ordinary square of light.
“See?” she said, breathlessly.
He looked over his shoulder. “Don't say that yet.”
She rowed toward the headland. The motion warmed her arms. She knew how to turn without fighting the boat, how to let one blade catch while the other rested. Miles watched her hands. She liked being watched for competence after being watched all afternoon for recognition.
Then the oar in her right hand grew heavy.
She pulled it clear. Something hung from its blade. White cloth, darkened by water, wrapped around the wood. Her honeymoon dress had been white cotton, with small blue flowers along the hem. She had gone out in it because they were newly married and everything she wore ought to look like that.
The cloth slipped away. Miles leaned forward.
“Keep rowing.”
She put the blade into the lake again. It would not come back. A force below the surface held it down. The boat swung sharply and shipped water over its side.
Miles grabbed the gunwale. “Let go.”
She tried to lift the oar. Her elbow burned. The boat tilted farther, and he shouted her name. Elena released it just as the other blade struck the water broadside. The world rolled. His face went below her, then the lake came up and closed over her head.
Cold broke the breath out of her.
For an instant she could not make her lungs stop trying to inhale. The lifejacket dragged her upward, but a weight held her skirt. She opened her eyes underwater. The lake was black and green. Beneath her hung the white honeymoon dress, filled as if another body wore it. Its hem twined around her legs.
She kicked. The cloth tightened.
Someone struck the water beside her. Miles's hand caught the back of her lifejacket. He pulled, lost his grip and caught again. Her face broke the surface. She gasped and choked. A pale shape floated away beneath her feet, and suddenly her legs were free.
The boat lay overturned between them and the house. They were close enough to see the dock. Far too close. She had been rowing away for fifteen minutes, and the dock should have been a small line behind them.
“Don't swim yet,” Miles said. His voice shook. “Breathe. Just breathe.”
She hung in the lifejacket, fighting the wild rhythm in her chest. Miles clung to the boat with one hand. His lips were white. He had no calm to lend her; he stayed close anyway.
When the breathing eased she reached for the upturned hull. He helped her find a hold. They floated beside it while the lake moved them toward the house. Neither tried to direct that movement. The dock grew steadily larger. A rope hung over its edge, the one Elena had loosened from the boat. She could not see what held its other end.
Miles reached it first. He hauled them toward the ladder, stopping twice to catch his breath. Elena tried to help and found that her fingers would not close. She hooked her arm around the rung and let him steady her while she put a foot on the next one. The effort felt absurdly slow. She taught people to balance on a narrow support every day. Now she could hardly persuade her knee to bend.
They got onto the dock and lay there. Elena coughed until her ribs hurt. Miles rolled onto his side, face against wet timber, and swore at the lake in a voice too tired to be loud.
“It's a horrible boat,” he said finally.
She laughed, then coughed again. Her throat tasted of weeds. The lifejacket pressed against her chin, and she could not undo the buckle. Miles worked it loose with stiff fingers. He did his own afterward.
Above them the kitchen door stood open. Warm light reached halfway down the path.
Elena sat up. Her body was shaking, beyond her power to make it stop. Miles crawled to the bench and pulled down the towel. He wrapped it around her shoulders, then stayed crouched beside her as if standing might break something.
“I thought I knew this water,” she said.
“I believe you.”
She looked at him. The sweatshirt clung to his arms. Water dripped from the red seam she had made when the garment was still Daniel's. His face was quite naked with fear.
She held out her hand. He took it, and they got to their feet together.