Page 59 of Fate, Interrupted

She leans back with her arms folded, performing patience with theatrical commitment. “Not a reason.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

“You’re very protective of this basket.”

“You’re very interested in it.”

“That’s because you won’t let me look. Withholding is a strategy that works on exactly no one.”

She lifts the lid and peeks inside, side-eyeing me, daring me to stop her.

“Fruit salad.” A pause. “Are those grapes?”

“Yes.”

She peers closer, the look on her face suggests I have made a significant error in judgment. “Grapes have no business in a fruit salad. Grapes are a snack fruit. They’re best eaten out of hand.”

“Noted,” I say.

“I’m being persecuted.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

She elbows me. I jerk away in mock pain and when she looks extremely satisfied with herself, I start the truck and pull away from the curb.

The drive takes us out of Larkin’s working edge and onto the stretch of road where the buildings give way to trees. The canopy thickens until sunlight breaks across the windshield. Norah watches without talking. She doesn’t fill every silence, and I like that about her.

After forty minutes, the lake comes into view through the trees, and she leans forward slightly.

“Oh.”

Only that. Soft, the soft sound of someone pleasantly surprised by what I’ve brought.

The road curves, and the lake opens fully; wide under the mid-morning sun, the water catching the light in long moving sheets. A narrow wooden dock extends from the shore, and a small rental shack sits half in the shade of an old oak. The shack is quintessential, the kind of place that has been renting boats on this lake for fifty years and has no interest in modernizing.

“You rented a boat,” she says.

“I did.”

She turns toward me with a smile that has a warning in it. “This is either incredibly charming or a terrible idea.”

“Why would it be a terrible idea?”

“Because if you tip us over,” she says, “I’m going to blame you for the rest of your natural life. That’s not an idle threat. I will bring it up at every available opportunity for as long as either of us is breathing.”

I pull into a spot under a maple tree and cut the engine.

“Have a little faith.”

“That depends,” she says, stepping out of the truck. “On how recently you have rowed a boat.”

I hesitate.

She catches it instantly.

“Oh no,” she says.

“It’s been a while.”