Work Text:
The heat began before sunrise.
By six, the upper rooms of the Fischer house had already lost the night’s coolness. The windows stood open, but no wind moved the curtains. Air rested against the screens as though the whole morning had been covered and set aside. Outside, the lane lay pale beneath a sky so clear that every roof edge looked sharpened.
Bart was awake before Jennifer.
He moved between the foot of the stairs and the back door, stopping at each place long enough to make certain nobody had opened it without him. His nails touched the floor in a repeated pattern. Then came a pause. Then the pattern began again.
Nicola remained beneath the kitchen table, stretched on the coolest part of the boards with her chin flat between her paws.
April came downstairs wearing a light house dress and carrying her hair pinned more loosely than usual. She looked at Bart, at the pale light beyond the screen and then toward the ceiling as if the upper rooms had personally offended her.
“He’ll cook himself if you take the field road.”
Jennifer followed several minutes later, already dressed for walking.
She wore a white blouse with loose sleeves, a plain blue skirt and an old straw hat whose brim had been repaired along one side with careful stitching. The colour of the ribbon had faded until it was difficult to name. Her hair had been braided while still damp from washing and lay cool against the back of her neck.
“We’re going toward the lake,” she said.
April stood near the pump filling a basin. “You have permission from Cindy’s mother?”
“She said if we left early and came back before the worst part.”
“Water?”
“Cindy’s bringing it.”
“Food?”
Jennifer pointed toward the table.
Two thick pieces of bread had been wrapped in paper with a small amount of cheese between them. Beside that lay three early apples, not fully sweet, and a folded cloth containing pieces of cold potato with salt. April had added no meat because it would sit too long in the warmth. A separate paper held several pieces of plain bread suitable for the dogs.
“Not all of that for Bart,” April said.
“I know.”
“He doesn’t.”
Bart rose at the sound of his name.
April looked at him. “You’ll learn nothing today.”
His tail moved.
Brandon entered carrying the old guitar case from the front room.
He had inspected the handle after supper the previous evening and added a short reinforcing strip beneath the outer cloth. The case remained awkward, its sides uneven and the upper corner darkened where Bart had once chewed it before the final covering was fixed. The cardboard stiffening held, though the lid bowed slightly where damp summer air had softened it.
“You’re taking this?”
Jennifer nodded.
Brandon set it on the table. “Not near the water.”
“I won’t.”
“Not on wet ground.”
“I have the blanket.”
“And if the air is too damp?”
“I’ll leave it closed.”
He looked at her.
Jennifer’s hand rested against the handle.
Brandon knew the answer mattered enough that she might be tempted to decide the air was dry because she wanted it to be.
“You leave it closed until the case feels dry,” he said.
“Yes, Papa.”
He checked the tabs one last time, then lifted the case and placed the strap over Jennifer’s shoulder. The instrument’s weight pulled across her slight frame, forcing her to lean briefly in the opposite direction before finding balance.
“You shouldn’t carry food too.”
“I can manage.”
“I said shouldn’t.”
April placed the food in a small cloth bag and hung it over the other shoulder.
Brandon looked at both straps crossing Jennifer’s blouse.
“She’ll have Cindy,” April said.
“That doesn’t make Jennifer larger.”
Jennifer adjusted the guitar case behind her hip. “It isn’t far.”
“The road is far when it’s hot.”
“I’ll change shoulders.”
Brandon accepted this reluctantly.
The folded dog cloth went into the food bag. A second cloth, thicker and older, was tied around the guitar case to serve as protection if the ground proved damp. Jennifer filled a small jar with water for the first part of the route even though Cindy would bring the larger tin. She knew better than to make the dogs wait for the planned supply if either began panting too soon.
Bart stood at the door, body trembling.
Nicola rose more slowly.
Jennifer checked the repaired clasp on Bart’s lead.
Brandon watched.
“It’s sound.”
Jennifer pressed it again. “Yes.”
“Then stop trying to find the break.”
She let it close.
They left shortly after half past six.
The road held a little shadow along the eastern side of fences and houses. Nicola found it immediately and kept there. Bart travelled ahead with his nose close to the warm grass, full of the energy the day had not yet earned from him.
The Han gate stood open by the time Jennifer reached it.
Cindy waited in the yard with the water tin in one hand and a small cloth parcel in the other. She wore a pale summer blouse, a dark skirt and stockings despite the heat. Her shoes had been polished the night before, though the road dust would soon undo the effort. A folded towel hung across one arm. Her glasses reflected the sky.
Eun-jung stood on the porch.
Min-jae was near the kitchen door, checking the stopper of the water tin a second time.
“It leaks only if you turn it sideways,” he said.
“I won’t.”
“You will when the handle changes hands.”
Cindy held the tin upright. “Then I’ll keep it upright.”
Min-jae looked toward Jennifer’s guitar case.
“That goes to the lake?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Not into it.”
“No, sir.”
Bart pushed through the gate opening before Jennifer could prevent him.
Cindy caught his collar.
“You’re early.”
His tail struck her skirt.
Nicola entered more quietly and pressed against Cindy’s knees before moving toward the shade of the porch.
Eun-jung looked over both girls.
“You eat before the sun is high.”
“Yes, Mama,” Cindy said.
“You drink before you feel thirsty.”
“Yes.”
“The dogs first if they’re panting.”
“Yes.”
“You stay away from the crowded shore.”
“We will.”
Jennifer lowered her head slightly. “Yes, ma’am.”
Eun-jung’s eyes moved to the guitar. “That stays dry.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Cindy lifted her food parcel. “Mama packed rice cakes and two cucumbers.”
April’s bread and fruit remained in Jennifer’s bag.
Between the households there was enough without excess.
Min-jae tied a strip of cloth around the water tin’s handle where the wire might cut into Cindy’s hand. He pressed the knot flat.
“Change hands before the mark begins,” he said.
“Yes, Papa.”
Eun-jung looked toward the road. “Go now.”
The girls went.
Bart tried to lead them toward the usual corner.
Cindy held his leash and turned him toward the lake road.
He stopped.
The altered direction interested him enough to erase his resistance.
Nicola remained with Jennifer, walking close to the shade cast by hedges and house fronts. The morning still held traces of coolness near the ground, though the light strengthened with every street.
The lake wasn’t visible from most of the road.
It announced itself through the air.
Beyond the town, the heat loosened slightly. A smell of water entered beneath dust and grass. Gulls appeared overhead, moving inland in slow white arcs. The girls passed the place marked on their folded map where the weather of the lake could be known before the water itself came into view.
Cindy noticed Jennifer looking upward.
“The road in the song,” she said.
Jennifer nodded.
The guitar case rested against her hip.
Bart pulled toward a ditch.
Cindy redirected him before his paws reached the soft ground. “Not today.”
The ditch had dried around its edges, but green water remained lower down beneath reeds. Insects moved above it. Bart looked back twice as they continued.
“He thinks every water is for him,” Cindy said.
“He doesn’t know the lake yet.”
“He’ll try to own it.”
Jennifer glanced toward Bart. “He’ll lose.”
The word carried no humour in her tone, only certainty about the size of the thing ahead.
They stopped after the first mile.
A row of trees stood between the road and a field, their shade long enough to cover both dogs. Cindy placed the water tin on the grass. Jennifer unfolded the smaller cloth and shaped it into a shallow basin.
Nicola drank first.
She took measured laps and stepped back.
Bart pushed forward and nearly placed one paw into the cloth.
Cindy held his collar. “Wait.”
He waited poorly.
When allowed, he drank with the same force he had shown during the long walk the previous summer. Water scattered from the cloth and darkened the grass.
“Slow,” Cindy said.
Bart ignored the word.
Jennifer lifted the cloth.
He looked at the empty place beneath it.
“You’ve had enough for now.”
His tongue remained out.
Cindy checked his breathing. “A little more.”
Jennifer lowered the cloth again and let him drink several slower laps.
They continued before the stop became a meal.
The lake appeared near the end of a descending road.
At first it looked like another band of sky beneath the trees, a pale blue opening beyond grass and weathered buildings. Then the road turned, the shoreline widened and the difference between water and air became clear through movement.
The surface carried no fixed shape.
Wind crossed it in dark and bright passages. Small waves reached the shore, broke into lines of white and withdrew over stones with a continual shifting sound. Farther out, the blue deepened. Boats moved as small distant forms, their wakes visible longer than the vessels themselves.
Bart stopped.
The lead tightened in Cindy’s hand.
He stared.
The lake moved toward him and away again without advancing.
Cindy looked down. “You wanted water.”
Bart remained still.
Jennifer came beside them with Nicola.
Nicola smelled the air and lowered her head.
The shore nearest the main road had already begun filling with people. Families carried baskets and folded blankets. Several boys ran near the shallows with trousers rolled to the knee. A woman called after a child heading too far along a narrow breakwater. Dogs barked from different stretches, their voices carried and broken by the wind.
The girls took the quieter path north.
It led away from the busier shore, following grass and low stones beneath trees shaped by years of weather. The ground remained uneven. Jennifer shifted the guitar case across her body to keep it from striking one trunk.
Cindy held Bart near.
The dog’s attention stayed on the lake.
He didn’t pull toward it at first.
That concerned her more than eagerness would have.
“He doesn’t understand it,” she said.
Jennifer looked at his face. “He understands it moves.”
A flatter stretch opened beyond a low rise.
The shore there was made of stones, narrow sand and patches of coarse grass. Trees stood close enough to provide shade without crowding the water. Only one older couple occupied the far end, seated with their backs against a driftwood log. They paid no attention to the girls.
“This is better,” Cindy said.
Jennifer looked over the ground.
A broad flat stone sat several yards from the water beneath partial shade. The grass around it appeared dry. She set down the guitar case carefully, placing the folded protective cloth beneath it before allowing the bottom to touch.
Brandon’s warning remained clear.
The case felt cool from the walk, not damp.
Jennifer left it closed.
The dogs approached the shore.
Nicola moved slowly.
Bart came only as far as the first wet stones.
A small wave reached forward.
Water covered his front paws.
He jumped back.
Cindy held the lead firmly enough to prevent him from turning into her legs.
The wave withdrew.
Bart looked at the stones where the water had been.
Another came.
He stepped away before it reached him.
Jennifer crouched near Nicola.
The grey dog’s nose remained low. She smelled the wet stones, fish, weeds and the many traces left by people and animals. When water reached near her paws, she didn’t jump, though she shifted her weight backward.
“It’s all right,” Jennifer said.
Nicola looked toward her.
Jennifer didn’t pull her closer.
Bart had begun barking at the edge.
One sharp bark.
The water came again.
He barked a second time.
Cindy shortened the lead. “It isn’t listening.”
A stick floated several feet out.
It had been stripped of bark along one side and moved sideways with the wave rather than directly toward shore. Bart saw it.
His whole posture changed.
The water ceased being a moving boundary and became the location of an object that might be claimed.
He lunged.
Cindy had been ready for resistance, not commitment.
The lead slid several inches through her hand before she closed her grip.
Bart entered past his ankles.
A wave struck his chest.
He surged toward the stick.
The ground beneath the water dropped more sharply than he expected. His front paws lost contact. His hind legs pushed against shifting stones and found no steady place.
For one brief second his body floated badly.
His head rose. His paws moved without reaching the bottom. The lake carried him sideways.
Cindy pulled.
Jennifer caught the lead above her hand.
Together they brought him back toward the shallows.
Bart found his footing and scrambled onto the stones.
He emerged shocked.
Water poured from his coat. His ears lay flat. His tail had dropped. He stood with all four legs spread, staring at the lake as another small wave reached toward him.
Then he shook.
Cindy turned her face away.
Jennifer lifted one arm too late.
Water struck both girls, the food bag, the front of Cindy’s skirt and part of the guitar case’s protective cloth.
Jennifer looked at the case.
The case itself remained dry beneath the tied layer.
She removed it immediately and moved the instrument farther under the tree.
Bart finished shaking.
He looked smaller with his fur flattened.
Cindy crouched beside him. “You thought it was a ditch.”
Bart stared at the water.
“It isn’t.”
Jennifer pressed the dog cloth over his back.
He accepted drying without trying to bite it.
The lesson had removed some of his usual resistance.
Cindy rubbed his chest and front legs. “You went too quickly.”
Bart turned his face toward her.
A thin line of lake water ran from his chin.
The floating stick had come closer during the struggle.
It now rested near the edge, moving in and out with the smallest waves.
Bart saw it again.
His ears rose.
Cindy placed one hand against his chest. “No.”
He leaned, but not with the same certainty.
Jennifer picked up the stick when the water brought it close enough.
She held it out of reach and examined the wet wood.
“It’s sound.”
Cindy looked toward Bart. “Not yet.”
They tied his lead around a tree root with enough length for him to stand in the grass but not reach the water.
Bart watched Jennifer place the stick on a high stone.
Nicola had remained near the shore.
She hadn’t drunk.
Jennifer brought the folded water cloth and poured fresh water from the tin.
Nicola smelled it but looked toward the lake instead.
“She wants that,” Cindy said.
“The water near here is rough.”
“It isn’t rough.”
“It moves too much for her.”
Jennifer took Nicola several yards along the shore where stones formed a small sheltered curve. The waves entered more gently there, reduced to a low folding movement around the rocks.
Nicola followed.
Jennifer stopped before the water.
The dog approached on her own.
She smelled the surface.
A small wave touched her paws and withdrew.
Nicola waited.
Then she lowered her head and drank.
Jennifer allowed only several laps before guiding her back.
“She’ll drink too much,” Cindy said.
“The lake doesn’t run out.”
“She still shouldn’t.”
Jennifer nodded.
They returned to the tree.
Cindy removed her shoes and stockings.
She folded the stockings inside the shoes to keep grit from entering them, then placed both beneath the food bag. The wet edge of her skirt had darkened from Bart’s shaking, but the water hadn’t reached high enough to matter.
She stepped onto the stones.
The first felt warm from the sun.
The next was cold where water had covered it.
Cindy entered only to the ankles.
The lake moved around her feet, pulling sand from beneath them and replacing it unevenly. She adjusted her stance.
Jennifer watched from the flat stone.
“You’re slipping.”
“I’m not.”
“You moved.”
“The ground moved.”
“That’s worse.”
Cindy looked down through the clear shallows.
Small stones appeared and vanished beneath the broken surface. A fragment of green weed turned around her ankle, touched her skin and travelled away.
She went no farther.
The water cooled her quickly. Heat left her feet and lower legs until the contrast became almost painful. She remained there for less than a minute, then stepped back onto the dry stones.
Bart watched closely.
The fact that Cindy entered and returned without trouble restored some of his confidence.
He pulled toward the shore.
Cindy pointed to the wet stick on the high stone. “You can have that later.”
Bart’s gaze followed.
Nicola lay in the shade.
Jennifer checked the guitar case.
The outer protective cloth had taken Bart’s spray and now hung over a branch to dry. The case itself felt dry beneath her hand, but the air near the shore carried dampness. She pressed one finger along the edge and then against the cardboard side.
“Not yet,” Cindy said.
Jennifer looked at her.
“The air’s wet.”
“I know.”
“You were checking.”
“I’m allowed to check.”
Cindy sat on the grass and dried her feet before putting her stockings and shoes back on. “Checking won’t make it dry.”
Jennifer left the tabs closed.
They walked a short distance along the quieter shore while the instrument remained beneath the tree.
Bart stayed farther from the water now, though he continued watching it. Nicola chose a path where grass met stone and paused at every cooler patch.
The girls carried only the water tin and dog cloth.
They found a place where the lake had gathered bits of wood, shells and smooth stones along a shallow curve. Cindy picked up nothing at first. She examined shapes, turned two stones with the toe of her shoe and left them.
Jennifer found a piece of glass worn dull at the edges.
It was blue.
Not the bright blue of a bottle newly broken, but a softened colour made pale by water and time. She rinsed it in the shallows and held it toward the sky.
Cindy looked at it. “That could cut.”
“The edges are smooth.”
“Check.”
Jennifer ran her thumb carefully around them.
“No sharp place.”
Cindy took it.
The glass carried light without remaining transparent enough to see through clearly.
“The lake on the map,” she said.
Jennifer nodded.
“July blue.”
“What?”
“The colour.”
Jennifer looked at the water.
Near the shore, the lake appeared green-grey over stones. Farther out it became broad blue beneath the white sky. The glass held something between them.
“Keep it,” she said.
Cindy handed it back. “You found it.”
Jennifer placed it inside the food bag’s outer pocket where it wouldn’t tear the papers.
Bart saw another stick.
This one lay partly submerged and much larger than the first. He moved toward it, then stopped when the water reached his toes.
Cindy waited.
Bart stretched his neck.
A wave moved the stick.
He stepped back.
“He’s learning,” Jennifer said.
“Only one part.”
They returned to the tree before the sun rose too high.
The protective cloth had nearly dried. Jennifer untied the guitar case and moved it onto the flat stone. She checked the ground again, brushing away grit with her hand.
Cindy sat nearby with the water tin between them.
Bart lay in the shade, still damp beneath his chest. Nicola settled close to Cindy’s leg.
The case remained closed for another twenty minutes.
They ate first.
April’s bread and cheese were divided evenly. Eun-jung’s rice cakes had been wrapped so they didn’t stick together, with a piece of clean leaf between each one. The cucumbers were sliced lengthwise with Cindy’s pocketknife and salted lightly from a paper twist. The apples remained for later.
The dogs received small bread portions.
Cindy divided them before either animal was allowed near.
Bart watched every movement.
He had forgotten his humiliation enough to stand beside the food cloth, body alert.
“Wait,” Cindy said.
Jennifer held Nicola’s piece.
Bart leaned forward.
Cindy lifted her hand.
He sat.
The bread came down.
Bart took it carefully, swallowed and immediately looked toward Nicola’s portion.
Nicola chewed more slowly.
Cindy put one hand against Bart’s chest. “Hers.”
He watched until the final piece disappeared.
The empty food papers were folded together and placed beside the bag.
Bart moved over them.
He lay with his front paws on either side and his chest across the top fold.
Cindy looked at him. “There’s nothing left.”
He placed his chin down.
“He’s guarding them,” Jennifer said.
“He’s waiting for them to become food again.”
The paper crackled beneath his breathing.
Nicola turned once in the shade and lowered herself beside Cindy. After several moments she rested her head on Cindy’s ankle.
Cindy adjusted her leg enough to give the dog a flatter place without moving her away.
The warmth of Nicola’s muzzle remained despite the cooler lake air.
Jennifer touched the guitar case again.
This time the cloth felt dry.
She opened the tabs.
The inside held no damp smell. The flannel lining remained warm from the instrument and the walk. Jennifer lifted the guitar carefully, checking the repaired lower edge before placing the case away from any spray.
The old wood appeared almost black where shade crossed it.
She sat on the flat stone.
The guitar covered much of her lap. Her feet rested on smaller stones below. She checked the strings one at a time.
The lake air had changed their tuning.
The lowest had gone slightly flat. Another sounded sharper than expected. Jennifer adjusted each peg slowly, listening through the shore noise and distant voices.
Cindy ate the last cucumber slice.
“Can you hear it?”
“Enough.”
A wave broke farther out.
Jennifer waited before checking the third string again.
She didn’t begin with a song.
Her hands needed to settle after carrying the case and handling the dogs. She played simple chord changes softly, avoiding the faster piece that excited Bart. The guitar’s notes travelled differently outdoors. They didn’t fill a room or return from walls. They moved into leaves, open air and water, thinning almost immediately.
Bart raised his head.
Cindy rested one hand near his collar.
The dog listened but didn’t rise.
Jennifer played the first six notes of the unfinished melody.
Cindy looked toward her.
The fragment had changed through a year of repetition.
Jennifer knew where it sat comfortably on the guitar. She no longer tried to make every movement of Cindy’s voice into a separate note. The line remained restrained, low enough to avoid brightness and brief enough that the final known sound didn’t pretend to conclude.
She played it again.
The lake moved beneath the space after the last note.
Cindy’s fingers rested on Nicola’s head.
“You shortened the second.”
“A little.”
“Mama holds it longer now.”
“Now?”
“Sometimes.”
Jennifer adjusted.
She played the second note with greater length but kept the rest unchanged.
Cindy hummed.
The first five notes aligned.
At the sixth, her voice moved slightly upward before falling into the known end.
Jennifer stopped.
“That’s new.”
“I remembered it in winter.”
“From your mother?”
“She was folding cloth.”
Jennifer found the upward movement.
She played it too plainly.
Cindy shook her head. “Not separate.”
Jennifer used the same small bend she had learned with the later fragment, pressing the string enough to alter the pitch without turning it into another full step.
“Nearer,” Cindy said.
Jennifer repeated.
The old guitar gave a slight rasp beneath the bend.
Cindy hummed with it.
This time the phrase carried one more shape before reaching the opening gap.
Jennifer played only what Cindy had given.
She didn’t move toward a chord.
“What comes after?” she asked.
Cindy looked across the lake.
Her hand continued resting on Nicola.
“I remembered something else.”
Jennifer waited.
Cindy hummed the opening.
The extended second note.
The small upward bend.
The known descent.
Then two lower notes followed, close together, the second held only slightly.
Jennifer listened without playing.
Cindy tried again.
The second new note shifted.
“No,” she said.
“Which time?”
“The first was wrong.”
“You changed it.”
“I know.”
Jennifer kept her hands still.
Cindy closed her eyes.
She hummed from the beginning a third time.
The two lower notes returned in a clearer form. After them came a short rise that stopped before finding anywhere to land.
Jennifer copied the first lower note.
“Too low,” Cindy said.
She moved it one position.
“Too high.”
“There’s nothing between.”
“Then use another string.”
Jennifer searched.
On the next string the same pitch carried a different weight, softer and less open.
Cindy nodded.
“That.”
Jennifer added the second lower note.
Cindy hummed.
The guitar followed.
The short rise remained.
Jennifer found a note that seemed likely.
Cindy shook her head immediately. “You’re finishing.”
“I’m only following the rise.”
“You made it settle.”
Jennifer lifted her finger.
The sound stopped before completion.
Cindy hummed the rise again.
It didn’t settle. It reached upward and vanished.
Jennifer tried the note with less force, touching it briefly before muting the string.
“That’s closer.”
“It sounds interrupted.”
“It is.”
They looked at each other.
The same understanding from the previous summer remained.
The missing place wasn’t a failure to be concealed. It was part of what Cindy knew. The tune survived in pieces carried through work, illness, meals and years of family memory. Forcing a bridge would have made Jennifer the author of something she had only been permitted to hear.
She played the older opening.
Then the new lower notes.
Then the small rise.
She stopped.
The lake continued.
A gull cried above them.
Bart lifted his head toward the sound, then lowered it onto the empty papers again.
Cindy hummed once more.
This time another note almost came after the rise.
She stopped before it formed.
“I don’t know that.”
Jennifer didn’t search for it.
She returned to the beginning and played the fragment with the additions included.
The melody had become longer but not complete.
Cindy listened.
“The bend is too much.”
Jennifer reduced it.
“The second note needs one more breath.”
Jennifer held it.
“The lower part shouldn’t be louder.”
Jennifer shifted her hand and played it on lighter strings.
“That’s right.”
Jennifer repeated.
The guitar remained imperfect beneath her. One string buzzed briefly when her finger landed too near the fret. The lake air altered the tuning enough that the final lower note sounded faintly rough. Cindy didn’t praise away the defects.
“That one buzzed.”
“I know.”
Jennifer played it again.
Clearer.
Bart’s ear turned toward the sound.
Nicola slept with her head on Cindy’s ankle, undisturbed.
The girls spent nearly an hour with the melody.
Sometimes they left it to eat apple slices or give the dogs water. Sometimes Jennifer played one of her own songs between attempts, allowing her fingers to loosen. She played the lake road song quietly, and the image of rain beyond sight felt different with the actual water before them under a cloudless sky.
Cindy listened.
“The gulls are wrong today,” she said.
“They’re going out.”
“In the song they turn inland.”
“It isn’t raining.”
“No.”
Jennifer completed the first verse and stopped.
She didn’t perform all three songs.
The afternoon wasn’t a recital, and the lake had already given the instrument enough damp air.
Before closing the case, she played the unfinished melody one last time.
The new notes remained.
The missing section remained too.
Cindy didn’t mark them on paper.
Memory had brought them there. Memory could carry them home.
By late morning, the busier shore had grown louder. Voices travelled farther across the water, mixed with splashing, shouted warnings and the occasional bark of another dog. The girls began packing before the quiet place ceased being quiet.
Every paper returned to the food bag.
Apple cores were wrapped. Cucumber ends were folded into the damp leaf. The salt twist went inside another paper. The dog cloth was wrung out and tied separately. No food remained loose.
Bart lifted his chest from the empty papers only after Cindy pulled them from beneath him.
He looked offended.
“You guarded them well,” she said.
His tail moved.
Jennifer closed the guitar case.
She wrapped it in the dry protective cloth and fastened both tabs. The instrument had remained safe. No water marked the lining. She carried it higher than before, keeping the lower corner from striking stones.
Before leaving, Cindy retrieved the first floating stick.
It had drifted against shore while they ate and now rested among smaller pieces of wood. Jennifer had placed it aside after Bart’s fall, intending to offer it only when they were away from the water.
The stick was nearly as long as Bart’s foreleg.
Its bark remained dark and soaked.
Cindy held it out.
Bart took it.
His confidence returned immediately.
He carried the stick crosswise, forcing the girls to give him more space on the narrow path. Twice it struck grass and turned in his mouth. Each time he adjusted without dropping it.
At the first small wave, he stopped.
The stick remained firm between his teeth.
He looked at the water.
Cindy waited.
Bart didn’t enter.
He turned inland.
They took the return road shortly before noon.
The air had grown hotter, though the lake breeze followed them through the first part of the route. Jennifer carried the guitar. Cindy carried the water tin and food bag. They changed loads after the first stop, with Cindy taking the food and Jennifer the tin because the guitar strap had begun pressing too hard against one shoulder.
Bart carried the stick.
At first he held it high.
By the second mile, wet bark began loosening.
Small strips fell onto the road. Bart stopped to smell each one, then continued with the remaining wood. The stick grew paler where his teeth and the heat stripped it.
Nicola walked close to Cindy for most of the return. She had rested well and showed little fatigue, but she chose every line of shade the road offered.
They stopped beneath the same trees as before.
The dogs drank.
Bart put down the stick only when Cindy placed water before him. He held one paw over it while drinking, ensuring no one took it.
Jennifer looked at the wood. “It’s breaking.”
“He knows.”
Bart finished, picked it up and continued.
Near the church, one end split.
A length of bark hung from the side and dragged.
Cindy stopped him.
She pulled the loose bark away before he swallowed it.
Bart watched her hand.
“You can keep the wood.”
He took it again.
By the Han street, the stick had become less than half its original size. The outer bark was gone from most of it. Tooth marks covered both ends. Wet fibres separated near the centre.
Bart remained proud.
Cindy opened the gate.
Eun-jung stood at the kitchen window and came to the rear door as the girls entered.
She looked over them first.
Cindy’s skirt bore dried marks from lake water. Jennifer’s blouse had wrinkled beneath the guitar strap. Both girls’ shoes carried pale dust. The dogs appeared tired but sound.
“You stayed from the busy shore?” Eun-jung asked.
“Yes, Mama.”
“Water?”
“Enough.”
“Food?”
“Finished.”
“Papers?”
Cindy lifted the cloth bag.
“All.”
Eun-jung looked at Bart’s stick.
“What is that?”
“He found it in the lake.”
“He nearly drowned for it,” Cindy said.
Jennifer corrected, “He lost his footing.”
Eun-jung looked down at Bart.
The dog held the final piece between his teeth.
“Did he go too far?”
“Only once,” Cindy said.
“And after?”
“He stayed shallow.”
“He stayed out,” Jennifer said.
Bart dropped the stick near the steps.
It landed with a damp sound.
He looked at Eun-jung.
She didn’t touch it.
“Dogs first,” she said.
Cindy took the paw cloth.
The rear entry was used because the ground near the lake had left grit between their pads. Bart resisted less than usual. Fatigue and the possession of his stick had reduced his interest in stealing the cloth.
Nicola lifted each paw.
Jennifer checked for cuts.
None appeared.
Eun-jung gave both girls cool water and sliced cucumber left from the household meal. Min-jae came in from the front room and inspected the guitar case only by looking at it.
“It stayed dry?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You played?”
“After the air eased.”
He nodded.
Cindy drank half her cup.
Bart lay near the kitchen door with the stick between his paws.
The wet wood left a dark mark on the floor.
Eun-jung looked at it.
Cindy moved quickly. “I’ll put it outside.”
She took the stick before Bart could protest.
He followed her into the yard.
Cindy placed it beside the gatepost, where the afternoon sun reached enough to dry it without leaving it in the middle of the path.
Bart smelled it.
She held his collar.
“It stays here.”
He looked at her.
“It’ll dry.”
Bart sat beside the gate.
For several moments he appeared prepared to guard the stick until the process finished.
Then Nicola entered the yard and moved toward the shade. Bart followed her.
The piece of wood remained by the post.
Jennifer left after resting long enough to make the road home sensible.
Cindy walked with her to the gate.
The dogs were divided again, Bart with Jennifer and Nicola beside Cindy until the latch opened. Bart looked toward the stick.
Cindy picked it up once more.
The outer surface had begun drying, though the centre remained dark. Loose fibres lifted from one end.
“You can’t carry it home,” Jennifer said.
“He brought it this far.”
“He may swallow the pieces.”
Cindy looked at Bart.
The dog watched the stick.
She placed it back beside the Han gate.
“He’ll have it next time.”
“It may break.”
“Then he’ll have what’s left.”
Jennifer accepted this.
Cindy shut the gate behind her.
Nicola returned to Jennifer’s side.
The guitar case rested high beneath Jennifer’s arm. The blue glass from the shore remained inside the food bag’s outer pocket. Bart followed for several steps, then looked back toward the gatepost.
Cindy stood inside the yard.
“Come,” Jennifer said.
Bart turned toward home.
The lake stick dried through the afternoon.
Its bark curled away and fell in thin pieces onto the swept ground. Eun-jung moved around it twice while carrying laundry and didn’t throw it onto the woodpile. Min-jae saw it near the latch, tested it once with his shoe and left it there.
By evening, the stick had become a small pale length of worn wood.
Nothing about it showed the lake’s breadth, Bart’s sudden fall or the way he had carried it mile after mile while its bark came apart.
Cindy picked it up before closing the gate for the night.
She placed it on the low ledge beside the rear entry, out of rain and beyond Bart’s immediate reach when he next arrived.
To anyone else, it would have looked like refuse too small for kindling.
It remained there.