Spring came to the lake the way spring came to the lake — slowly, and then completely. The ice that had held the water all winter was gone by the middle of March, and the last rafts of it drifted out of the coves on the bright days, and then there was only open water, black and honest, giving back the sky. The house woke with the season. Doors stood open in the afternoons. The path to the dock dried out, and Benjamin came by with the spring's first load of firewood, for next winter, he said, because a man who knew the lake thought ahead.
"Plant something," he told Aaron, from the porch, before he left. "A man who plants is planning to stay."
Aaron looked at the bare ground along the south wall, and at the water, and he thought about the photograph in the folder, David smiling at a garden through the long dark, and he said: "I'm thinking about it."
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The second story arrived on a Thursday, sent through Sarah, forwarded from Dr. Osei's office, the way they all came now.
