June came in hot, the way June comes to a lake — the water losing its spring blue for the deep green of high summer, the reeds standing tall along the shore, the dock warm underfoot, the garden in its full work. The oak stood at the edge of the yard with its whole leaf in the sun, holding its first season the way young trees do — with everything it had, not knowing it was young. Aaron stood over it in the mornings with his coffee, and the singer who had asked after it was on her way.
The first swims of the season happened that week, Sophie going in before breakfast the way she had the summer before, the lake accepting her the way it accepted everything, and Aaron after her, and the days took the shape of high summer: the long light, the open doors, the porch in the evenings with the water giving back the sky.
The record came out on the second Thursday of the month.
