They loved Ford’s Lake as kids. It was a blue-gray smear of water surrounded by heavy rocks and wilted trees, tired fishermen and smoking teenagers dotting the shore, but Minnie and Sam weren’t there for the view. As soon as the van came to a stop the two would jump out, dance across cracked, hot asphalt and into the cool grass, keep running until the dirt beneath them gave way into small pebbles and the gentle edge of the water lapped against their ankles. There would be bugs in the summer, too, clouds of them tickling their faces under a thick humidity, and crawfish hiding in the murky depths. Sam would scan the surface before pulling one out of the water with a triumphant splash, the tiny creature scurrying frantically between her thumb and middle finger, and the two friends would examine the poor thing with intense curiosity, like explorers discovering a new species. Eventually Sam would get bored and throw it as hard as she could towards the middle of the lake, the crawfish vanishing with a blip. 

They would stay there all day by the lake, the hours flying by, a blur of melted popsicles and the tang of sunscreen. And then it would be sunset. A burning orange orb nestling between distant pine trees, its agitated reflection spilling across the water. Sam and Minnie would help pack  and load blankets and baskets into the van, and in the back seats finally stare back at the retreating lake, ever more glum in the fading glow of dusk. Sleepily, leaning against one another to stay awake, they would promise to visit together soon.

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The parking lot is different. Minnie cuts the engine of the car and peers out through the windshield. The pavement has been redone, new lines painted in a vibrant yellow against black. The renovations seem out of place with how worn everything else looks. The sign pointing towards the bathrooms remains unreplaced, rust flourishing up the metal post. The pavilion across the field is a mess of faded paint and stripped tables, and a group of children sits at the benches. And Ford’s Lake is a dull, placid constant, the same waves soaking into the same shores. Minnie could swear that she recognizes one of the fishermen hunched by a rock. She takes a moment to stretch off the three hour drive and steps out into the morning air. 

There’s a feeling of disappointment that she hasn’t been able to shake off since last night, since visiting her hometown. The locations seemed grimier, the people more subdued. Even the drive out to the lake, touted as one of the more scenic routes in the area, has felt flat and repetitive, the same three types of pine trees pasted along the road like cardboard cutouts, the views of the surrounding hills constantly interrupted by half-built cabins and chain-link fences. There was an ugliness seeped into her perspective, a dose of reality that stifles her nostalgia. A sadness, too. But she doesn’t dwell on that.

Minnie carefully treads along the grass and finds herself at the shore. Seagulls—lakegulls?—graze the horizon. The water is shallow but she doesn’t want to get wet. Instead she stands as close as she can, taking in the unremarkable view, the tinge of mud and algae clinging to her throat. Maybe she should head back.

“Boo!”

The shout catches her off guard and she tumbles forward—nearly. A hand shoots out and braces against the loose gravel, fingers sinking in for purchase, and her face dangles inches from the cold water. With effort she straightens up and recovers, sleeve drenched and heart pounding. When she whirls around it takes her a second to look down. There’s a girl there with braces and a mischievous grin. 

“Decent reflexes,” the girl says. “Got you good, though.”

Anger flares up through Minnie’s adrenaline. “What was that for?”

The girl shrugs. “I dunno. Bored.”

“You push people into lakes when you’re bored?”

“Didn’t push you. Just spoke. You fell in yourself.” The girl’s voice is matter-of-fact. “Plus, you didn’t even fall in.”

Minnie looks around. The fisherman nearby doesn’t even glance towards them. She backs away from the water, not looking away from the girl. “Are your parents here?”

The girl’s face flattens. “As if. They dumped me here.” She points away from the lake, towards the pavilion, where the kids now stand in line, facing an adult. “Instead I get summer camp with a buncha nerds.”

“They aren’t looking for you?”

The girl responds with a shrug. She sits down on the beach and pats the ground beside her. “Wanna chat?”

Minnie takes a step back. “Uh, no. Sorry. You shouldn’t talk to strangers, anyways.”

“You seemed cool enough.” Something fades in the girl’s eyes and she looks away. “Whatever. My friend’s not showing up anyways.”

Her tone gives Minnie pause. “Your friend?”

“From summer camp. She’s the only cool one. We promised that we’d ditch our activities and meet here to talk.” She gave a sad smile. “Guess maybe I was too lame.”

Minnie hesitates. She keeps her distance but crouches down, resting her arms on her knees, and speaks slowly. “I know how you feel. I loved this place as a kid. I’d visit every year with a friend, and every time we’d promise to visit together again. Then one year we just didn’t. Or ever again after that.”

“Why?” the girl asks.

There’s that sadness again. Drawn out by the gray lake, the tiny pebbles that shift under her feet, the curiosity in the girl’s eyes. And Minnie hears herself speak.

“I wish I could ask her that same thing.”