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Chloe smirks. “Why not start now?”

“What?”

“Take this,” she says, handing me an oar. “It’s just like riding a bike. Well, a bike on water.”

“That’s not as reassuring as you think,” I mutter, but I take the oar, trying to mimic Chloe’s grip.

She shows me the basics—how to row, how to steer, how to work with the current instead of against it. To my surprise, I catch on quickly, the motions feeling natural and fluid.

As we approach the buoy, the rhythmic splashing of the oars and the gentle rocking of the boat lull me into a sense of tranquility. My fears start to melt away, replaced by a growing sense of exhilaration.

“You’re a natural!” Chloe exclaims, as I manage to turn the boat at will with a deft twist of my oar.

I feel a flush of pride at her praise. Out here, with the vastness of the water around us and the fresh breeze on my face, I feel a lightness I haven’t known in years. It’s as if the weight of my responsibilities, my guilt, my self-doubt—it all stays on shore, leaving me free and unburdened.

“This is amazing,” I say, tilting my head back. “I feel like I could row forever.”

“I knew you’d love it! Just wait until you see where we’re going.”

She points ahead, and I follow her gaze to a distant structure perched on a rocky outcrop on the other side of the river.

“Wait. Hold on. We agreed to the buoy and back. That was the deal.”

“It’s just a little further.” She points. “In fact, it’s less distance than going back to the house.”

I turn and realize she’s right, we’re more than halfway across the river already. What’s a little further now that we’re here?

“What’s there?”

“You’ll see.” She grins.

As we draw closer, I make out the distinctive shape of a small lighthouse, the white paint long peeled off, and the structure now covered in creepers.

“That’s the old lighthouse,” Chloe explains, a wistful note entering her voice. “Mom and I used to row out here all the time. It was our special place.”

My heart clenches every time Chloe mentions her mom. I can’t begin to imagine the hole her loss has left in her life—in Dan’s life.

As we approach the base of the lighthouse, Chloe guides me towards a small, rocky beach. As soon as the bow of the boat hits the sand, Chloe hops out, and then turns, offering me her hand as I step over the bow and back onto terra firma. We pull the boat onto the shore, and make our way up a winding path to the lighthouse door.

Chloe produces a key from her pocket and unlocks the door. “Dad still keeps it maintained,” she says softly. “For Mom.”

Inside, the musty smell of old stone and sea air envelops us. We climb the spiral stairs, our footsteps echoing in the narrow space, until we emerge onto the gallery deck at the top.

The view is incredible. From this vantage point, the river stretches out in both directions, melting into the horizon. The breeze is stronger up here, whipping my hair around my face.

Chloe leans against the railing, her eyes distant. “Sometimes, when I miss her, I come out here with Dad and I feel closer to her somehow. Like she’s still here with me.”

Impulsively, I wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “She is, Chloe. She’s always with you.”

We stand there for a long moment, watching the sunlight dance on the swell, each lost in our own thoughts.

“We should probably head back,” I say reluctantly, glancing at my watch. “Your dad will be finished with work soon.”

Chloe nods, her wistful expression morphing into a mischievous grin. “Race you to the boat!”

She takes off down the stairs, her laughter echoing behind her. I shake my head, a smile tugging at my lips, and follow at a more sedate pace. By the time I reach the bottom, she’s already pushed the boat back into the water.

I settle into my seat, grasping the oars. The wood is warm and smooth beneath my hands, the movements already feeling more natural, more instinctive. We glide out into the river, the lighthouse receding behind us.