By unspoken agreement, her father never answered my calls. I’d sometimes call her cellphone and sometimes the house phone to talk to her mother.“H..., Rand,” her mother said pleasantly. “You’re calling for Beth?”“Hi, May. Yeah. It’s her birthday. I just wanted to send my best wishes.”“I’m afraid she’s not here,” she said. “She’s out on a date tonight.”“Oh,” I said. “She never mentioned meeting someone the last time we talked.”“Shall I have her call you when she gets in?” she asked, her tone. At last she stops, seemingly surrounded by the lake entire, the moonlight bouncing off the surface and setting the pale of her skin aglow. She clads herself with the lake itself, blue and silver at once swallowing her and empowering her with an elemental sort of grace. With, of course, buoyancy endowing her with gifts unheard of in our natural gravity well. ‘Come to shore,’ I ask. And she nods. I lay next to her on the stone by the side of the shore, whose remaining summer’s day warmth and. More

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