resembling a crescent moon. Whitecap waves rolled toward the highway and broke on the rock-studded shore. The wind, slight when they’d left the last gas station twenty miles back, became prominent, pushing and pulling the minivan as they drove.
“Shaun, do you see the lake?” Evan asked, pointing toward the water while he navigated a curve.
Shaun shifted in his seat. “Ahhh,” he said, as the lake vanished behind a veil of trees. “Wha?”
Evan glanced in the rearview mirror, taking in his son’s disappointed fea tures. “It’ll come back, buddy, wait a second.”
The road twisted to the right , and a sign appeared, hewn in rustic letters and hanging from a post made to look like a pine tree. “Mill River welcomes you, population six hundred ninety-three,” Evan read aloud. “Six hundred ninety-five now, huh, buddy?”
Shaun smiled in the mirror.
Does he even understand you?
Evan clenched his jaw and shoved the niggling voice away. He understands me, he thought. I can look into his eyes and see that he does.
The thorn of doubt that accompanied him everywhere tried to raise its voice again , but he shut it down, humming a tuneless melody instead. Ahead, Mill River came into view.
It was a postcard come to life. The highway became Main Street, with a fifteen-mile-per-hour speed limit. Storefronts lined the left side of the road, while the lake made a panoramic sweep opposite the buildings. A few cafés and coffee shops studded the beginning of the first block, followed by a general store, then a small grocery, and finally a Holiday station. The street rose, and at its top sat a white, steepled church, its bell tower at least fifty feet from the ground.
“Let’s take a little drive and see if we can find the hospital,” Evan said.
When he checked on Shaun in the mirror again, he saw that the boy’s attention hadn’t left the lake since it came back into view. Evan turned left at the first stoplight and followed the side street for two blocks before a brick building marked as “Mill River Elementary” appeared. They drove past the school, traveling deeper into what looked like several connected neighborhoods. Just when he was about to turn around, Evan spotted a small sign bearing a blue H with an arrow straight ahead. The road dipped and made a hard left turn before running past a low, glass building set on the right.
Evan coasted into the parking lot but didn’t stop, letting the minivan roll past the automatic front doors of the hospital. Its size and architecture were impressive for a town as small as Mill River. When he’d called the pediatric-therapy department two weeks before, the scheduler he spoke with sounded polite and businesslike. She assured him that they could definitely handle all of Shaun’s therapy needs and told him to stop in for a tour of the facility when they got settled.
“This is it, buddy, this is where you’re going to do some work and play. What do you think?”
Shaun laughed, and Evan guided the van back out of the parking lot and returned to the main street. He hadn’t seen the small marina that Jason had described, so Evan turned left and drove toward the looming church at the top of the hill. A battered sign came into view, a badly drawn bass leaping from an equally childish-looking pond gracing its center, with “Collins Outfitters” arched over the top. Evan turned into the parking lot, which provided an excellent view of Long Lake.
Shaun laughed again , and Evan’s spirits buoyed. Perhaps this had been a good idea. Shaun seemed to love the lake, and the town was picturesque. He sent a silent thanks to Jason, promising himself he would deliver it verbally next time they spoke.
Collins Outfitters consis ted of three buildings pieced together by rudely constructed hallways topped with a mixture of shingles and faded tin. The front of the structure had a long overhang, with several benches and chairs stacked beneath it. Two of the chairs were occupied by