The Key to Anchor Lake ✓

47 : Blaire

"Do you want to go now?"

I nod. She takes off her apron and covers her paints, dropping the brush into a jug of water.

It's not too windy today. I hope it stays that way long enough for me to scatter Mum's ashes without them blowing back in my face. I'm not ready for that kind of trauma.

As we get into Elizabeth's car, she says, "You could start learning, if you want. I don't know how good a teacher I'd be seeing as it's been a good forty years since I passed, but I can put you on the insurance."

"Maybe, yeah," I say, trying to imagine what it'd be like to get in a car and be at Sukie's in two minutes, rather than a thirty minute walk or at least ten minutes on the bike. "That could be good. Thanks."

She smiles and pulls out of the driveway, rolling down the windows to air out the stale heat. It's warm again today, warm and still, the perfect day to wade into the shallow waters off the shore of Anchor Lake, and say goodbye to Mum.

When we get there, the jetty's empty and the sky is blue, and it feels like a sign from the universe. Hardly a cloud in sight, no hint of white to disturb the cerulean.

"You should paint this," I say, gazing at the bright sky with the sun on the back of my head.

"Beautiful," Elizabeth muses. "I'm afraid I don't know anyone with a boat. It would have been nice to go to the middle of the lake."

"I didn't even think about that." My heart sinks. That would be way better. I sigh.

"Unless we take that," she says, pointing at a little wooden rowboat tied to the end of the jetty, oars inside.

"You want to steal a boat?"

"Borrow."

"It looks like it'll sink." But I walk towards it anyway, inspecting the basic knot used to tie it to the post, the fact that both oars are lying across the bench, like it's a communal boat. "Can you row?"

"There's not much to it," Elizabeth says, stepping into the rowboat like she owns it. She manages to look elegant and maintain her balance even when it wobbles, and it takes every ounce of effort for me to follow her after I've passed her the urn.

"This feels illegal," I say once I'm safely on the bench opposite Elizabeth, the boat rocking even without waves.

"We won't be long. And this is important," she says, nodding at Mum. "I'm sure that whoever owns this boat wants it to be used for purposes such as these."

It takes a few minutes for her to get into a rhythm with the oars, and at least twenty more to reach a quieter, more secluded part of the lake, hidden from the jetty around a craggy corner. Elizabeth pulls in the oars and we bob on the surface, my stomach lurching each time I'm sure we're about to capsize.

"How do you want to do this?"

"I don't know." I haul the urn onto my lap. Now it feels so real, so final. If I pour her into the lake, she's gone.

But it's where she'd want to be. At one with the water.

Elizabeth lowers and softens her voice. "Would you like to say anything?"

"I..." I close my eyes and fold my hands on top of the urn, and I rest my chin on my wrist. "I will always love you. You were my everything, and I won't ever forget that. I love you. I miss you. But I'm going to be okay. You made sure of that." I sit with the words for a while, until I feel them float away, and I know it's time.

I take off the lid. There she is, dust and bone. Holding the lip of the urn close to the water, I slowly tilt and pour. Grey ash falls out, sitting on the surface before it starts to sink, and I shouldn't be surprised when the tears come. I let them slip down my cheeks as I empty the urn and I swish it out with lake water, so nothing remains.