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"
Sure
!
"
To
the
right
of
the
breakwater
was
a
small
sandy
beach
.
In
1941
,
before
Pearl
Harbor
paid
off
the
Great
Depression
in
blood
,
my
dad
hired
a
man
to
truck
in
that
fine
beach
sand-six
dumptrucks
full-and
to
spread
it
out
to
a
depth
that
is
about
nipple-high
on
me
,
say
five
feet
.
The
workman
charged
eighty
bucks
for
the
job
,
and
the
sand
has
never
moved
just
as
well
,
you
know
,
you
ca
n't
put
a
sandy
beach
in
on
your
land
now
.
Now
that
the
sewerage
runoff
from
the
booming
cottage-building
industry
has
killed
most
of
the
fish
and
made
the
rest
of
them
unsafe
to
eat
,
the
EPA
has
forbidden
installing
sand
beaches
.
They
might
upset
the
ecology
of
the
lake
,
you
see
,
and
it
is
presently
against
the
law
for
anyone
except
land
developers
to
do
that
.
Billy
went
for
the
flag
-
then
stopped
.
At
the
same
moment
I
felt
Steff
go
rigid
against
me
,
and
I
saw
it
myself
.
The
Harrison
side
of
the
lake
was
gone
.
It
had
been
buried
under
a
line
of
bright-white
mist
,
like
a
fair-weather
cloud
fallen
to
earth
.
My
dream
of
the
night
before
recurred
,
and
when
Steff
asked
me
what
it
was
,
the
word
that
nearly
jumped
first
from
my
mouth
was
God
.
"
David
?
"
You
could
n't
see
even
a
hint
of
the
shoreline
over
there
,
but
years
of
looking
at
Long
Lake
made
me
believe
that
the
shoreline
was
n't
hidden
by
much
;
only
yards
,
maybe
.
The
edge
of
the
mist
was
nearly
ruler-straight
.
"
What
is
it
,
Dad
?
"
Billy
yelled
.
He
was
in
the
water
up
to
his
knees
,
groping
for
the
soggy
flag
.
"
Fogbank
,
"
I
said
.
"
On
the
lake
?
"
Steff
asked
doubtfully
,
and
I
could
see
Mrs.
Carmody
's
influence
in
her
eyes
.
Damn
the
woman
.
