Chapter 30

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They had been silent on their trek over the rocks and were silent now.  Mitch looked across the lake at the shanties and snowmobiles scurrying between them and then over to Abby.  She too peered out in the direction of the lake yet he could tell that whatever she was seeing was not on the ice, or anywhere in front of her, at least not now.

“What do you see?” asked Mitch.

“It really doesn’t change,” said Abby.

“I suppose not,” Mitch assumed Abby referred to the vista.  “People have been doing the same things out here for years.”

“Not that,” said Abby, “the cove itself.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have imagined this cove a lot over the years.  Sometimes this place is lit up, most of the time it’s menacing, ugly,” Abby lowered her chin and looked down at the boulder they were standing on.  “When I think of this place, there are a lot of ghosts.  Now that I am standing out here, it’s the same as it ever was.  Like nothing has ever taken place out here.  There are no ghosts.”

“Ghosts are only where we put them,” said Mitch.  He now remembered, “Your brother, Michael, this is where he had his accident, where he died.”

“Twelve years ago Michael’s jeep hit a tree over there somewhere,” Abby pointed across the road, “and then into the rocks.”  Her hand dropped an inch as her voice trailed off.

“I’m sorry,” said Mitch.

“Don’t be, he was drunk.  It was a long time ago,” said Abby.  “It’s ironic though.”

“What is?” asked Mitch.

“We had a lot of good times out here when we were kids.  We played on this very spot.”

“Right here, eh?”

“Yea,” Abby lifted her foot and stepped back down on the boulder, “My brother and I used to fish down here.  The fishing isn’t bad by the rocks.”

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