She slipped a glance at the clock—5:45 p.m. The email had said 6 p.m., giving her just enough time to finish the cookies, tuck the kids into bed, and then head to the pier.
“Mom?” Lucas asked, noticing the tension in her voice. “Are you okay?”
The old pier stretched out over the lake like a rusted spine, its wooden planks slick with the evening mist. The sky was a bruised purple, the last light of day slipping behind the hills. Giselle walked briskly, the cool air biting at her cheeks. She could hear the distant call of a loon, the soft lapping of water against the pilings, and a faint rustle—something moving in the shadows.
She forced a smile. “Just a little tired, honey. Let’s get home, okay?”
