I pulled the Chevrolet onto the gravel driveway, the rocks crunching loudly under the heavy tires. I turned the key, and the engine died with a soft, metallic sigh.
“Is the water cold?” Olivia asked, climbing out of the car with her sketchbook tucked under her arm.
“Very cold,” I said, opening the trunk to reach for the box of kitchen knives and dish towels. “Don’t go near the dock until I’ve checked the planks.”
She nodded and stood on the bottom step of the porch, looking up at the roofline where a few dry maple leaves had gathered in the gutter.
I carried the first box of dishes toward the house, my boots sinking slightly into the soft gravel of the driveway. The weight of the box strained my arms, and I had to stop twice to adjust my grip.
