https://morguefile.com/creative/GaborfromHungary/4/all ac202c61c80fec9586572a44529a012f

I realized that our eight-year-old was missing when lunchtime arrived. My wife summoned me back from the play area with Becky, our three-year-old, and asked me where Dan was.

“I thought he was with you,” I said.

We hurried about and discovered a gap in the row of canoes on the lake shore.

“Oh my God,” said my wife.

We stared out over the lake. The canoe was nowhere to be seen.

“I’ll go after him,” I said. I pushed a canoe out into the water, jumped in, and snatched up the oars.

“Run tell the park rangers,” I shouted as I began to row.

Suddenly I realized I didn’t know what I was doing, where I was going. Water all around and no canoes in it but mine. Had the boy capsized in the wake of a motorboat? Should I stand up for a better view or would I capsize as well?

I cursed myself for my helplessness. My haplessness. I wiped sweat off my face. I heard faint cries. Dan?

Back on shore, I could see my wife and Becky and Dan, side-by-side, waving to me.


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