The cliffs at Shallow Bend are painted red and gold; the willows sweep the water with loose limbs as the river brings Sabine home.
It’s the last day of summer and change is coming. Time moves slowly on the river—she hasn’t seen her grandfather since late winter, but it seems like longer. Pop keeps an eye out for her, but his
isn’t what it used to be and he sleeps like the dead. Sabine has mastered the art of cutting the houseboat’s engine, reading the current—her last visit, he didn’t know she was there until she had steeped a pot of tea and set the mug in his hand. He won’t call her, won’t pick up if she calls. It’s for her protection, he says. She thinks it has more to do with his distrust of technology. They have that inmcommon. Pop believes microwave ovens can record conversations— he blames his cancer on the one she gave him. The cancer has gone and he stashed the microwave in the shed, its inner parts buried in the midden for good measure. He eats his meals cold, straight from the can.
Blue sits in his usual spot at the helm. He turns his back on the land and stares wistfully at the water, as if to say this can’t be right. He’s more seal than dog. Won’t eat red meat, only fish and occasionally chicken. Kibble is an abomination. Sabine often catches him nosing biscuits over the side of the houseboat for the carp.
She looks around.
Pop’s tinny rocks gently in her wake and the orange flag tied to the jetty post reassures her the area is clear of surveillance. The houseboat drifts into a space near the opening of the backwater; a soft bump and the rear swings around.
Blue loses his balance, his claws scrabbling on the deck.
Sabine laughs and Blue, indignant, barks once. She shushes him with one finger. His bark sets off the kennel dogs across the river and for the first time he shows interest in going ashore…
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