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ski you best get your ass down here!” Dodge yelled in his big roaring voice, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of one hand, clutching a silo-sized can of beer in the other. His aviator sunglasses were settled like a headband over his bushy hair, and I sensed Mathias’s grin.
    He linked his right hand with my left as we made our way down the lawn to the lake, bringing it up to his lips to kiss my knuckles, and then the ring on my third finger, the slim gold band which had been engraved on its inner rim over one hundred and thirty years ago. Both of us believed the words there had been chosen by Mathias’s ancestor, Malcolm Carter, though to whom the ring had originally been intended we had not, despite sincere determination, yet discovered.
    â€œI’ll ride with these guys,” I told him, smiling as my daughter caught sight of us and came barreling down the dock, her enthusiastic bare feet making the boards shudder with the impact. Her curly hair was tied into two pigtails, her small, plump torso buckled into a lifejacket that was patterned like a ladybug’s wings.
    â€œHi darlin’,” Mathias said, catching her into a hug as she raced to him with arms extended. Love has many guises, a lesson I’ve learned over and over again since becoming a mother. Watching my man as he cuddled my daughter, bouncing her on his strong forearm, listening with rapt attention as she rambled on in her cheery, high-pitched voice, a soft sweetness, as rich as the sunset light beaming low across the lake, caught me directly in the heart. Tears prickled in the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them rapidly away.
    â€œYou gonna ride on the big boat?” Millie Jo asked Mathias.
    â€œNot right now,” Mathias said apologetically. “I’m going to ski with Justin for awhile,” and he pointed towards the motor boat, where Uncle Justin had finished his ministrations and was wiping his hands on a grubby towel.
    â€œWe’ll clap for you!” Millie told him, and then stretched her arms to me, ordering, “Mama, you ride with us!”
    Mathias handed her over to my waiting arms, and he kissed my forehead before stripping his shirt and jumping into the lake to follow after Tish, Clint and Ruthie. I slipped out of my sandals, leaving them on the shore.
    â€œCamille, you want a burger?” Aunt Ellen asked as I stepped carefully onto the deck of the pontoon carrying Millie; Aunt Ellen and my grandma were also in lawn chairs, while Mom, Blythe and little Rae sprawled on the starboard bench seat. I claimed the port side for myself. Rae, Millie’s best friend, came scampering across the bow to join us. Millie Jo wriggled free of my arms and immediately began roughhousing with Rae. One of Grandma’s dogs, Chief, who had been lying quietly on the deck, barely stirred even as the girls tumbled over him, used to such antics. His tail thumped twice.
    â€œYes, thank you, extra cheese,” I told my great-aunt. I smiled hugely at little Matthew, who had reached his irresistible chubby arms my direction. I begged Blythe, “Can I hold him?”
    â€œI’m too nervous to let him out of my arms when we’re on the water,” Blythe told me. “Sorry, Camille.”
    â€œIt’s all right,” I assured him. Blythe was so protective of his son that I was surprised he didn’t make the little guy wear a helmet at all times. The expression in Mom’s eyes was both tender and amused as she smiled and tucked loose strands of golden hair behind her ears. She slipped her hand under Bly’s elbow and patted him twice.
    â€œHe hardly lets me take him when we’re out here,” Mom said.
    â€œBly, he’s about the age when you just pitch ’em in so they learn to swim,” Dodge said, with no trace of a smile. I knew he was teasing, but the look of horror that crossed Blythe’s face pretty much ruined the joke.
    â€œHe ain’t