Chapter 1 - The Boat in the Lightning
The first thing Samuel Johnson heard was a baby screaming over the thunder.
“Mama! Dada!”
He froze on the porch of his lakeside cabin, one hand on the railing, rain slashing across his face.
Then lightning ripped open the sky.
For half a second, Pine Hollow Lake turned white.
Samuel saw the boat.
It was a tiny blue rowboat, spinning sideways in the wind nearly sixty yards from shore. Water slapped over the sides. Inside it stood a little boy in a yellow rain jacket, no more than two years old, gripping the seat with both hands.
“Mama!” the child cried again.
Samuel was seventy-three. His left knee had been replaced twice. His doctor had told him not to run, not to climb, and definitely not to do anything stupid.
Samuel ran.
He tore down the dock, kicked off his boots, and grabbed the aluminum skiff tied to the last post.
“Hold on, little man!” he shouted.
The wind answered by throwing the blue boat farther out.
Samuel yanked the starter cord. Nothing.
“Come on.”
Again. Nothing.
The child disappeared behind a wave.
“No!”
Samuel pulled a third time. The motor coughed alive.
He drove straight into the storm.
Rain blinded him. The lake bucked under the skiff. A fallen branch shot past his bow. By the time he reached the drifting boat, the toddler was on his knees, sobbing so hard he could barely breathe.
Samuel hooked the rowboat with an oar and dragged it close.
“I got you. I got you.”
The boy reached for him.
Samuel lifted him against his chest—and that was when he felt something cold press against his wrist.
A silver necklace.
A small oval pendant.
Lightning flashed again, and Samuel saw one word engraved across the back.
JOHNSON.
His breath stopped.
With shaking fingers, Samuel reached under his own shirt and pulled out the pendant he had worn for forty-six years.
Same shape.
Same worn edge.
Same engraving.
There had only ever been three.
Samuel stared at the crying child in his arms.
May you like
And one name escaped his lips.
“Evelyn?”
