“On warm summer days folks liked to put their kayaks in at the boat launch. On a chilly April day like this one, when there were still chunks of ice floating downriver from northern New England, Des and Mitch had the parking lot to themselves. She leaned against the hood of her cruiser and picked at the Greek salad she’d gotten for lunch. He stood at the river’s edge skipping stones with feverish intensity. He was having zero luck but that didn’t stop him from trying. Or from thinking he was doi...ng one hell of a job. Mitch was a master of self-delusion when it came to such things. He was, after all, a man. “Skipping stones is all in the wrist,” he explained as he flung one after another into the river. Not a single one of them skipped. They all sank right to the bottom like, well, stones. “Happily, my wrists are incredibly strong and flexible, thanks to all of the downward-facing dog I’ve been doing.” “Yeah, I can see that,” Des said, gazing out at the ripple of the current on the water’s surface.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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