It has been six years since I last followed this uneven trail along the icy edges of Lake Superior, brushing my fingers against the birch trees with their curling strips of bark. The ground is still slick in places, though I walk it more steadily now.
The real world felt like a mirage in her desert of a life. So close, so possible, and yet . . . False. Cassandra couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually dreamt.
With a sharp inhale of the fresh, briny ocean air, I propelled my rod forward, waited a second as the silvery line coasted above the water, then snapped my reel shut.