The lake didn't look right when I got up. It was green. The sky was green too. A sailboat was out on the water. It was small and wooden, red and blue. It looked like an old-fashioned toy boat. But it wasn't. It was real. I'm not sure how I knew that. But I did. The wind whistled around the tree trunks and shook pine needles into my hair. The boat bobbed and turned and almost tipped over. It bounced back up and headed toward the shore. Toward me.
The hull scraped and screeched over the rocky beach as the boat slid out of the water on its own. I walked toward it. But just a little way. It didn't look right. It looked like a French painting. A man climbed out. He was my father and he was dead.