Rafe, in a heavy thermal sweater, a down vest and gloves, braved the cold. His cheeks were bright red and his eyes teary. From the weather or the last parting he was about to do? Either way, Nia moved in close and curled her arm through his. “This is hard.” “Not as hard as the last few days.” He shook his head and looked down at the urn he carried. “Thanks, old man, for guiding me through this. Like everything else.” He walked to the edge of the dock he’d put in for Jonas. She was beside him as he knelt down, opened the jar and carefully emptied the urn into the lake. “Rest with the water, Jonas. You always loved it.” Nia laid her head on his shoulder and said her own sort of good-bye. Thanks for taking care of him all these years, Jonas. After five minutes, when the cold started to seep into their toes and through their gloves, Rafe turned away from the water and, holding the urn in one arm, took Nia’s hand and started up to the cabin.
