“I wish they’d tear that thing down,” Sue said, knee-deep and splashing her shoulders with water. “It’s quite an eyesore.”
She turned, wading away from the blackened skeleton of the cottage that burned up the previous spring. Her sister sat in a chaise longue. She insisted on pronouncing it that way, though she didn’t speak a lick of french.
“I made lemonade,” her sister said, nose deep in a curled-cornered paperback. “Don’t make that face. There’s enough bourbon to knock a cow over.”
“Maybe I could call the Ministry,” Sue said. “Tell them the ash is seeping in the lake.”