So now friends are inviting her places, so many places, mostly where they live, next up, Vermont. Vermont is not far. She could drive to Vermont, maybe. It’s possible. No major cities to pass through, no major traffic hassles. Her friends in Vermont stay at their family’s camp on a lake. That’s what they call it. She doesn’t know anyone who lives at a camp, doesn’t have a vision for this camp until she gets there and sees that there’s nothing else you could call it. A bunch of rustic cabins and a bunkhouse on a property on a lake with inner tubes and kayaks.

Kayaks! A Dateline episode airs not long before her Vermont trip, about a couple who went out kayaking on the river about two miles from her house. Only one of them returned. She had little interest in kayaking before this news broke, zero after. She does not need a real-life Dateline of her own, where she floats down the Hudson never to return. Growing up, she used to go canoeing on her grandparents’ pond. That pond was not a small pond, but it was by definition a pond: maybe six feet deep in the very middle, a pond you could for sure swim across in a couple minutes if you had to. These are her preferred boating conditions.

The husband wants to hike, the husband wants excitement, the husband leaves. The wife will drive to Vermont and the wife will go kayaking, on a lake she can’t swim across, and she will enjoy it very much. It feels like a big fucking deal until it doesn’t. It feels a little bit exciting.

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