A slender woman carrying a tin watering can stepped down wooden hillside steps that ended at the shore. On the lake, on the horizon, a blood red sun balanced on the water like Humpty Dumpty while above, a sliver moon wore a thin veil.

At the shore, she headed towards a boat house with a surrounding dock. The wind off the water sounded like pumping blood. When she got to the dock, she set the can down and watched, in amusement, as a damsel fly came and claimed it for its own.

Once the woman had wished that she could walk on water but not so much anymore. Abandoned wishes turn to stones that fall to the bottom of the ocean and live with all the other abandoned wishes. Her mother had said that once. She never forgot it. She stood silent on the dock and watched the lake devour the sun like a snake would devour a mouse. The small fishing boat inside the boat house bobbed and sometimes tapped wood.

She picked up the can, damsel fly and all, and stood at a flower box under the only window. The soil was damp from the afternoon shower. No need to water. She would leave the can on the dock for the next day's watering. She stayed there until dark, then returned to the hillside steps that would take her back up to "the mansion" as the locals called it. Her daily routine was complete.

The next afternoon she went down early. It had been a cloudless day. The soil in the flower box was sure to be cracked and besides, he had been called back to work. He would be gone for a long time. He always was.

"Problems! Problems," he was fond of saying.

She pushed a finger into the flower box soil; hard as abandoned wishes. She watered patiently then sat on the dock with her back against the boat house wall.

It was then she heard it, rustling from inside, from inside the boat, under the blue tarp; a small animal perhaps that had fallen in. She had freed plenty of squirrels and mice before. She was not afraid. She wasn't ever afraid of small animals.

She walked into the structure, knelt at the side of the boat, lifted the tarp and peered in. Eyes - human eyes stared back. She could barely make out the outline of a head. She told herself that she should be scared but she wasn't. She just wasn't. She put the tarp back on, got up and walked away, down the shoreline toward the hillside steps. Her daily routine complete.

The next day, she found the tarp exactly the way she'd left it. She watered then sat on the dock looking out at the lake, her arms around her knees. A voice then came from inside the boat.

"Have you told anyone?"

It sounded like the voice of a younger man.

The woman stayed quiet and still unafraid.

"No," she finally answered, looking out at some gulls.

"Why not? Is there something wrong with you?"

The woman ignored the question.

"You must be hungry," she said.

Silence from inside the boat.

The woman got up and went in and knelt at the side of the boat. She pulled a plastic bag of crackers and cheese from her sundress pocket and slid it under the tarp, then dropped a water bottle inside, a bottle she'd pulled from the other sun dress pocket. She could hear the sloppy sounds of thirst being quenched.

"Did you see my face?" the man asked, a bit breathless.

"No."

"The truth!" the man demanded.

"No, I said!" the woman answered loudly.

"Don't look in here again," the man warned.

"Storms," the woman mumbled, "When it's hot like this, there's always storms."

"One more night," the man said, "One more night. When it's moonless, I'll go. I promise."

The woman didn't know what to say.

"Do you live in that big house up there?"

The woman didn't answer.

"Hey, I didn't mean anything . . . "

The woman picked a sliver off the dock.

"Yes. . . I do," she answered, "Yes, I live there."

"It's beautiful," the man stated; "Did your husband build it for you? I heard him leaving today."

The woman stared at a rip in the tarp. The humid air felt still and heavy and somewhere she heard far off rumbles of thunder. The woman scratched at an age spot on her hand.

"I have to go," she said bluntly, "He'll come down here if he finds no one home."

She turned quickly and walked away. On her way up the hillside steps, she noticed things she'd never noticed before; wild shoots and stalks coming up through breaks in the wood, places where the wood was beginning to rot, a dead tree stump off to the side that someone had forgotten to take and the split tree where the neighbor's cat liked to hide, waiting for squirrels and rabbits.

That night she made her husband a great dinner. Later, when he was asleep in his chair, growling in his dreams, she bravely left the house to go back down. She had never taken such a chance before. The hillside steps were tricky in total darkness. It was nearly moonless. She thought of what she would say if he woke up and found her gone, she'd say that she'd left her watering can down there. The stars were bright, the universe above seemed to lay on its back like a happy dog.

She quietly entered the small structure, lifted the tarp a little and dropped a box of cookies in as well as another bottle of water. She felt spooked and didn't know why. She felt like she was racing monsters, monsters much faster than her. She felt like monsters were hiding behind every shadow, felt helpless like when she was a kid and the old man returned from boozing with all his demons "off the leash," when all she could do was lay there in her bed. The memory of her mother's sobs rubbed a sore spot. She looked forward to the day when old age and disease would come and take the memories away.

After she dropped off the food and water, she quickly got up and left. When she got back to the house, she felt an icy finger press against her spine. His chair was empty and the tv was still on. Monsters roamed free.

The next day was Saturday, his regular half-day of work. She went down early with more food and water. It was warm with a promise for a scalding afternoon. She found the tarp pulled half-way down. The boat man saw her coming and jerked the tarp back up.

"I didn't mean to scare you," she apologized, "Do you like chicken? I've brought some chicken."

"Is that what you made him last night?" the man asked.

"Yes, why?"

He put an out-stretched hand outside the tarp. It was a small hand for a man. She placed the bag of food in it and dropped the bottle of water in as well. The man pulled the food inside.

"I saw the news last night," she said, "I saw your picture."

"It doesn't matter. I don't want you; I don't want anyone to see me like this, who would?"

The woman sat on the wood.

"I heard him last night," the boat man said, "I heard it all, everything."

"It's not his fault," she said, "He can't cope is all . . . ," the woman said apologetically.

She then got up, walked outside the structure, picked up the watering can and began watering.

"Never over-water," she whispered, ". . . never under-water."

"You have a way with them," the man said, "If I get up on my knees, I can see them through the window."

The woman hesitated.

"Thank you."

The man waited for a moment, then asked.

"Does he hit you too?"

"Does he what?" the woman stammered with indignation as she rubbed some dirt off a flower petal. "What if he does?" she asked, annoyed, "Whose business is it anyway?"

She thought for a second, then set the watering can down.

"When I leave, you can take the tarp off. I won't come back," the woman said then turned and started walking away.

"I won't stay," the man said.

She stopped at the edge of the dock.

"I know,"

She felt like she couldn't move.

"You know, I almost went up there last night," the man said, "I'm afraid of what I would do. I can do bad things. Damn!"

He slapped the side of the boat.

The woman turned around and went back in. She knelt at the side of the boat and placed a hand on the tarp.

"You can call the police," the man said, "I wouldn't mind."

"I wouldn't do that . . . " the woman promised.

"When I hear things like I heard last night . . . " the man explained, "Well, I just need to go, that's all."

"You can take the boat," the woman whispered, "Stick to the shoreline. It's too rough in the middle. At the other end of the lake is the border. It's not that far. You can get there in a day. Paddles are on the wall. You can start over somewhere . . . "

"You are delightfully naive," the man laughed.

The woman got up to go out to the flower box. She picked 4 or 5 of the brightest ones, pulled a string from her pocket, tied the stems, then tip-toed back into the boat house and laid the flowers on the tarp.

In the middle of the night, while the monsters slept, while the creator, the destroyer lay in the arms of his mistress, booze, she snuck out and walked down again. It was easier, this time, to navigate the steps in the dark. It was hours until dawn. The lake was still. She sat on the decking next to the boat for a long time wondering if he was still there. Finally, she found the courage to pull a corner of the tarp back, lowered her arm down hoping to touch a warm hand, but the vessel was empty. The flowers lay at the bottom.

The sky cried. It filled the flower box and the watering can. She thought of empty ships on endless lakes and then of large ships filled with people, courageous people in the search for better lives.

On her way back to the hillside steps, the wind blew something into her face, something soft. She reached up and pulled it off her cheek. It was the perfect feather of a molting bird. She stuck the feather in her pocket, then slowly, quietly made her way up the hillside steps. She walked a little taller now and walked beside a promise; the promise that comes with every new dawn.