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I blurted out.
    Joe walked out on the dock, slowly lowering his end into the boat. He gestured to me to set my end down in the bow. His eye traveled across the bay to the marina shop. “I don’t think Eva’s leaving, if you’re worried. Or hoping.” He grinned. “She and MJ are a good pair. Maybe it’s hard to see.”
    â€œThey’re different.” I tucked the tarp down around the metal piece to keep the rain off.
    â€œTrue,” he said. “Eva’s not much of a sailor.”
    â€œThat’s not what I meant.” I scowled. “She’s not much of a dad, either.”
    â€œTrying to be a father would put extra pressure on a gal, that’s for sure.” He tried to joke, but I didn’t smile. “If you’re looking for guy talk, you can always chat with me.”
    I nodded. Once I had hoped Mom and Joe would marry. It seemed silly now.
    Luke came running down to the dock and right off the edge, into the water. Joe and I both laughed.
    â€œGo swim,” Joe said. “Everything will be OK.”
    Luke climbed up the path to the granite rock at the tip of the island. “Come on, June! Practice jumping off these rocks.”
    â€œPiece of cake.” I clambered up next to him. These rocks were only five or six feet above the water. It was easy; I had leapt before.
    â€œPiece of pie, you mean!” Luke cannonballed.
    â€œCowabunga!” I hollered, and followed him in. My heart fluttered only for a moment before I landed. The lake was warm compared to the rainy air, and I sprang back to the surface.
    We jumped about ten more times. And it was true—each jump was easier. All the while, Joe was watching us.
That’s what dads do,
I thought. And it was nice to think of him as a pretend father, but it wasn’t quite the same as the real thing.

Chapter Seven
    BY THE TIME I finished the lunch shift at Stillwater Marina, the rain had stopped. Mom and I had worked in companionable silence, but I could tell we were walking around the big things worrying us. I kept thinking about the Costas, and about the “Take Back Vermont” sign. And I wondered if the wedding was still on.
    Mom closed the cover on another paperback and set her glasses high on her nose. Plenty of time to read; it was slow for lunchtime. I counted the sandwiches again: fifteen to start, and there were still ten left.
    It was probably the smell of burned pies keeping everyone away. But then I remembered that Luke had had plenty of sandwiches to choose from before that. Maybe it was time to start paying attention to the newspapers, the way Eva did every morning at breakfast. She recycled them so fast, though, I doubt I could find one. But I knew one place that kept everything.
    â€œMom,” I said, “can I go to the library? I could get you some new books.”
    â€œSure.” She handed me her just-finished one, along with the others she’d finished this week. “There’s not much going on here.”
    ***
    AS I BIKED toward town, along the lake’s edge, I thought about how nice libraries were for quiet days, days when I didn’t feel like talking to anybody. Ms. Flynn, the librarian, didn’t count: she was sensitive to moods and prone to silence.
    â€œHello, June,” she said when she saw me. I plopped the return books on the counter. She grinned. “I see your mom went through her last bunch.”
    I nodded.
    â€œHow is she doing? How are you doing?”
    â€œDo you keep old newspapers?”
    â€œIt’s all online,” Ms. Flynn said. She showed me how to get to the
Burlington Free Press
archive web page, and left me alone.
    Where to begin? I typed “gay marriage” in the search box. Some editorials popped up. Not good. I needed facts, not opinions. I tried again, typing “civil union.”
    There it was.
Baker v. State.
After a lawsuit, the court ordered the legislature to address the