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didn’t nod, focusing on balancing the cooler, tipping it a little higher to keep it draining.
    “You here by yourself?”
    I nodded again. If she asked me one more question, I was going to accidentally drop the cooler on her.
    “Me too. This is the first year without my ex. He’s the biggest jerk known to humankind.”
    No, my father was , I thought, but I wasn’t going into that either.
    “I needed to come here and prove I could do it, you know?”
    I nodded. That was mostly why I was here as well. Sort of. I really didn’t know why I had decided to go camping this summer. I just suddenly couldn’t stand my life any longer. So far it had been a disaster. Except for the loon.
    My guest kept talking. “My ex is the reason I needed to get a good shot of the loon. Arnie was completely obsessed over it last summer—there’s only one here, ever—but no matter how hard he tried, the crazy thing would dive whenever he got a camera on it, or it would get behind Hal’s rowboat, or something. The whole thing was pretty funny. I mean, look at this shot.”
    She stepped closer again—the water was just trickling out of the cooler now—doing something with the controls on her camera. “I saved this shot because it made him so mad. We were down at the beach, and the one time he thought he got the loon, somebody swam in the way. Got a guy’s head instead.”
    I only looked because I couldn’t really not see it, considering I needed to stay still and keep my hands on the cooler. The photo being displayed on the back of her camera had been taken on a bright, sunny day. The beach and water were full of people. In the background, though, was just one swimmer. The shot was close enough to get pretty good detail of his face and dark hair.
    Holy fucking shit.
    I almost lost the cooler. Swiftly I gave it a shove back into my car, heedless of the fact that the drain spout was still dripping. I practically ripped the camera out of the woman’s hands and stared at the image.
    “Yeah, I mean, where did the loon go?” Fortunately she seemed okay with my interest. “It must have dived, but jeez, you know, it had to have been really close to that guy. It doesn’t seem to mind people unless they’ve got cameras. Hal could get some great shots — it’s always swimming around his rowboat. Think it must know he owns the lake or something. Check and see if my shot today came out. I haven’t looked yet.”
    I quickly navigated away from her stored images—using even an unfamiliar camera was easy for me, compared to what I did with computers in my line of work all day—and went to her recent photos. And there was the same man from her photo last summer, swimming by my rock! His body was below water, but I could make out arms and legs. His head was above. I could see his dark hair and eyes clearly. He looked very startled by what must have been the unexpected presence of the woman and her camera.
    Instinctively, I looked at the shore, the rock. The loon was still there. As soon as he saw me looking, he began to yodel and splash and flap his wings and practically throw himself up onto the shore. I knew if he could have become airborne, he would have, and I had no doubt he would have snatched the camera. His distress was dire and heart wrenching.
    I instantly knew what to do. As the woman turned to look at the commotion, I hit the little trash can icon with my thumb. Did I want to delete the photo? Yes, I did. It vanished. Swiftly, behind the woman’s back, I sent the loon a thumbs-up.
    At once he stopped thrashing.
    “What’s wrong with him?” The woman turned back to me in alarm.
    I shrugged and handed the camera back, shaking my head.
    “What? I didn’t get the shot? What the hell? I swear, he was right there!”
    She fooled with the camera a second, then realized she was missing her chance to get another shot. She whirled back toward the water. Before she could get the camera to her face, the loon dove away into the depths,