Cora

It was scorching hot at the lake house. It was 3:00 PM in the middle of a July heatwave, and the ancient air conditioner had finally given up the ghost with a pathetic rattle two hours ago.

Now, the only sound was the rhythmic, annoying thwack-thwack-thwack of the ceiling fan as it moved the stagnant, ninety-degree air around the living room.

I was sprawled on the hardwood floor, my cheek pressed against it, trying to find a patch of wood that wasn’t already warm from my body. It ...