She finds herself going to the small park near the river. Once there, she follows a twisting path. She considers the swings, but instead makes her way down to the water.
The land juts out, forming a small inlet where the water is still. Ten meters out, the St. Lawrence breaks white over rocks. But near the bank, the water lies as dark glass, like a pond.
She steers off the path and onto grass. When the grass thins to dirt she stops. She secures the stroller, then moves to the water's edge.
She dips her hand to the first knuckle. The water is cold, much colder than she had expected. She turns her head over her shoulder to see her son watching.