PART 2 “These are photos from the tow company that pulled our car out of the lake,” Celeste said. “The police never asked for them. My husband told me not to give them to anyone.” The first photo showed the Range Rover’s center console.

Inside it said:

Thank you for not stopping.

Celeste handed me a set of keys.

“My father owned a small cabin on the north side of the lake,” she said. “It’s been empty since he passed. It has heat. A real bed. A dock. It’s in my name, not Graham’s.”

I shook my head. “Ma’am, I didn’t do it for anything.”

“I know,” she said. “That’s exactly why it should be yours.”

I moved in on the first day of spring.

Austin comes by on Saturdays with his mom. I’m teaching him how to fish off the dock. His collarbone healed fine. He likes to show people the bump.

“That’s where Mr. Walt saved me,” he tells them.

Last week, he asked me why I jumped in when nobody else did.

I thought about it for a long time.

“Somebody once pulled me out of something cold too, a long time ago,” I said. “You just pass it on.”