It’s not an island. It’s a riverbank. Maybe a peninsula. It’s a park near the river.

“If it goes in, we have to get it,” Cyndy said.

“I wouldn’t worry either way,” Ted said.

“It was my brother’s.”

“Someone’s going to have to really smash it for it to reach the river.”

The Interstate crosses near here. The passing cars, trucks and motorcycles make roars in a vacuum, loud clicks echoing beneath. One of the pillars supporting the bridge was painted white partly, and black numbers teased what Cyndy hoped were impossibly high flood marks.

Cyndy’s brother had crashed through the barrier on the other side, but the river was the same. These waters and currents are the same.

People call this an island, she thought to herself. It’s not. It’s a park below the boulevard and near the river. Ted watched as she gazed, and they waited without conversation as others arrived.

Below the bridge, but not directly below, are cement pathways, patches of grass and sand courts. Two of the five courts had nets, and both bellowed with just a little slack. The other three courts had only poles, but Sam used one set to tie a hammock. It enveloped him, leaving exposed only a head with sunglasses.

The sand was packed, not entirely dry. It broke and scattered in clumps. Dust and latent chemicals from the rain made it grimy.

Smoke scattered from a short, charcoal grill. Mandy rolled hot dogs on the metal grid.

Their feet were bare. They split into two games, one three-on-three and the other four-on-four.

Cyndy was on a team of three with Ted and Kim. She dove to save a ball with a flat hand. Kim bumped a set. Ted hit the yellow ball down, just inside the line on the other side, creating a circular imprint.

“Nice!” Bill congratulated. He played with Sarah and Shawn, who were married.

Cyndy served, and it hit just inside the back line before slowing to a rest in the grass.

“Side out, guys!” Bill called.

“Side out?” Sarah asked.

Cyndy served. Shawn’s return rolled over the net and fell to the sand, between Ted and Kim. Cyndy stepped inside the box, which Ted had traced with mild precision using a stick, and waited to receive the opposing serve. Ted glanced toward her. She played silently.

She backed a step and bumped the ball toward Kim, who set Ted. His spike jumped from the top of the net and landed on the other side. Sarah tried to save it with a dig, but her dive was short.

Kim served an ace, and the game ended.

“Switch sides,” Shawn called. A few points later, he jumped for a hit. But the smack came as he was coming down and the ball lifted with a small arc and forward spin.

“Catch it!”

It rolled and Ted chased. He had about 20 yards. He bent and grazed it with his fingertips before it fell on the bank’s slant and hit the water. The other game paused, too.

Cyndy and Shawn met him there.

“I told you, Ted,” Cyndy said.

“Don’t, Cyn. You can’t. It’s dangerous.”

The ball was moving slowly west and away. Cyndy slid on her bottom to the rocks near the water.

“Seriously, Cyndy,” Shawn said. “You can’t reach it. We’ll get another ball. Don’t go in.”

Ted started down. “I’ll get it, Cyn. Please don’t. Wait.”

She stumbled into the water as the bottom fell sharply.

“Hold on!” Ted called. “Grab my hand.”

She paddled toward the ball. A slight swell made her bob, and her head went beneath the surface. Her eyes were open, and she spotted part of the ball. The rest of the ball was distorted, along with the bridge, sky and sun.

An undercurrent bent her legs. An opposing stream forced her to lean further. She reached upward but really backward, and her hand didn’t find air.