Aside from battery and gambling, he was mostly into water skiing and handled the rope in an abnormal way, not with his hands but with his elbows, confidently, like it was what you were supposed to do, with his fists clenched upward in a boxer's follow-through. He skied as if he was painting lines across the surface of a glass canvas. He had is own confederate flag life jacket he brought from home which he hadn't taken off and wouldn't for a while, not until the brother, the sister, and her husband grew tired of watching his wake.
Other boats were on the water, everyone waving to one another from their decks because there are no strangers on a lake. In the in the water, he asked if anyone would like a beer and they drank and watched the sun decline in a natural way that made the water gold but hard to look at, though - still - it was impossible not to.
They drifted towards the dam where the water grew choppy and they could see two lanes of traffic passing overhead from where they sat drinking and rocking and sometimes pointing out something for someone to look at behind perpetual babble.
They talked for a while about hydroelectric power then electroshock therapy and then the First World War until the sister said something about going over to the cliffs and smiled. She took off her sunglasses and handed them to her husband. Then someone said they probably shouldn't because that is where teenagers drown every summer.