Chapter Eighteen
It’s definitely Lily’s kayak. And it’s definitely empty.
The boat is half on a stony beach, half in the water. From this distance I can see the oar lying on the ground a few feet
from it. Beyond that, in front of a line of bigger rocks and tall scrub and a splash of purple flowers, is her orange life
jacket. But there is no Lily in sight. Now I know what people mean when they say their heart is in their throat. I can taste
it as panic shoves it upward.
“Lily! Lily!” I shout, not sure my voice is reaching the shore.
Digging my oar deep into the water, I row with a strength that surprises me. The wind chooses now to pick up. I grit my teeth
and lean into it. “Lily! Lily!” I shout again. Nothing.
At the beach my boat lurches to a halt as I hit solid ground.
I unsnap my spray skirt and jump out of the boat.
My boots land in a foot of the very water Jace warned me about, but I don’t feel the cold.
I leave the kayak to bob on the tiny waves lapping the shore and stride over to the abandoned life jacket, calling my sister’s name over and over again.
I wade through the scrub, the now-familiar feeling of water squishing in my boots.
It’s hotter here off the water, my layers and vest, the spray skirt still around my waist, and the exertion all making sweat pour from my forehead.
I wipe it away from my eyes and scan the area, starting to fear what I could find.
Has she been out here long enough to be attacked by a bear or a wolf or some crazed mountain man?
I only have a moment to let my imagination run away from me, because suddenly the grass parts and there is Lily coming out from behind a stand of trees.
“Dammit, Lily. Did you hear me screaming your name?”
“The whole lake heard you.”
“Why are you out of your boat? What’s wrong?”
“I think my boat is sinking.”
“How is that possible?”
“I don’t know, Big. I’m not a sea captain, but there’s like two inches of water in the bottom, and I’m not thrilled about
dying an icy death.”
“Did you snap in your spray skirt?”
“My what?”
As has been the way a million times before, fear and concern for my sister turns to exasperation. I pull on the peplum-like
plastic fabric around my waist. “This. This is a spray skirt. Brick told us that you have to snap it around the opening of
the kayak or water from the oars is going to soak you. You’d know that if you hadn’t taken off like a bat out of hell.”
Lily’s hands go to her hips, and she gives me a glare from under pinched eyebrows.
“Why were you back there, in the trees? There could be wild animals back there.”
“Okay, Alaska PD. Calm down, I had to pee. You try sitting with your feet in cold water and see if you don’t have to go.”
“I’m only asking. Did you bring your little toilet bag? I didn’t even bring mine.”
“Listen, officer, the interrogation about whether I used toilet paper when I peed is over. Let’s go back to the boats and
get out of here. You need to give me a ride in your boat.”
The Before Times Lily would have loved to have a conversation about the Leave No Trace bag we were given on day one—the few squares of TP, baby wipe, and mini hand sanitizer in a sandwich bag.
She would have had a thousand jokes about schlepping around the wilderness with “post-use” TP until we came to a sanctioned place to dispose of it. The Today Lily is having none of it.
“How are you going to ride in my boat? There is only one hole.” By hole, I mean seat, but I’m not a sea captain, either, and
Lily knows what I mean.
“I’m not going back into a sinking boat. Unless you want me to die,” she grumbles.
“That’s an option?”
“Hysterical.” She stomps to the shoreline where we parked the kayaks.
Like some sort of demented magic trick, there is only one boat there.
My kayak is gone.
“What the hell, Big? Did you walk here?”
I was in such a rush to find and help my sister that I hopped out of the boat and didn’t look back. I raise my hand to my
forehead and scan the lake and there, a football field away, is my kayak bumping against a small iceberg.
“Oh my God. You’re stuck here.”
“I’m stuck here? What about you? Your boat could be leaking.”
“You said it was from the skirt something.”
“I said it could be from the spray skirt.”
“And besides, my boat only has one hole too. Remember?”
“Circumstances have changed. We’ve got to find that kayak before Brick does. We can’t cause any more trouble.”
“I told you that fight last night wasn’t my fault.”
“I suppose pushing me in the creek wasn’t your fault either.”
“That was on you. You really need to start doing those old-lady balance exercises.”
And we’re off. Stranded on a distant shore. Fighting. So much for the relaxing glide on the lake. I turn my back on my sister and assess the situation with my runaway kayak.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” I say. Ever the problem solver. “You take your boat out there, grab mine, and pull it back
here.”
“That’s a terrible idea.” Ever the problem maker. “I can’t pull a boat with one hand and paddle with the other. I need two
hands to row, alternating strokes, otherwise I’m going to go in circles. Didn’t you learn that at sleepaway camp?”
“I missed that lesson.” In fact, I missed sleepaway camp. My mom said she needed me to help out with Lily, so I spent the
summers running after a toddler at the town pool while our mother worked on her tan. “Okay, Plan B. We’re going to row out
there together, in your boat, and then I’ll climb in mine, and we’ll paddle back like nothing ever happened.”
“What about one hole?”
“Forget one hole. We’ll sit one behind the other like we’re riding a horse double.”
“You know how to ride a horse double, but you don’t know about two hands on a paddle?”
“Forget the horse, Lily. Let’s go.”
Lily and I pick up the kayak and clumsily dump out the water sitting on the bottom. I cross my fingers that there isn’t actually
a leak, and my sister climbs in as I push the boat into the water, grunting. Then I straddle the top of the boat in front
of her, pulling my feet up high enough not to dip them in the cold water, and she hands me the oar. The kayak wobbles and
sways.
“I told you, you have terrible balance,” my sister shouts into the back of my life jacket.
“Not now, Lily!”
Finally, the boat stops rocking, and we set off to dig ourselves out of this mess.
I paddle, my arms burning, my back and legs cramping, icy water dripping off the paddle onto my legs, as Lily yells unnecessary driving instructions.
Scanning the horizon for witnesses, I’m relieved not to see anyone in this part of the lake. We might just get away with it.
Lily pokes me in the back. “There it is.”
The boat is bobbing up against a wall of ice. We have almost reached the kayak when I realize I have no working knowledge
of this boat’s braking system, and our front end butts my empty boat, sending it shooting off like a cue ball.
“Damn it, Big.”
“Do you want to drive?”
“Fine.” Lily makes a show of starting to switch places with me, but the kayak has other ideas. It rocks wildly back and forth.
“Stop, stop, stop!” I shout and we both freeze as the rippling rings around the boat smooth out and the water is still again.
This time I approach slowly and somehow manage to use the oar to bring us to the side of the wayward kayak. Lily sticks her
arm out and grabs it. Success! “Now what?” I ask.
“You’re going to have to climb in,” Lily says like it’s easy. “Go slow, I’ll steady the boat. Swing your legs in first.”
I could have waited on the beach where I found Lily until Brick realized that we were missing. Damn my deep need to please,
to not be the problem. “Fine,” I growl. I twist back and hand Lily the oar. I’m suddenly shaking, and it’s not from the cold coming
off the iceberg. Slowly, I swivel my legs toward the kayak that is bobbing despite Lily holding onto it. The narrow space
between the two boats feels like a chasm.
“I can’t do it.”
“You’re almost there,” says my unexpected cheerleader. “Inch your butt closer. Put your feet in the hole.”
I do as I’m told because I don’t have any better ideas. A vein is throbbing in my throat. I might have a heart attack right here next to an iceberg. I can’t count on Lily to perform CPR. Or was that something she learned at sleepaway camp too?
Lily presses her hand against my back. “Quit it,” I say as I put one foot into the cavity of the boat. I steady myself, waiting
for the rocking to pass, and then move my other leg. Now I’m in the middle of nowhere. Wet feet in one kayak, burning arms
on the other, hanging over the water like a terrified crab.
“Just throw yourself forward, I’ll hold the boat. Go!”
There is no momentum that is going to move this body forward. But it’s a moot point. My arms are shaking. My hands are slipping.
My strength is all but gone. I hear a scream (my own) and then I plunge into icy darkness. The life jacket brings me to the
surface quickly, as I gasp and flail, the cold water already stinging my skin. The empty kayak has shot off again. Treading
water, I twirl around and there is Lily, in the boat, laughing.
“Oh my God, you klutz,” she says as she holds her oar out to me. “Grab this.”
This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t tried to save Lily, wasn’t always trying to save Lily. Why do I insist on charging
in, Big to the rescue? Why can’t I let go? Look where it’s gotten me: on the receiving end of Lily’s ingratitude and attitude,
nearly drowned, and most certainly hypothermic.
Pissed at Lily, or maybe pissed at myself, I reach up to grab the oar like an olive branch, and then, with all the strength
I have left, which isn’t much, I jerk it toward me, pulling my sister overboard and into the lake with me.