Chapter 2
Sarah heard a motor. The engine’s muted roar stood out against the drone of wind and waves. A boat. The first they’d heard or seen all morning. She ran to the shoreline, nearly tumbling into the water as the uneven granite snatched at her feet. An expensive pleasure craft with an oversize outboard motor and pudgy swivel chairs was in the bay. A broad red stripe ran along the side with River Runner emblazoned in candy-red paint on the white hull. The quartet on board were young—maybe in their early twenties—joyriding around the lake in daddy’s boat despite the weather.
Sarah waved them down. The boat inched closer in response, and the driver looked back at his companions before jumping into the shallows to wade toward her. Water inched just past his thighs while one hand rested on the boat. He wore a backward yellow baseball cap and a black wet suit. The others wore listless expressions and layers of clothing; the trip out on the lake had clearly not been their idea. The driver’s possessive swagger made Sarah edgy, as did his youth. All four boaters eyed her with suspicious boredom.
“When did you last see him?” the driver asked after Sarah had explained the situation.
“I’m not sure,” Sarah said. Under the young man’s gaze, she felt like an old fool. She looked down to hide her embarrassment. “I crawled into the tent early last night, just after dark, left Matthew by the fire. I’d guess it was around seven thirty or eight. Like I said, just after dark. I wasn’t paying attention to the time.” God, they’re young, she thought.
“And you didn’t hear him when he came into the tent?” the driver said.
“No. He’s a night owl, doesn’t usually come to bed until pretty late, so I was dead asleep.”
The last thing she remembered from the night before was listening to the kids’ snores—Bella’s deep and rhythmic, Charlie’s furtive, with tiny snorts on the in breath.
“Are you sure he came into the tent at all?” said a young woman with fiery-red hair, her eyebrow cocked. Sarah brushed her own loose sandy-brown strands behind her ear.
“I—” Guilt wrapped around Sarah like an itchy sweater and trapped her words. “I’m a heavy sleeper. So, you’re sure you haven’t seen a red canoe anywhere on the lake?” she said to deflect the judgmental look from the redhead as much as to confirm the answer. “Maybe in one of the bays?”
The boaters shook their heads.
“Sorry,” the driver said. He glanced at his friends. “We’ve been up and down the lake this morning and haven’t seen any canoes on the water. I haven’t been paying much attention to anything other than the waves, though, so he may have popped into one of the bays on the far side of the lake. Want us to look?”
The redhead’s hand flew to an outthrust hip, and a warning hissed out from her rouged lips. “Zach,” she said.
“That’d be great,” Sarah said at the same time.
“Mommy.” A tug at Sarah’s pant leg. Sarah looked around to see Charlie at her side. Bella sat apart from them, perched on a slab of granite with her back to the lake.
“He’s probably just fallen asleep while fishing in a bay somewhere,” Sarah said, ignoring her son. It was plausible. Some of the bays could be sheltered from the wind. “Silly, I know, but he does this. Lies back against a pack and takes a nap.” Sarah let slip a single breath of a laugh to hide the lie and squeezed Charlie’s hand, a signal to stay quiet. The redhead’s annoyance needed to be overpowered.
“Okay, ya. Sure,” said the driver. Sarah could tell he regretted making the offer, a feeling reinforced no doubt by the redhead’s exaggerated eye roll.
“I really appreciate it.” Sarah aimed an ingratiating smile at them. “It’s so hard to find kind people these days. Ones willing to look out for others in the wilderness. Say thank you to these nice people, Charlie.” Sarah twisted her words into a blade, using her child to secure their cooperation. “They’re going to help find Daddy. He’s lost track of time again, I’m sure.” Sarah looked directly at the redhead and smiled, a final backhanded slap.
“Thank you,” Charlie said, eyes downcast.
The boaters’ return a short time later was cursory. They stayed outside the small bay this time. The driver yelled, water and wind carrying his voice, “No canoe! Sorry.”
The words hit Sarah as if the lake had risen to a tsunami, almost knocking her backward. The anxiety she’d been keeping back rushed forward; her husband was gone, and the canoe was no longer on the campsite.
Just before the roar of the departing motorboat, Sarah heard the unmistakable trill of female laughter on the wind. It hit her like a sucker punch, burying itself in her gut and fanning a spark of anger she had been trying to smother all morning.
The driver glanced back once—only once—as the boat faded against the waves, leaving Sarah with nothing but Bella’s question: “Now what, Mom?”