Chapter 10 #2
He eyed her. Usually, she didn’t mind having some curves, but the life jacket wasn’t doing her any favors. Neither were her pasty legs. Not that it mattered what Anson thought. He had a girlfriend who’d looked tanned and toned in her athletic shorts and tank top.
Shaking his head, he handed over the paddle. A moment later, the boat tipped treacherously as he hopped in. She squawked, but he didn’t apologize. With one last scrape of sand against the hull, the canoe glided into the stream.
She stuck her paddle in the water and attempted her first stroke. Awkward. She tried the other side. Also uncomfortable. She switched back, so her dominant hand was closest to the blade and tried to find a rhythm. Not easy when her arms tired quickly and she had to keep switching sides.
Anson didn’t correct her as they navigated the center of the waterway, so she must be doing something right. Like leaves falling from a tree, her fears dropped one by one and the gentle creek carried them away.
“We make a good team,” she said.
He didn’t answer.
“Right?” She twisted to see him.
He nodded once. “We get by.”
Her nightmares had been unfounded. Gliding down the stream was a kind of peaceful way to see Creation from a new perspective. She dipped her paddle back into the creek and hummed a worship song.
Blaze had the voice of an angel.
The thought wasn’t theologically sound. Nonetheless, it circled through Anson’s brain.
Blaze didn’t perform Christian music with The Signalmen.
Today, though, perched in the bow of the canoe, she sang his favorite worship song.
The quiet tones resonated, true and clear.
Forget that he didn’t have anything special for a voice.
He could hardly breathe for how badly he wanted to sing along.
He also longed to ask about her nickname. Maybe she’d tell the story if he offered to share a secret of his own. She’d probably scoff, disbelieving he had any. Boy, would she be surprised.
He longed for that too—to share the shocking parts of his story.
But they were in sight of Nolan, Mercy, and her friends now. The conversation he wanted required privacy.
Besides, baring his soul to Blaze would be unfaithful to Sydney.
He already felt guilty. When her leg brushed his thumb earlier, the flare had shot through every cell in his body.
Blaze lived up to her nickname—proximity to her was like standing next to a wildfire.
The flames had died immediately, but it was all wrong.
His relationship with Sydney was more like a campfire. Enjoyable and useful. Healthy. He had no business wandering off toward a wildfire. At the picnic spot, he would assign Blaze to another leader and focus on the students.
For the thousandth time, Blaze switched her paddle from one side of the canoe to the other.
For the thousandth time, he adjusted his stroke to keep them on course.
They’d come to the deeper, narrower part of the creek.
He couldn’t see the bottom. Based on how eagerly the nose of the canoe veered as they rounded a curve, the current pulled harder here too.
“What do you know about ADHD?”
Even her speaking voice had a soothing quality to it. He forced himself to concentrate on the content of the question instead of the melody. “Some basics. Kids with it can’t sit still or pay attention.”
“Turns out, it’s more complex than that. Have you ever heard of rejection sensitive dysphoria?”
“Should I have?”
“RSD is common among people with ADHD, which isn’t just a kid thing, by the way. RSD is when someone is extremely sensitive to correction or rejection. Small things have a huge emotional impact.”
She must have Mercy in mind. Ahead of them, the girl pointed at some dead trees that nearly blocked the stream as it turned.
While talking to Carter, he’d missed the outfitter’s routine speech about the S-curve, but he’d heard it on other trips.
Soon, they’d reach the beach. In the meantime, he’d do his best to navigate a conversation that was at least as tricky as this section of the creek.
“I don’t think sensitivity is the determining factor in diagnosis.
I can always tell if Tate hasn’t had his meds because he can’t stop moving. He literally bounces off the walls.”
“Boys are different,” Blaze said. “Girls are more likely to have the inattentive type, which can come across as chatty, distracted, forgetful, or even depressed.”
“Mercy’s depressed?”
“No …” Blaze drew out the word. “But she is chatty, distracted, and forgetful. Three out of four is a lot. One of her teachers suggested it. ADHD would explain some things, like how hard it is to get her to do her homework and chores and her friendship troubles.”
Speaking of chatty. Thankfully, she forgot to paddle while talking. Following Nolan’s approach, Anson guided the canoe toward the right bank to avoid the first tree. Getting around the second would require a quick left.
Mercy’s teacher must’ve had reasons to mention ADHD, but it wasn’t the only possibility. “At age eleven, those are all pretty common problems to have.”
Blaze glanced back, a frown tipping the corner of her mouth.
“I’m not saying it’s impossible. I don’t know her like you do.”
The current flowed through the branches of the second tree and vied to take them with. He dragged his paddle to veer left. She returned to paddling—switching sides again. He compensated by lowering his paddle farther into the water.
The navigable waterway between the branches was only a few feet across. Hadley called out complaints when Nolan cut a little close to the tip of the second tree.
Blaze’s silence didn’t seem good. “Why do you want it to be ADHD?” he asked.
“You know what I said about being a surefire failure?” She rested her paddle across the bow and swatted at an insect.
“That was … It’s just that things are hard for both of us in some of the same ways.
I don’t think it’s a lack of effort. I’d like some explanation besides that we’re not cut out for li—” She shrieked and bolted to her feet.
Her paddle flew into the stream. The canoe lurched. He leaned the opposite way but couldn’t right it. With a cry, she splashed into the creek shoulder first. A second later, cold liquid engulfed him. He fought to the surface. He had a promise to keep.