Page 26

Matt knelt just outside the tent door, under the shelter of the tarp. The fire had been doused, and he felt the deep pull of sleep. He loved the exhaustion that came with outdoor living, when a camping mat could feel like a feather bed. Sarah slept with her back to him and her head buried in the sleeping bag. Bella and Charlie were at the end, a tangle of arms and legs interwoven with extra blankets. A small flashlight in Matt’s hand cast pallid light as he struggled to quietly remove his shoes and jacket.

The slight rat-a-tat of a gentle rain against the tent walls harmonized with the zwip of the pull along the zipper’s teeth and the rustle of nylon as he crawled into the tent. It had been a long, busy day, and it was late, but he was always reluctant to let sleep put an end to these precious times. Sarah, the kids, the woods, the lake. This truly was his happy place.

He paused to listen to the comforting sounds of his family, but his thoughts inevitably turned to the one who was missing. Grace. After years of regret and shame, he’d finally manned up and reached out to her. Thanks to social media, she wasn’t hard to find. His former wife, Faith, had remarried, but Grace still carried his name. That mattered to him. They’d only exchanged short emails and a few phone calls, but he wanted more when she was ready. He told her he knew what he did was wrong, that there was no excuse. He’d also asked her to keep their contact secret, for now, just until he was able to tell his family about his past and her. He knew it would be difficult and would take time, but he had enough patience and determination for all of them. He relished the idea of introducing Bella and Charlie to Grace. Of sharing everything with Sarah. He didn’t want to live with any more secrets. Matt kissed Sarah’s head lightly and settled in beside her.

“Daddy?”

“Charlie, what are you doing awake?”

“I forgot Norbert.” His stuffed dragon.

“Where is he, buddy?”

“On the beach.”

From his droopy voice, it was clear Charlie would be asleep in minutes. “Please,” Charlie said.

“Okay, buddy, I’ll grab him. Be right back.” Matt reluctantly crawled out of his cozy bag, grabbed his flashlight, and stepped out of the vestibule and into the night.

The darkness was complete. Matt felt, rather than saw, the nearby lake. Nagadon was stirring tonight. He imagined the lake running into the rivers of the Ottawa Valley before tumbling into the Saint Lawrence. Slowly, shapes came into focus through the darkness: the water’s knifelike edge, the smooth orb of a boulder at the shoreline, the tower of trees behind him. When the contours were enough to move through, Matt took his first step away and toward the end.

The light drizzle held the promise of full rain not far behind. Matt was already shivering by the time he reached the bay. He regretted not slipping his rain jacket back on. He searched the beach with his flashlight: life jackets, tackle box, a sun hat. No stuffed dragon.

The canoe lay turtled by the water on the sand, paddles tucked beneath. Matt picked up the kids’ forgotten life jackets and continued the search. He went to his hands and knees to look under the canoe. There it was. Just out of reach. He stretched his arm, extended his fingers, brushed the plush side. He reached farther, his face touching the sand. Got it. He started to stand. He didn’t hear Bella until she was right beside him.

“Boo!”

“What the hell?” Matt spun around. His left foot landed hard on a baseball-size rock. He tried to recover, twisted his body to the right but overcorrected and lost his balance.

There are moments that are relived, where we wonder what might have happened had one little thing gone differently: if we’d looked down to see the nail before we stepped on it, made sure the bike was locked up before it was stolen. If Matt had only twisted the other way or if Bella had arrived ten seconds later, so much would have been different.

Matt’s tailbone hit the ground hard, tossing his upper body backward. His head thudded against the canoe.

He hadn’t realized he’d blacked out until he heard a voice. “Wake up, silly.”

Matt opened his eyes. All was black. Something was poking at his stomach. That voice.

“Bella?”

Where was he? What happened? Slowly, his surroundings came back to him. He sat up and felt anger over a rising headache. His hands were empty. The flashlight, trained on Bella, rested a few feet away. She knelt next to him with Norbert in her lap.

Matt snapped at her and regretted it instantly. She started to cry. God, his head really hurt. How was he going to get her back to sleep if she started wailing?

“Okay. It’s okay. Don’t cry, Bella. You scared me, that’s all.”

Matt wrapped his arms around his daughter to calm her. He tried to remember what he had been doing. Charlie’s stuffy. Where was it? He looked around and saw it in Bella’s hand. How did it get there? He couldn’t remember.

Bella calmed down. He sent her back to the tent with Charlie’s dragon, watched her headlamp bob back up the path until it disappeared in the tent.

Matt grabbed the flashlight and stood. The world spun. He was afraid he would be sick. He leaned over and waited for the nausea to slacken. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into his warm sleeping bag. He was about to follow Bella up the path when his light caught movement on the water.

One of the kid’s life jackets was drifting out on a breeze, already about fifty feet out. It must have flown from his hand when he fell. It was moving fast. Should he swim out? Forget about it and hope all would be well tomorrow? A wind gust hit, and the rain started to fall in earnest. His bones seemed to shiver. He knew they couldn’t get back in the boat tomorrow morning without life jackets for both kids.

With effort, he tipped the canoe back on its keel. Each movement raised a pounding pulse in his head. He was about to step into the water when he saw it: the dry bag with his wet suit inside stuffed into the little triangle at the tip of the boat. He thought he’d left it at home. Small mercies, he thought as he squeezed into the neoprene.

The boat slipped soundlessly into the water as Nagadon Lake wrapped itself around Matt’s calves, creating the illusion of warmth against the frigid air. He climbed in and shoved against the shallow lake bottom with his paddle. He looked back once—only once—but the shore had already been engulfed by darkness; all that remained was the shadow of trees where the onyx black of the forest gave way to a charcoal sky.

Matt maneuvered the canoe out of the bay. It didn’t seem like a far paddle, but the wind kept pushing the life jacket just out of his grasp; once he was out of the sheltered bay, a tailwind caught the boat. It was harder to steer single-handed as the boat tilted sideways and his head throbbed. He fought to keep the canoe on course. Finally, he was within reach of the life jacket. He stretched his arm out. Felt the nylon against his fingertips. Stretched his torso. The boat leaned precariously under his weight. He extended farther.

A wind gust caught the side, sending the canoe farther off balance. It capsized. Matt plunged headfirst into the water.

He noticed the silence first. Complete and engulfing. He struggled to understand what had happened. He knew he was in trouble but couldn’t seem to tell his body what to do. Swim, he screamed in his head. Just swim. Finally, his arms and legs thrashed the water. He prayed that they were taking him toward air.

Matt surfaced beside the canoe. While the boat had dumped him, it had remained upright. The relief he felt was quickly replaced with terror. Even if he could crawl back into the canoe, he had no sense of where he was on the lake. No idea how to make his way back to the campsite. Panic and cold seized his aching head and throttled every thought as it materialized.

“Breathe,” he said into the night. “In, out. In, out.”

He could do this. He understood the technique. Had even practiced it. And he had time.

The wet suit would keep him warm. He just wished his head didn’t hurt so much.

Matt positioned himself along the center of the boat. Tipping it slightly, he used his hand to bail out as much of the water as possible. When he’d gotten as much out as he could, he moved a few feet down so one hand rested on the yoke, across the middle of the boat, and the other on the thwart. And then he kicked. He kicked against the water with everything he had and more. Willing his body to rise just enough so he could drop his shoulder into the boat. His first two attempts nearly swamped the canoe again, but finally on his third try, he felt his shoulder wedge itself against the bottom. He kept kicking, squirming his body until his legs were out of the water and he lay like a frightened pill bug on the bottom of the boat.

He had no idea how long he lay there, his legs drooping over the gunnels, catching his breath. Finally, he inched himself to sitting. The flashlight was gone, likely at the bottom of the lake. Somehow, the paddle had remained on board. He held it against his chest. His eyes adjusted enough to make out the edges of the boat and the water just beyond.

Matt realized two things at once: staying put was not an option, and he had no idea which way to go. The moon was behind thick banks of clouds, the rain obscured even the little he could see, and he was fast approaching a bone-weary cold. He shifted to the middle of the boat, lifted the paddle, and sank it into the water, hoping that the direction he was headed would save him.

He lost sense of time and place. All that mattered was pushing the paddle into the water and pulling against the weight. His head screamed, his muscles moved as if trapped in molasses, his eyes fought to maintain focus against the darkness. Finally, he made out the undulating shape of shoreline. Without any real markers, he was unable to gauge the distance, but he understood enough to point the front toward the promise of land.

He heard the scrape of the boat on sand before he recognized the canoe had reached shore. Matt tried to step out and fell into shallow water. He lay there, exhausted and angry and frightened all at the same time. No longer focused on paddling, he became terribly aware of the cold. The wind whispered around his head in a constant refrain.

He must have blacked out again. When he came to, dawn threatened the skyline, enough that he could just make out the ridges of the tree line against a slate sky. Fighting the hammering in his head, he stood and took in his surroundings. He was beached on a sandspit from which a well-marked path led into the forest. He knew this place. A foreboding relief washed over him.

He knew where he was, knew how to get back, but felt overwhelmed by the effort it would require.

Ignoring his head and the cold, Matt returned to the canoe. The paddle was nowhere to be found. He searched the boat, the beach; he waded into the water. Nothing. He could have sworn he had used it moments ago. And yet. His memories of the last few hours seemed to be fading as if they were ink on a wet page. He remembered crawling back into the canoe after tipping but couldn’t think how he had arrived at this spot.

The campsite wasn’t far. Maybe a mile across the lake. An easy swim for him on a good day. This, however, was not a good day. His head ached fiercely, and though his eyes had adjusted somewhat, it was still dark. Matt had always prided himself on being a decisive person. He made it part of his persona, willed himself not to get trapped by small details or the enormity of a challenge. He knew what he had to do.

The water called him now. He stood on the shore and peered into the inky black. The air smelled of wet earth with hints of rusted iron from the lake. The drumbeat of rain on his wet suit drew him forward into the patter.

Matt plunged. The tapping of rain disappeared, replaced by the thrum of pumping blood and warped slashes underwater. His body fell into familiar movements—head tilt, breathe, extend arm, slice back, and kick—propelling him forward. The initial faux warmth of the lake gave way to a seeping chill as tendrils of cold leached away body heat. Matt concentrated on his movements, refusing to let the cold have dominion over his mind. After a few dozen strokes, a silence descended, blocking the demands of his body and untethering his mind. There was a distance to go yet, he knew, but his body could endure, and there was no choice anymore.

Thoughts of Sarah and the kids drifted to deeper recesses; he locked away the curve of Bella’s nose, the tinkle of Charlie’s giggle, and the soft gray of Grace’s eyes in a safe place so he could endure. Before he pushed them down, he wondered, for just a moment, whether he had kept his secrets too long and whether there would be a price to pay.