Lana looked at Jack. She expected her granddaughter to speak up for herself, for what she wanted. But the girl just nodded, looking uncertainly at her flustered mother.
“We’re happy to have you here, Ma,” Beth said in a more conciliatory tone. “We can keep the new couch. And your mattress. But please. Give it a rest.”
“I’ll rest when I’m dead.”
“We’re doing everything we can to make sure that’s a long, long time from now.”
“Not if that textured paint kills me first.” Lana swept up the paint chips, shoved them into her pocket, and shuffled back into the house.
Chapter Five
Jack promised herself her shift on Sunday would be different. By the book. Calm. The early-morning fog matched her mood, wrapping a silvery blanket of stillness around her as she pedaled to the marina. She arrived to a silent shop. The green road bike had disappeared, either reclaimed by its owner or taken by someone else. No one was around. Apparently Paul’s private guiding gig was still going strong.
Jack opened up the Kayak Shack on her own, securing waivers onto clipboards and hauling boats down to the shore. Jorge, one of the older guides, rolled in and took the 9 a.m. group out—six people, quiet and manageable—while Jack ran the shop. Before Jack knew it, it was time for her 11 a.m. tour.
None of them looked like trouble. There was a German family of five, a father and son, a young couple, and a serene older woman with a deep tan. By 11:05, Jack had the group lined up at the beach, repeating after her as Jack ran through the safety and wildlife protection procedures in her most responsible voice. There were no shark songs. No booze. By 11:10, they were in the water.
The tour was just what Jack needed. The kids liked her nickname, the adults appreciated her knowledge about the migratory patterns of herons, and even the otters seemed to be on their best behavior. Jack’s gaggle of kayaks traveled quickly upriver, most of them pausing at the narrow beach by Kirby Park, where harbor seals clustered to sleep the day away. The boy and his dad in kayak 33 went farther, exploring the mouth of one of the fingers of the slough. The couple in kayak 9 was obsessed with sardines, taking picture after picture of the shimmering schools swarming the kelp beneath their hull.
The wind picked up, and Jack corralled everyone into the bright line of smooth water that would take them back to the marina. She got all her boats moving west, except 33. The father and son. Jack looked around and frowned. Where were they?
Shifting her weight to a crouch, Jack squinted across the water. She saw their kayak over in the mud flats, bobbing in place. Were they stuck? Jack signaled to the rest of the group to wait and started paddling across the slough.
The dad was out of the kayak, down in the shallow muck. The kid was looking over the side, rocking the boat. Had they lost a paddle?
“TINY!”
The kid was yelling.
Jack took sharp, decisive strokes to close the distance between them. They looked okay, not bleeding or anything, but anchored in place. Maybe they got too curious and a jellyfish stung one of them. Jack moved faster, using her feet to nudge the first aid kit out from between her legs as she windmilled her paddle forward.
“TINY! TINY!!”
The kid was screaming something awful now, like a high-strung foghorn. Jack came right up alongside them, the kid’s voice unrelenting, the sound of it drowning out the chatter of the birds overhead.
“Tiny.” The dad’s voice cut through his son’s screams. “Look.”
There, floating in the muck where the culvert hit the slough, was a person. A mud-covered balloon of a person. Facedown in the water. Not moving. Kelp-ruffled pullover, dark pants, hiking boots. And a red Kayak Shack life jacket.
Jack dropped into the frigid mud and charged forward, one hand on her kayak, one reaching out in front of her, as if to steady herself in the water.
“Hello?” she yelled. Even in her wet suit and booties, she felt numb. “Are you okay?”
No response. Closer up, she saw long brown hair swirling around the head.
Jack took a deep breath, reached forward, and grabbed one of the straps on the life jacket to flip the person faceup. It was a man. She didn’t recognize him. Or maybe she did. Was he on her tour? When had he fallen in?
She told herself to breathe, to push aside the questions and focus on what was in front of her. The man needed her help. Jack tried to attempt resuscitation right there in the marsh, but as she started to unclip his life jacket, she realized there was no way she could manage chest compressions with everything bobbing around. She had to get him to the bank.