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“Aunt Clare?”
“She’s taken her mother to the hospital for stitches. Cut her finger chopping mushrooms,” she added, seeing Izzy’s face.
“Oh no! So no one knew you were doing this?” There was a tense silence. “Have you been in a boat or in the water since—you know?”
“No.” Flora wiped water from her face with the corner of the towel. “And I’ve never been in a kayak before.”
“That’s not a kayak, Flora. It’s a canoe.”
“Oh. Is there a difference?”
“Yeah.” Izzy squeezed water out of her hair. “Yeah, there is.”
“Well no wonder I didn’t know what to do with it. Are you going to kill me if I confess I dropped the paddle?” She saw that Izzy had a funny look on her face. “You are going to kill me. I’ll buy you a new one, I promise.”
“I don’t care about the stupid paddle.”
“What then?”
“You got in a boat and rowed yourself across here because you were worried about me?”
“Yes.”
“That’s it? No other reason. It wasn’t because you wanted to try out the water, or rowing or anything.”
“Nothing except extreme anxiety would have got me onto the water.”
“Extreme anxiety—for me?”
“Yes.”
Izzy jumped to her feet and exploded. “That is the most selfish thing I ever heard!” She jabbed her hands into her hair, paced a few steps and then paced back again while Flora sat frozen and confused.
“Selfish?” Stupid, maybe, but selfish? “Because I dropped your paddle?”
“No, because I’ve been trying to hate you, and you’ve made it so hard and now it’s impossible because how can I hate someone who is prepared to do the one thing that terrifies her because she is worried about me?”
Flora unraveled that speech piece by piece. “You—were trying to hate me?”
“Yes.” Izzy scowled. “But it turns out you’re impossible to hate!”
Flora wasn’t sure how she was supposed to respond. “Don’t let my boat rescue affect you. You’re still allowed to hate me.” She tried to keep it light. “The rescue didn’t come with any obligation.”
Izzy gave her a look. “What rescue? Flora, there was no rescue. If anything, I rescued you. I thought we agreed on that.”
“Exactly. So you definitely don’t have to feel guilty about hating me. Go for it.”
Izzy slumped down next to her. “I don’t hate you. Maybe I did, for a little while, although it was never really about you. My life is a mess, but none of it is your fault. At least, not much of it. I kind of wish Molly didn’t adore you so much. And that you weren’t so good with her, and with everything in the house. But the truth is I’m not needed anymore—” her voice broke “—and that’s not all your fault.”
“Not needed?” Flora was horrified. “What do you mean?”
“You said it yourself. My dad doesn’t need me anymore. For the first time ever he remembered to put cheese in Molly’s sandwiches and he even packed a drink. He never remembers a drink.” She rubbed her face with her fingers, leaving behind a muddy streak. “He’s always been pretty hopeless at the domestic stuff— I mean, he tries, but he’ll put laundry on and forget to put it in the dryer so it comes out smelling of wet dog, even though we don’t have a dog. He has no idea that Molly wets the bed still—” She flushed and glanced at Flora. “I promised her I wouldn’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t say anything, I promise.” But it broke her heart to think of it. “I used to wet the bed, too.”
“You did?”
“Yes. After my mom died. But I knew my aunt would be mad so I tried washing them myself. But that was a disaster, so for a few months I slept on the bathroom floor because it was easier to clean.”
