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“Where do you want me to sit?” she asks.
“On the bench behind Butterscotch.” I steady the canoe as she makes her way toward him, keeping her body weight low. She moves with the ease of someone familiar with being on a small boat.
Once she’s seated, I slide the canoe farther into the water and climb in. I sit in the stern and push the canoe away from the shore with the paddle.
Jessica starts paddling. I don’t even have to tell her what to do. She performs the J-stroke perfectly.
“You’ve canoed before?”
She lifts her shoulders but doesn’t look back at me. “A few times.”
She lived in Vermont prior to coming here. They have plenty of lakes and rivers there, so it makes sense this isn’t the first time she’s been in a canoe.
We paddle in sync as if we’ve been canoeing together for quite some time. I steer, keeping to the shoreline. The gentle splash of water as we paddle is the only noticeable sound. If the soothing movement of the canoe through water, the surrounding stillness, and the effortless silence between us doesn’t relax her, I don’t know what will.
This isn’t the first time I’ve taken a woman canoeing. Garrett once joked canoeing is my test to determine if a woman is right for me. If that were true, more than a few women have failed the test. They didn’t want to get wet or didn’t enjoy paddling (or were hopeless at it) or spent the entire time talking nonstop.
The last woman I took canoeing I came close to tossing over the side because she wouldn’t shut up about the benefits of gel nails versus acrylics.
Even Butterscotch is quiet, enjoying the view and occasionally looking over the side to spot a fish.
All the possible reasons for why Jess reacted the way she did at Picnic & Treats scroll through my head. I failed my best friend. I don’t want to make the same mistake with Jess.
But if she won’t tell me what happened, will she at least open up to a therapist? If she can’t do that, it’ll be difficult for her to process her painful memories and eventually heal.
If Colton hadn’t kept brushing off the therapist he was supposed to see, he would’ve realized he wasn’t responsible for the death of the hockey players, the coach, and the support staff on the bus that tragic day. His guilt of not being able to save them would’ve been resolved, and he would still be alive.
And Olivia would still have her husband, and Nova would still have a father.
Jessica tilts her face skyward. The rhythmic rising and lowering of her shoulders, in time with her breathing, is slow and easy. My plan has worked. For now, anyway.
We eventually paddle back to the beach and climb out of the canoe.
Jessica yawns. It’s not the first time she’s yawned since we left Picnic & Treats. She’s clearly not getting enough sleep. She resembles Colton during his final days, the same dark circles under the eyes.
“When was the last time you slept through the night?” I casually ask, examining her face for other signs of exhaustion.
“I sleep through the night all the time.” The defensiveness in her voice has returned, replacing some of the bricks I’d torn down from her wall.
I don’t exactly believe her. I wouldn’t be surprised if the lack of sleep was part of the reason for the flashback this morning.
I check the time on my phone. “All right. Let’s get going. There’re some people I want you to meet.”
25
JESSICA
March, Present Day
Maple Ridge
Troy drivesus back to town and parks in a visitor stall at the Maple Ridge Veterans Center.
“What are we doing here?” I stare at the building as several people enter through the glass doors.
“Like I said, there’re some people I want you to meet.”
My palms grow clammy at the idea, and I squirm on the passenger seat. “I’d rather not.”
