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“I’ve got you,” he says. “I’ll get you inside. I swear it, Laney. I’ve got you. This time, I’ve got you, and I’m so sorry—” His voice breaks.
“Kit?”
I try to point at the piece of leather, but my arm only lolls onto it. When I try to form a full sentence, my tongue won’t cooperate and I can only jerk my chin at the leather. He finally gets it, and even then only frowns at the seat cover, as if he can’t figure out what it is or how it got there.
“Ours,” I say.
I mean to say “Mine,” but the boatwasours, and that’s what comes out.
“Our boat.”
He reaches for it, and it falls through his numb fingers. “That’s… that’s from…”
“Graffiti. Renter. Scrubbed.”
He rocks back on his heels. “That’s from our boat? The seats? How—?”
He looks out at the water, horror dawning. Then he jerks his attention back to me.
“We need to get you inside,” he says. “We’ll figure out… We’ll figure it all out later.”
He gets his hands under my armpits again, and I start to shake,and when I start, I can’t stop, my whole body quaking so bad he can barely keep his grip on me.
“S-sorry. C-can’t.”
“Shh, shh. I’ve got you.”
He lurches, as if on stilts, and twice he almost falls before getting his balance. Then it seems to get easier, and he’s walking, with me huddled against his chest, in near convulsions of shivering.
“The shivering is keeping you warm,” he says. “Don’t try to stop it.”
Another three steps. Then he warns, “I’m going to shout,” before he does it. His voice rings out over the crash of waves.
“Jayla? Jayla!”
A few more steps before he bellows for his sister again. It’s after the third time, when he’s starting to shake himself, with the exertion of carrying me when he can barely walk, that a shout returns.
“Kit!” Bare feet slap rock. Jayla’s voice. “Laney? Oh my God. What happened? Did you capsize? The storm, the damn storm. You shouldn’t have—”
“Laney,” he says. “In the water. Hypothermia.”
“Fuck!” she shouts. “Garrett!”
Then Madison’s voice. “Laney? Kit? What happened to Laney?” Her voice rises with every word, and I want to tell her I’m fine, but my teeth chatter too much to form words.
Other hands grab me, and as Kit relinquishes me, he says, “I’m sorry,” and I know it’s not because of what happened—he had nothing to do with that. It’s that he’s handed me to Garrett. He had to.
“Get her inside,” Jayla says. “Fuck! Kit? Can you walk?”
“Help him,” I manage.
Garrett says, “Looks like Laney wasn’t the only one who went for a swim. Yeah, help him to the house before he collapses.”
Garrett carries me inside, and when that first wave of heat hits, it actually hurts. Needles prick everywhere, and I squeeze my eyes shut against the sudden rush of sensation.
Garrett lays me on the sofa while Madison shouts orders. Blankets. Wet clothes off. Don’t rub our skin. No hot water. Leave the woodstove off for now. Let us warm up naturally.
I’d made her take first aid last year, when she started talking about spending a weekend on the island with friends. She’d grumbled about how boring the course was, and how she’d never remember anything. Obviously, not quite true.
