Page 37 of Big & Lily

“Why were you back there, in the trees? There could be wild animals back there.”

“Okay, Alaska PD. Calm down, I had to pee. You try sitting with your feet in cold water and see if you don’t have to go.”

“I’m only asking. Did you bring your little toilet bag? I didn’t even bring mine.”

“Listen, officer, the interrogation about whether I used toilet paper when I peed is over. Let’s go back to the boats and get out of here. You need to give me a ride in your boat.”

The Before Times Lily would have loved to have a conversation about the Leave No Trace bag we were given on day one—the fewsquares of TP, baby wipe, and mini hand sanitizer in a sandwich bag. She would have had a thousand jokes about schlepping around the wilderness with “post-use” TP until we came to a sanctioned place to dispose of it. The Today Lily is having none of it.

“How are you going to ride in my boat? There is only one hole.” By hole, I mean seat, but I’m not a sea captain, either, and Lily knows what I mean.

“I’m not going back into a sinking boat. Unless youwantme to die,” she grumbles.

“That’s an option?”

“Hysterical.” She stomps to the shoreline where we parked the kayaks.

Like some sort of demented magic trick, there is only one boat there.

My kayak is gone.

“What the hell, Big? Did you walk here?”

I was in such a rush to find and help my sister that I hopped out of the boat and didn’t look back. I raise my hand to my forehead and scan the lake and there, a football field away, is my kayak bumping against a small iceberg.

“Oh my God. You’re stuck here.”

“I’mstuck here? What about you? Your boat could be leaking.”

“You said it was from the skirt something.”

“I said itcouldbe from the spray skirt.”

“And besides, my boat only has one hole too. Remember?”

“Circumstances have changed. We’ve got to find that kayak before Brick does. We can’t cause any more trouble.”

“I told you that fight last night wasn’t my fault.”

“I suppose pushing me in the creek wasn’t your fault either.”

“That was on you. You really need to start doing those old-lady balance exercises.”

And we’re off. Stranded on a distant shore. Fighting. So much for the relaxing glide on the lake. I turn my back on my sister and assess the situation with my runaway kayak.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” I say. Ever the problem solver. “You take your boat out there, grab mine, and pull it back here.”

“That’s a terrible idea.” Ever the problem maker. “I can’t pull a boat with one hand and paddle with the other. I need two hands to row, alternating strokes, otherwise I’m going to go in circles. Didn’t you learn that at sleepaway camp?”

“I missed that lesson.” In fact, I missed sleepaway camp. My mom said she needed me to help out with Lily, so I spent the summers running after a toddler at the town pool while our mother worked on her tan. “Okay, Plan B. We’re going to row out there together, in your boat, and then I’ll climb in mine, and we’ll paddle back like nothing ever happened.”

“What about one hole?”

“Forget one hole. We’ll sit one behind the other like we’re riding a horse double.”

“You know how to ride a horse double, but you don’t know about two hands on a paddle?”

“Forget the horse, Lily. Let’s go.”