“But haveyouever actually identified these things in the wild?” Fran asks.
“That would be a no,” Troy says. “But I’ve watched the Anarchist Vagabond do it, like, a hundred times. He’s ridiculous at it!”
“Yeah, but the Anarchist Vagabond is not here,” says Fran. “He’s probably sipping kombucha in the comfort of his own home right now.”
“The Anarchist Vagabond does not have a home,” says Troy. “He is, in fact, a vagabond.”
An hour later you’re finally back on the water, paddling near the shore, looking for a trailhead that will keep you moving north,so you don’t need to walk through the tall brush. Diana is in your boat this time, seated behind you. Fran and Troy and Will are piled together in the other boat to your left.
The plan is this: Go as far as you can on the water. Then stop to forage when you find a trail. Within minutes, however, everyone is dizzy with hunger, and your canoes are barely moving. Still, you make your muscles do what they need to do, working hard to slice a path through the frigid blue water.
Diana’s paddle keeps getting stuck to the lily pads that cover this lake like a patchy carpet. When that happens, you get to stop for a moment and watch the spruce trees shimmer like a mirage in your lightheaded vision. If you look up, the sun sends spots dancing in your eyes, so you try to stare straight ahead. The pain in your head is back, but only intermittently, and it’s hard to tell if it’s from the cut or just hunger pangs.
In the boat next to you, Troy is defending his anarchist hero as both Fran and Will start lobbing skeptical attacks on his character. You turn and watch Diana peel a floating leaf off the blade of her paddle and chuck it across the lake like a Frisbee. You haven’t had any one-on-one time since your moment in the tent after the rain, and you were surprised when she asked if she could paddle with you. But now that she’s here, she’s not saying much, and you get the feeling like maybe she’s waiting on you to break this silence that’s been growing between you.
The other boat is far enough away that you could probably have a real conversation, but everything you want to say is something you shouldn’t. Eventually, it comes to you. Something you’re surprised you haven’t asked yet.
“Hey,” you say. “Why did you come on this trip?”
She sinks the wooden blade back in the water and pulls it through with a small exhale.
“You know, I’m asking myself the same question right about now,” she says with a glazed look in her eye. You watch her face for a moment, waiting for it to change, but she doesn’t seem to be paying attention to you.
“I’m serious,” you say. “Why did you sign up for this? How did you find out about it? You haven’t told me.”
You both paddle for a moment. Closer now, Troy is talking about composting worms in reverent tones, waxing poetic about something called a “red wiggler.” This prompts a dirty joke from Will that you can’t fully hear.
“I mean, when you think about it,” you say, “it’s pretty coincidental that we both ended up on the same trip. There have to be a few of these. I think my parents were looking at, like, four different options. And it’s kind of a weird thing to do, right? I mean, it’s not everyone’s idea of therapy.”
You can feel yourself talking too much. And you know if you don’t stop soon, you’re going to say something stupid. But Diana saves you from yourself by letting you know you already have.
“Case,” she says. “Are you a total idiot?”
This is not what you were expecting, so it takes you a minute to reply.
“Um. Maybe?”
She stops paddling again, and you turn around, thinking you’ll see her tangled in aquatic plants. But you don’t. She’s just looking at you. Her hair’s up in a ponytail, so you can see her face clearly. Her eyes are narrowed, and there’s the beginning of a sunburn on her nose and forehead.
“It wasn’t a coincidence.”
Your neck is straining, but you don’t turn around again.
“When you weren’t calling me back,” she adds, “I talked to your mom one night to see how you were doing. She told me about this trip, and that you had agreed to go.”
“You talked to my mom?” you say.
“I thought maybe she told you,” says Diana.
Now it’s your time to turn red, the heat rushing to your face.
“She didn’t,” you say.
There are blisters on your hands already, but you tighten your hold on the oar grip.
“So, that means…”
“I came because of you.”
