Page 36 of The Ripple Effect

In the evening, we stay away from the tent since it’s important for the guests to see us together. And every moment I’m not there, I think about the tide of his stuff creeping closer to mine, just like the tide of his presence is wearing away the shores of my self-preservation.

Chapter Ten

Situated on the highest part of the camp’s grassy open area, the pavilion commands a dramatic view of the Pendle River. Sunrise drenches the far bank in buttery light; in the evenings, the sun sets over the mountains, bathing base camp in golden rays.

For morning announcements, McHuge likes us to stand on the west side of the building, framed by cedar posts and the stunning panorama. I wish we’d decided this particular routine would be more businesslike, so I don’t have to spend another day thinking about the negative spaces his body leaves in mine after he presses me fake-fondly to his side.

“Day three, my brethren. The one we’ve been waiting for.” He says this unironically, because of course he does. “I promise the Get Out of Here phase will be one of your favorites. In retrospect.”

Everyone laughs nervously except Dereck, who gives a miserable shiver. He spent an average amount of time in the water yesterday, but the cold bothers him more than most. Probably because he’s so ripped. He and Willow could set up a thirst trapphoto shoot at a moment’s notice—if she weren’t more interested in artful crops of the worn-out paddles McHuge mounted on the repair shed—but Dereck’s lack of body fat is a serious drawback in these waters.

“Knowing what’s coming will help you navigate this phase productively. Expect to wonder whether this course is doing anything for your canoeing skills or your relationship. You might find yourselves arguing, competing for leadership, or uncovering differences of opinion. It can feel pretty heavy.

“My best advice is to not set unrealistic goals. Today is not about improvement. It’s about understanding why you came here, establishing your ground rules, and figuring out how to deal with conflict. Stellar and I will be offering support on the water, but first, we’ll meet back here for morning yoga and meditation thirty minutes from now.”

The guests bus their dishes, then disperse to the tents; I race through morning chores and head out for an early run. I watch my step on the stony, pitted road—I can’t get injured between now and September, or I won’t be able to work.

At the tree, I text Liz. She’s read my messages, but no replies yet.

How’s it going? Are you sleeping at all?

Halfway through composing a chatty update about the Love Boat, I blink when three dots pop up. Liz isreplying. I grip my phone like a drifting astronaut who’s just reestablished contact with her ship.

No. This child hates sleep. Possible she also hates me. Unconfirmed

The only place she’ll sleep is on Tobin’s chest. I shouldn’t complain, because at least she’s sleeping instead of screaming, but I’m irrationally jealous. Why won’t she sleep on *me*

Babe! You’re alive! Sometimes babies like to switch parents that way! It’s hard and I know you’re doing a great job

Liz? You still there?

Sorry, everyone’s a critic when you have a newborn and I started crying when you said I was doing a good job. I cry every day. Is this normal?

You’re doing an AMAZING job! The hormones can be pretty gnarly for a few weeks, but get Tobin to keep an eye on your moods in case we need to start thinking about PPD

Thank you so much Don’t know what I’d do without you! Wish you were here, but also so glad you’re there, if that makes sense? Honestly don’t know how to word anymore after one hour of sleep in the last 48

I’ll text you every day. You’re doing so good!! Gotta run (literally)

My throat stings with gratitude as I run back toward camp. The last time I was away from her, she revamped her entire life. This time, the Love Boat will keep us connected, and I’m thankful.

The rhythm of my strides punctuates the soft morning, thecrunch crunch crunchof gravel marking every footfall.

Running is hard, and I like it that way. My favorite part is dialing up the pace until my brain goes silent and I’m reduced to a pair of eyes that can still see beauty even though they’re bolted onto a body preoccupied with pain. The fingers of wind running through the trees meet the burn of breath whistling into my lungs. Four brown songbirds swoop and loop across the road, flapping madly before tucking their wings to glide, and my desperate desire to walk eases a little.

It helps. It helps a lot. Preemptively exhausting myself is the only effective preparation for another day of soothing fragile egos, building up discouraged swimmers, and refereeing other people’s emotional dynamics.

And it gives me time to think about what to call my business partner. I like to use people’s preferred names, but the thought of calling him Lyle conjures a pleasure-pain so keen my breath halts in my throat. I can’t fall back on “babe” because of the dog. Yesterday I tried calling him “love,” which sounded fake even to me. Plus, he made thathrgack!sound again, so that’s out.

I walk into camp, hands on hips, just as Brent walks away from yoga-slash-meditation, leaving his equipment on the pavilion floor.

I automatically look to the tall ginger figure holding a spray bottle of tea tree oil.

I’ll manage him, moss-green eyes tell me. Lately I can’t think of a damn thing to say when his dawn-forest gaze pop-locks with mine. The moments are getting longer, our gazes holding instead of moving on to the next thing. Heat blooms under my skin when his eyelids fall a fraction. Helookslike a Lyle to me this morning, which seems like a bad thing.

“Good yoga?” I attempt an unobtrusive swipe of my brow and come away with a smear of road dust mixed into sweaty mud.

“Eh, it was only their second time. Some people were into it. Others are, shall we say, new to the discipline.” He cracks a smile that’s different from his usual unruffled serenity. This one hides a little hook, something sharp and steely. It’s conspiratorial, like we’re sharing a private joke, and it plucks an echoing string inside my chest that better not be my heart.

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