Page 44 of The Ripple Effect

I breathe through my nose, trying like hell to dispel the familiar, electrifying surge of anger. The fateful night I stood in front of that refrigerator, staring at the neat rows of 2 percent milkand 10 percent cream, this same injustice crackled through my heart like 200 joules of direct current, defibrillating the monster inside.

That time, it lost me my job. This time, I’d be wise to learn my lesson and shut my mouth before I alienate a man with the power to help—or hurt—the Love Boat. As Lyle would say, I’m not in a position to judge their relationship.

But Iamin a position to judge the dynamic in their boat, and it’s lopsided as hell.

Willow’s shoulders roll inward, and my fists clench. Every straw is the last one with me, it seems.

“And, um, we forgot to tell you!” I blurt. “Today everyone’s switching positions! Bow paddler goes to the stern, and vice versa. Everyone gets to do the other person’s job and, uh, take their perspective.”

All eyes turn to me. No one says a word. Lyle’s uneven eyebrow is way, way up. I’m surprised, too: I said I didn’t care about the instructional side of things, and guess what, it looks like I do. I really, really want this to work.

“It’s gonna be, um, so fun!”

Unlike when Lyle says something is fun, no one looks like they believe me. Even when people don’t agree with his definition of “fun,” they believe he’s genuinely into whatever it is.

There’s a lot of groundwork to Lyle’s persona, I realize. Underneath the relentless chill, the old-school catchwords, and the vaguely spiritual pronouncements, there’s a willingness to give and give again. People feel safe with him.

I haven’t laid that groundwork, and it shows. When I run out of cheery, positive things to say, they glance over at him for confirmation:Are we really doing this?

Stay with me, Lyle, I plead with my eyes. I shouldn’t have sprung this on him, but he won’t call out a co-instructor’s mistake in front of the guests. I’m the only one who can say I was wrong, and with every second that ticks by, I’m more convinced I’m right.

It’s not even the halfway mark of the course, yet nobody questions which paddling position they take anymore.

Like I never questioned anything at the hospital until it was too late.

Lyle dips his chin almost imperceptibly. It may look unintentional, but he has incredible control of every part of his body. I try not to sag with relief.

“Thanks for catching that, Stellar. This is great real-life training that could come in handy on river-running trips like the capstone. It’s important forallof us to experience our partner’s role firsthand, even me. That’s why Stellar will be today’s lead instructor, and I’ll be taking a back seat.”

I blink in surprise. This must be what he means byyes, and. At this moment, I wish I’d paid more attention to his improv sayings. Or read his book. A kind person would have done that.

Sloane appears at my side as everyone else is heading to the water. “Do wehaveto switch? I’d rather not.”

The spiky burst of irritation in my belly is sharp enough to feel like fear. My authority with this group is tenuous as hell. If Sloane and Dereck bail out, no one else will participate either. My debut as lead instructor will turn into my curtain call.

That’s what happened to Kat, the other woman who got hired at Grey Tusk General. She was named chair of the equipment committee that year, and suddenly everyone discovered a brand-new willingness to go to the mat for specific brands of video laryngoscopes and disposable suture trays. The previous chair’s emails had dropped straight into the void; Kat’s became reply-all slugfests.

She lasted six months before the department chief removedher, saying he needed someone who could “keep the peace.” As far as my male colleagues were concerned, the precedent had been set: a woman couldn’t handle a committee, like a woman couldn’t carry a superhero franchise if even one of the sequels failed to break box office records.

Sloane should understand what’s at stake for me, with her gritty female-led film that screams “series potential” and its risky gender flip of the promiscuous gentleman spy trope.

“Is there some reason you can’t?” Oof, there’s so muchhistoryin my voice.

“I’m more comfortable in the bow.”

“The point of the exercise is to be uncomfortable.”

“Please, Stellar. It wouldn’t have to be a big thing.”

“But itwouldbe a big thing,” I whisper, impatient to get going. Other guests are already launching their swapped boats.

“And what if I can’t?” Her sharp tone brings my head around, but her expression stays mild and inquisitive, like she’s asking me for stroke correction.

“Youcan. You’re strong, you’re skilled, you have great instincts. Unless there’s something you’re not telling me?”

Her mouth tightens. “Forget I asked.” She stumbles a little on the rocks as she wheels away, leaving me unsettled.

Lyle’s canoe drifts in from behind me once I get onto the water, Babe studiously looking away as usual.

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