Page 58 of The Ripple Effect

Her invulnerable life was a figment of my imagination and an illusion she worked hard to maintain. Now we both know each other’s secrets.

And maybe we both need things money can’t buy.

“I wish you could have told me about your hip.”

She busies herself folding the shirt into thirds, then into a neat square before pushing aside the heap of underwear to lay it on the bottom of the suitcase. “Well, I couldn’t. My team’s trying to keep it quiet. And it’s not like you tell me anything without a court order.” She looks up, the sullen, stubborn line of her mouth far too familiar.

I’m not going to help fold her panties—neither of us wants that—but I grab a shirt from the rifled drawers and smooth it out on top of the dresser, trying to replicate her technique. Her face softens when I put the shirt back in the drawer instead of in the suitcase.

We fold a few more things. Eventually, she says, “My accident happened on the last run of the day. Late afternoon, almost sunset. It was a while before someone found me. I thought no one would come, and I…”

I’ve seen traumas like the one she’s describing. The fracture is dangerous, but it’s the cold that can kill.

“It can’t be fun for you to get chilly out on the water.”

“It isn’t,” she says, and I hear the echo:It was a while before someone found me.

She smooths a pair of underwear, folding and tucking the ends to make a tight little envelope.

“You’ll need a partner in your canoe,” I say slowly. “Which would have to be me. If you’re good with that.” Days on the water together. We’d talk a lot while we paddled between rapids. We’d get closer; we couldn’t help it.

Sloane’s hands fall still, her Marie Kondo act forgotten.

“And I’m guessing Dereck was helping you with your hip physio. Or he should have been. I can do that, so it’s easier for you to sit strapped into a canoe. If you want to be here, Sloane, we’ll find a way.”

When she looks up, her face is wet. “It’s good to have someone here I can trust. It’s good to haveyou.”

“Oh, shit,” I say, alarmed at the answering tingle in my tear ducts. “We don’t have to make it a big deal or anything.”

I can see her coming, yet I’m still startled when her arms come around me. She’s laughing and crying at the same time,rocking us side to side. “You’re a tough one, little star. At least, you want people to think you are. It wouldn’t kill you to shed a tear once in a while.”

“It might,” I say darkly, but I’m silently replaying my new nickname.Little star. Small, but fiery.

I like it.

With one fewer rescue paddlers, Lyle and I postpone the trip to Slip & Slide and spend a half day on the wide, calm water near base camp, practicing assisted rescues with the guests. If they can help each other, we can put me in Sloane’s boat and feel confident safety isn’t being compromised.

Simulated rescues are cold work, with everyone in and out of the water all the time. After a late lunch, we opt for dryland games to warm up and give everyone a break.

Lyle shuffles through his field notes and picks a game I’m certain he invented while high: compliment badminton. I’d like this game a lot better if I got to observe, like Lyle does.

“Sloane has great hair!” I shout, as her racket catches the soft, high shot I sent her way.

“Petra has a giant, sexy brain,” Sloane purrs somewhat prematurely, making Petra miss her swing.

“Sloane! You’re not supposed to give the compliment until after they hit it,” Lori scolds. “That being said, feel free to hit it to me anytime.” She bats her eyelashes like Betty Boop.

Petra retrieves the birdie and serves it over the net, where Willow, Trevor, Mitch, and Sloane stand on the other side. Lyle referees from a canvas chair beside center court, scratching debriefing notes in his book.

Badminton is a surprisingly fast-moving game. It doesn’t take long before we run out of things to say about people’s looks, style, and canoeing technique.

“No repeats,” Lyle cautions from the sidelines the second time Lori says Trevor looks better with his new five-day beard. “Penalty to Stellar, Lori, Brent, and Petra.”

We groan, having already racked up several penalties for sending shots out of bounds (me, three times), hitting Lyle in the forehead with the birdie (Petra), and distracting teammates with interview questions (Brent).

“Your penalty: you must sing to the other team, with complete seriousness, the first verse of ‘I Want It That Way’ by the Backstreet Boys.Completeseriousness,” Lyle cautions.

Right away, Brent says, “Not familiar with it. I was more into grunge in the nineties.”

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