I walked out to the porch, expecting to see two muddy figures laughing about the cold water.
Daniel’s truck stopped near the well house, the engine idling with a heavy, wet rattle.
He got out of the driver’s side slowly, his movements stiff like an old man’s.
He was still wearing his orange life vest, the fabric dark with river water that dripped onto his boots.
His shirt was soaked through, clinging to his chest in dark patches.
He took two steps toward the porch, then stopped, his body trembling from head to toe.
“Daniel?” I said, stepping down to the first stair. “Where is Maya?”
He did not look at me, his eyes fixed on the gravel near his feet.
He tapped his knuckles against his wet thigh, over and over, until the fabric made a slapping sound.
“She stood up in the kayak, and the current took her,” he said.
His voice was so low I had to lean forward to hear it over the idling engine.
The air suddenly felt very cold, the smell of damp cedar from the riverbanks clinging to his clothes.
