The Canoe at Dusk

Isla had wanted to paddle out to the island one more time before camp ended. Colm had agreed almost too easily, the way he agreed to most things she suggested. Neither of them had checked how quickly the light faded once the sun dropped behind the ridge.

"We should've turned back twenty minutes ago," Colm said, squinting at the shoreline, which had become a dark smudge against darker water. "I can barely tell where the dock is anymore."

"I know. I got us into this," Isla admitted. "If I'd checked the time before we left, we wouldn't be out here now."

A gust caught the canoe broadside, and for a moment it tipped further than either of them liked. Colm leaned hard the other way, and the boat settled, though his heart was pounding.

"Sit low, and let's paddle together, not against each other," Isla said, forcing calm into her voice that she didn't entirely feel. "One, two, one, two — match my count."

They fell into rhythm, the canoe cutting straighter through the chop than it had when each of them paddled at their own pace. The wind was pushing them slightly off course, toward the rocky south end of the lake instead of the dock.

"We're drifting," Colm said. "Should we correct now or wait until we're closer?"

"Now. If we wait, we'll be fighting the wind and the rocks both," Isla said, angling her paddle to steer them back on line.

They paddled in silence after that, both of them focused entirely on the count and the rhythm. Far ahead, the dock light flickered on, switched on by someone back at camp.

By the time the bow scraped against the dock's floating edge, neither of them spoke for a moment, just breathing hard in the sudden stillness.

"Never again without checking the time," Colm said eventually, managing a shaky laugh.

"Never again," Isla agreed, though she was already, quietly, thinking about how good it had felt to get them both back safely.