of power. She was out in the open, and for a moment she felt not just scared but overcome with horror that seemed to empty her out, that squeezed at her lungs. She told herself to keep going, that there would be time in the future for her to have a breakdown.
Wiping her hands on her thighs, then getting a new grip on her paddle, she began to steer in the direction she’d been heading, keeping her eyes on the stars above her, recognizing three in a row that made up Orion’s belt. The constellation was slightly to her left, and she focused on keeping it there as she paddled as hard as she could. The faster she went, the less chance that she would veer off course.
Twenty minutes later she spotted a lighthouse, a dim sweeping beam of light. Its appearance ratcheted up her dread of hearing the sound of a plane, or of another boat, but none came, and the lighthouse got closer, close enough that she could make out its shape against the purple sky. It was built on an outcropping of rock, barely an island, so she kept going. She thought she was in Casco Bay; she could see shoreline now, and another lighthouse. Her muscles burning, she picked up the pace, dipping the paddle deep into the water, gritting her teeth. Soon she could see scattered lights along the shoreline, even the sweep of what looked like a car’s headlights. Everything was blurry, and she realized that her eyes were watering in the cold wind, tears streaming down her cheeks. She kept paddling toward the lighthouse.
Just as she neared the shore, she saw a faint glimmer of dawn light on the horizon, the sky lightening to gray. The lighthouse was like something from a postcard. White with a black top, below it a lightkeepers’ house, painted red. And in front of the house she could make out a lone car, its lights off, along the edge of what was probably a visitors’ parking lot. Was someone waiting for her? She turned south and began paddling as hard as she could. She was hoping to spot a better place to come onto shore, less rocky, and not someplace where she might be spotted.
The kayak was moving slowly, a rip current working against her, but soon she spotted a tree-shrouded cove, a strip of sand visible in the dawn light. She pointed the kayak toward the shore, slapping against a flat rock just under the water, then the bow of the kayak slid up onto the beach. She stood, lost her balance, and fell out of the kayak into three inches of icy water. Her elbow hit something sharp and her arm went numb. She grunted, then quickly stood, pulling the kayak a little farther up on the beach.
The sky was now a pearly white, and the air was filled with dawn mist.
A man stepped out of the tree line about ten yards from her, a long rifle in the crook of his arm.
CHAPTER 32
Abigail reached inside the kayak, trying to get hold of her own gun with numb fingers.
“Can I help you?” the man said. His voice, the calmness of it, was startling.
“Stay right there.” Abigail found the gun and pulled it out, pointing it at the man. He was heavyset, wearing a fleece hoodie with a camouflage pattern.
“Shit,” he said, and dropped his own gun, which had been pointing at the ground, then put his hands up.
Abigail had begun to shiver, but she kept her finger on the trigger and kept the gun pointed at the man. “Step back,” she said, and he did. She let her eyes flick toward the ground in front of him and saw that it wasn’t a rifle he had dropped but a metal detector, an elaborate handle on one end, a flat disc on the other.
“What are you doing here?” she said.
“I was here yesterday. My wife and I were fishing, and she lost her wedding band. I’m here to look for it.” His voice trembled. Abigail believed him, but she didn’t want to take a chance and kept the rifle pointed in his direction.
“Do you have a phone?” she said.
“Yeah. It’s in my front pocket.”
“Reach in slowly, okay? And pull it out.”
He did as he was told, pulling out a flat black phone from the front of his baggy jeans.
“Toss it to me.”
He threw the phone in a low arc and it landed three feet in front of