a six-ton sack of flour.
"She's somethin', isn't she?" said Nana.
Circling the moaning carcass, Tilly nudged leaves from its face with the tip of her cane, then peered down at the thing with such blatant disappointment, I had to call out, "Bad news?"
"The worst." She glanced back in our direction. "It's only Dick Teig."
I guess the good news was, at least he wasn't on his way to Tahiti.
"How much time before the bus leaves?" Jonathan asked worriedly.
Riiiight. Leeeeft. Riiiight. Leeeft. The wind that had pushed us upriver was now in our faces, so we were bucking a powerful head wind as I paddled back downriver. I checked my watch. "Forty-five minutes."
"We're going to miss it, aren't we?"
"I can't be sure," I said breathlessly. I figured we had another mile to go, but my shoulders and arms were burning so much from the exertion, I didn't know if I could make it all the way back. Riiiight. Leeeeft. Riiiight. Leeeft. "Maybe Nana will ask the driver to wait."
I had no one but myself to blame for our late start back. After deleafing the Teigs and Stolees, who'd taken the wrong trail to the Secret Falls and ended up traipsing through hikers' hell, I'd sent them down the correct trail under the watchful eyes of Nana and Tilly, then stayed behind to tamp all the upturned soil back into its proper place. The Vikings had set such a good example, I felt obligated to follow suit. I hooked up with Jonathan back at the kayak, but by the time I arrived everyone else had already taken off, leaving us to navigate back on our own.
Riiiight. Leeeeft. Riiiight. Leeeft.
As I navigated a wide turn around a bend, a gust of wind slammed into us like a class-three hurricane, lifting our bow out of the water and driving us back as if we'd hit a giant deflector shield. My hair flat-lined. My eyebrows nearly blew off my face. My cheeks stung. I bowed my head against the force of the gale, realizing with horror that the river was now acting as a wind tunnel.
"My hat!" cried Jonathan. "My Bill Gates hat!"
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiight. Leeeeeeeeeeeeft.
"Over there! To the right! Hurry, Emily! Right, right, right. You've gotta save my hat!"
TOOOOOOT! TOOOOOOT! The horn from the Fern Grotto tour boat blasted behind us. I whipped a look over my shoulder to find it suddenly within spitting distance, its flat little bottom and canopy bearing down fast.
Forty yards.
Thirty yards.
Holy shit.
Rightleftrightleftrightrightrightleftright.
TOOOOOOOT! blared the horn. OH, GOD!
Twenty yards.
Ten yards.
Rightleftrightleftrightrightrightleftright.
"Turn around!" Jonathan screamed, grabbing his paddle and plunging it into the water like a rudder to stop me. "That hat is one of a kind! The only one ever offered on eBay. A collector's item! You've gotta turn arou --"
CRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRUNCH!!!
Chapter 8
"Peas will help bring down the swelling."
"Peas?" I peered at the female doctor in the emergency room cubicle. "Dried or frozen?"
"Frozen. Preferably in a bag. Without butter sauce. Just keep refreezing them."
"Baby or snow?"
"Whichever is cheaper. Don't make the mistake of eating them afterward." She stuck her pen in the pocket of her lab coat and offered me a warm smile. "You're done here, Miss Andrew. Ice that lump for a few days, and you'll be fine. But I'd advise against any more kayaking trips on the Wailua. Next time, you might not be so lucky to escape with only minor bruises. Be thankful you were wearing your life jacket."
"Do you know anything about the condition of the man who came in with me? Jonathan Pond?" I tested the matzo ball of a knot over my eye, hoping the swelling might have gone down already, but no such luck. I looked down at myself, assessing the damage. My clothes were damp, my shoulder bag was waterlogged, and my new short, sassy, ridiculously expensive, frizz-free hairdo was in ruins.
In other words, I was a mess.
On a brighter note, at least I'd been wearing waterproof mascara.
"I don't know anything about Mr. Pond, but I can check for you."
She returned in ten minutes with an update. "He's scheduled for more X-rays and a CT scan, so we're going to keep him overnight. His doctor wants to make sure there's nothing going on other than the broken arm."
"Can I see him?" Although I didn't know if that was such a good idea since all I really wanted to do was...WRING HIS FREAKING NECK!
"He's having a psych evaluation at the moment, so probably not." She lowered her voice. "He apparently keeps babbling something about a hat. You wouldn't know