Page 24 of The Love Clause

"I'll steer," I say immediately as we approach our canoe.

"Shocking," Josie mutters, but she doesn't argue, taking her position at the front of the canoe as instructed.

Getting into the canoe is our first challenge. Despite Chad's careful instructions to keep low and move slowly, Josie treats the process like boarding a subway train about to depart, nearly tipping us before we're even in the water. I manage to counterbalance at the last moment, gripping both sides of the canoe with white knuckles.

"Careful," I hiss.

"Sorry, sorry," she says, not sounding sorry at all as she settles onto her seat. "Just excited!"

Once we're both seated, paddle in hand, the real test begins. The first few strokes are disastrous—Josie paddling too hard onthe left while I try to straighten our course, then overcorrecting to the right, sending us in a lazy circle.

"We need to coordinate," I say, trying to keep frustration from my voice. "Paddle on the left, three strokes, then switch."

"Aye aye, Captain Control," she mock salutes, nearly dropping her paddle.

We manage to establish some semblance of rhythm, enough to move away from the shore and join the loose formation of canoes spreading across the lake. Harrison and his daughter-in-law lead the pack, their canoe gliding effortlessly across the water as if they've been doing this their entire lives. Most of the others are making decent progress, with only a few spinning in circles like us.

"See? We're getting it!" Josie says as we make a wobbly path forward. "Though I think the shoreline is actually that way." She points to our right.

"I'm aware," I say, attempting to steer us in the correct direction. "If you'd paddle consistently on the left for more than two strokes?—"

"I am paddling consistently! Maybe you're the problem?"

"That seems statistically unlikely."

"Says the man who's never been in a canoe before either!"

Our bickering causes us to lose what little coordination we'd established. The canoe veers sharply to the left, then right, as we each try to correct our course. Ahead of us, the Harrison canoe makes a graceful turn, looping back to check on the stragglers.

"Perhaps if you focused less on arguing and more on paddling technique—" I begin, just as Josie twists around to face me.

"Perhaps if you'd stop micromanaging every?—"

Her movement destabilizes our already precarious balance. I feel the canoe tip dangerously to one side and instinctively lean in the opposite direction—which proves to be exactly the wrongmove. There's a moment of suspended awareness—Josie's eyes widening in realization, my own body tensing in preparation—and then we're both underwater.

The lake is, indeed, as cold as it looked. The shock of it steals my breath as I plunge beneath the surface, life vest immediately pulling me back up. I break the surface with a gasp, instantly searching for Josie. She emerges a few feet away, sputtering and pushing wet hair from her face.

"Holy sh-shark!" she yells, catching herself before cursing in front of Harrison. "That's COLD!"

Our canoe floats upside down beside us, paddles drifting away on small currents. From across the water, I hear laughter and concerned calls. Chad is already paddling toward us in a kayak, looking entirely too pleased for someone witnessing a potential hypothermia situation.

"Are you okay?" I ask Josie, treading water.

"Peachy," she chatters, swimming toward me with surprising competence. "Just taking a refreshing dip in the Arctic."

Chad reaches us with irritating cheer. "No worries, folks! Happens all the time. Let's get your canoe flipped and you back on your way!"

The process of righting our canoe and climbing back in—while in soaking wet clothes in the middle of a freezing lake—is an exercise in humiliation I hope never to repeat. Josie and I manage it with minimal grace and maximal water intake, finally settling back into our seats like drowned rats. The activities director retrieves our paddles and sends us on our way with a thumbs up that makes me contemplate the legal ramifications of drowning a witness.

"Well, that was fun," Josie says, wringing water from her ponytail.

"Your definition of fun needs serious recalibration."

"At least we broke the ice. Literally and figuratively."

"We should head back to shore," I say, ignoring her attempt at humor. "These wet clothes in mountain air?—"

"We can't go back now! Everyone's watching. We need to save face." She starts paddling with renewed determination. "Come on, one lap around the lake and then we can claim victory."

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