The Cursed Canoe

Chapter Two

One thing that hasn't changed about Yoshi is his need to be the Expert. His favorite pastime is explaining things to people.

"Paddletics!" Pat exclaimed before Yoshi could expound further. "Molly, isn't that one of those words you hate? What do the Word Police have to say?"

Pat knows I hate sloppy neologisms: Homophobe. Anything-gate. The worst of the bunch is the suffix –holic, which got snapped off the end of 'alcoholic' and now is attached to any word you can think of to indicate addiction or even mere affinity. Normally I enjoy arguing etymology with Pat, but right now, I wasn't in the mood.

"I've heard worse. Paddletics could mean affairs of the paddle, in the same way that politics means affairs of the city."

A fire truck pulled up, lights flashing. Pat shook his head and went over to talk to the driver.

"Okay, Molly. We're gonna head home. I hafta change. Sorry about making you miss the Pair-O-Dice."

"It's okay, Emma. I wasn't even thinking about happy hour. You should get going. You must be freezing." Emma's wet rash guard and board shorts clung to her sturdy frame. I shivered in sympathy.

"Nah, not really. It's not that cold. Oh, I dunno if I can have lunch tomorrow. I gotta follow up with Kathy. I'm gonna visit her tomorrow at the hospital if she's still there."

Emma and Yoshi started back to the parking lot. I called after them,

"Give me a call tomorrow. I'll go with you to visit Kathy."

Emma paused and turned back.

"Seriously?"

"Yes. Of course, I know her too. I mean, I work with her."

"Sure. Okay." Emma sounded unconvinced.

An hour ago the ocean sparkled cobalt blue. Now whitecaps foamed on the black water, illuminated by a cloudy sliver of moon. I was lightheaded with hunger, and I doubted I would ever feel warm again. Pat came back as the fire truck pulled away.

"What's going on?" I asked.

Pat shook his head.

"Who knows? I told them the ambulance came and went already. They tried to argue with me."

"Maybe you shouldn't have been so sassy on the phone."

"I told them to go take it up with their dispatcher. Molly. Molly!" Pat gripped my shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. No, I'm not. I will be, though."

My two-tone turquoise Thunderbird looked unfamiliar, black and white under the sodium light. Pat gently removed my keys from my hand, opened the car door, and deposited me on the driver's side. I pulled the heavy door shut, cranked the window open, rested my hands on the wheel, and started doing the breathing exercises from the video that came with my yoga ball. I didn't want to be sick all over my new-old-stock upholstery. Pat braced his hands on the door and bent down to eye level.

"I told you, you have to see someone about this."

"This breathing is supposed to fill me with peace and calm," I said.

"It doesn't seem to be working."

I leaned forward and rested on the hard steering wheel, focusing on the sensation of the cool Bakelite pressing on my forehead.

"No. It's not working."

"Do you want me to drive you home? You can probably leave your car here overnight. Who would be stupid enough to steal a 1959 Thunderbird?"

"I'll be okay." I hoped I really would be. "It's a little unnerving, the way Kathy collapsed at the exact moment we were talking about her."

I expected Pat to say something to reassure me. Emma's crew simply got overzealous with their diet, he could have said; Kathy probably overexerted herself.

Instead, he squinted out at the black water.

"Something about this doesn't feel right to me. I don't think this is going to turn out well for Kathy."

He pulled his attention back to me. "I hope I'm wrong. Molly, you go home and get a good night's sleep."

"Pat, why did you say that? Why do you think this isn't going to turn out well for Kathy? What doesn't feel right?"

I wondered if years of reporting on murder and mayhem had made Pat paranoid. He used to be a reporter for the County Courier, before the layoffs. Now he teaches freshman composition part-time at our university and runs his own news blog, Island Confidential.

"Go see a doctor about this." Pat wasn't going to answer any of my questions. "Before you keel over. I'm serious."

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