“What is it?”

“I forgot to tell him to pick up the picnic basket,” she said.

“That’s no problem,” Nina said. “I promise I’ll get my brother to rescue it for you tomorrow.”

“You don’t understand!” she cried. “I took off my rings and put them in it. My mother’s wedding ring is in there. I can’t leave it. Someone might get there first!”

What the heck. She would rather be near Paul anyway. Paul had Winston, so they had nothing to worry about on that front. The island wasn’t far off their route.

“Calm down,” said Nina. “Let’s go get it.” She turned the Andreadore north and aimed for the narrow sliver of green lake in the distance that heralded the opening to Emerald Bay.

36

Rising about a hundred and fifty feet above the lake’s surface, Fannette Island sat in the middle of Emerald Bay like the important central jewel in an exquisite pendant. On the first visible piece of it, on the northeastern end, heaps of granite boulders were topped by the stone teahouse. The descending clouds had leached the color out of the pines. The landscape, always rugged but usually softened by sparkling waters and sunlight, held a different beauty in the blues and grays of late afternoon, brooding in its solitude out there in the middle of the swirling waters.

Nina had decided to relax into the event, let things take their course. They had nothing to fear except perhaps Matt’s unreliable boat, which had behaved admirably so far, and the unpredictable weather, which threatened, but did not deliver, rain. The island must be magnetic, she thought, because even out here, in this disquieting atmosphere, she could feel its tug. She wanted very much to hop right out of the boat and climb to the top of the little hill, to sit in the teahouse and take in the view from the top. However, the cold lake below, deep with melted snow, frightened her a little. She would come back on a sunny day later in the season when the lake had heated up, with Matt and Andrea and the kids. Bob would love finding the way up the ridge to the teahouse.

“We have to go around to the other side,” Genevieve said. “To the cove. Here, why don’t you let me steer? I know the way better.”

“No, thanks,” Nina said. She felt responsible for Matt’s boat, and she knew pulling in close to the rocks in the cove in this kind of wind might be nasty.

Rocking and rolling against the stiff waves of an unruly lake, the Andreadore was taking a beating. Genevieve would not shut up, and kept up a nonstop stream of chatter that had the effect of making Nina very nervous.

Within a minute, they caught sight of the tiny cove that offered the only safe harbor for a boat.

“We can’t get in, Genevieve,” Nina said. “See that?” She pointed to the twisted tree that marked the island’s most southern point. “I’m sure there are rocks jutting under the water there. The wind’s up too much. It’s just gotten too choppy.”

“Just get in a little closer, Nina,” Genevieve said, practically hopping with impatience. “I’ll jump in and swim. I did it once already, you know.”

Nina stared at her. “But the weather is really getting bad now, Genevieve. No, it’s not worth risking Matt’s boat.” She scanned the bay. “Where the hell is Paul?”

Gusts of strong wind battered the little boat, and they rocked like kids on a wooden horse, holding on wherever they could.

Mist had settled over the island and over the two women, and the constant drone of the motor had by now numbed Nina to the point where she could barely hear Genevieve, even when she shouted.

“If you’re so nervous, let me take the boat in closer, Nina,” Genevieve said. As Nina’s nerves went, so their voices had risen. Genevieve grabbed the wheel, nudging Nina out of the way with a heavy swing of her hip. “I grew up with boats.”

Nina, taken off guard by Genevieve’s vehemence but unable to decide how to bring order to this unbalanced state of affairs, stepped away from the wheel. “You’re going to sink us,” Nina said, watching as the boat moved wildly in, heading for rocks. “Watch out to the left! Ahhh…!”

No more than ten feet away from the edge of the island, near where the yellow kayak had been pulled over the rocks and onto the sand, Genevieve slowed the engine to its lowest speed and turned to face Nina.

“You calm down,” she said. She had to shout to be heard above a sudden gust of wind that now howled around them. “Everything’s going just fine.”

Nina lunged for the wheel. Any control she had had long since jumped ship. “I’m getting us out of here.”

Genevieve kept her hand clamped down. “No, you’re not. Don’t be such a chicken. Let’s stick to the plan. I’m going in.” She steered with one hand. “I’m going to freeze unless I’ve got something dry,” she said, and while Nina watched, she bundled a sweater with a towel and tossed them onto the sandy beach just beyond the edge of the cove. Her hair blew back from her face. She was wearing a T-shirt and shorts, and absolutely nothing else.

“There’s one other thing,” Genevieve said.

But Nina had a question first. “Genevieve?” she said, and for just a moment, the wind let up and she achieved a kind of passionate clarity of concentration. “Genevieve, where’s your hearing aid?”

The rope had not been in the hatch under Winston at all. After conducting an intensive search, Paul located it bundled amid the life jackets, under the plastic cushions on the seats at the front of the boat.

Feeling only a little foolish, he tied Winston’s slack hands in front of him. Then he tied his feet to one of the seats, tight enough so that he was satisfied Winston would go nowhere without his help. The big guy wasn’t playing possum. He was unconscious.

Fleetingly reminded of his days as a cop, where taking prisoners was an ordinary event, and everyone was dangerous until proven otherwise, Paul reached for the starter. Where was the key? It didn’t take him long to remember how quick he had been to rush Genevieve off the boat. She must have had the key in her hand, or in a pocket.

He would call for help, he thought, then moved on to the picture of his and Nina’s cell phones tucked neatly away in the glove compartment of his car.

Cursing, he looked for a manual. Of course, rental boats had radios. But that would have been too easy. The radio sputtered, offered a short pessimistic weather report, and before Paul could figure out exactly how to dial out, died with a whimper.

Well, if you could jump a car, he thought, a boat ought to be a snap. He hadn’t entirely wasted his years as a cop in San Francisco. He set about managing it.

Within five minutes, they were on their way and just in time, too. The sky had darkened slightly. They should have gotten off the lake right away, he groused silently, wanting to kick the dormant and unconcerned-looking man at his feet, but too civilized to do it.

He took it slowly, having expended all his vitality on the hurried trip out. The jolt he had felt on seeing Nina outside the restaurant had disturbed him, and it was taking him some time to recover. He had said good-bye, and there she was again to tantalize him and make him deal with his regrets.

But it didn’t change anything except the cleanness of his departure. He would leave Monday, as planned. Seeing her once more was enough to convince him, if he had in fact harbored any doubts in the matter. He was putty in her hands, and the least threat to her cut through him like acid. They were too connected, and going nowhere fast.

He gunned the motor slightly. He liked speed, but Winston would get batted around. Paul would get batted around, too, so he kept his speed modest. With just a minute to tie the kayak to the boat, they’d be back on land before dark without undue haste.

They had a good ten minutes at a steady clip before they would reach the entrance to the bay. Within moments of their starting out, one of the ferries that plied these waters passed by, passengers waving merrily. Paul waved back. Left alone again, he tried singing, but in the windy dusk even the snappiest tune hung too long in the air, lingering like a dirge. He switched to whistling through his teeth.