“Oh,” I said. “Of course. And let me know how much the fees are. I brought my wallet.” I hadn’t considered the administrative aspects of my last-minute excursion.

“I’m not going to charge you,” Thorin said, “unless something happens to my equipment.”

“That’s very generous. Thank you.”

Thorin waved, dismissing my thanks. “I’ll have the forms at the counter for you to sign. Have a good time, but please be careful. This trip is for experienced kayakers. It would be bad press for my business if something happened to you.” He didn’t wait for a reply before he strode away.

“Is he always so warm and cuddly?” I asked, reaching for my bag of dry clothes.

“I’m warm and cuddly,” Val said. He draped a towel over my shoulders. “But you are cold and smell like a fish. The wetsuit is a nice fashion statement, don’t get me wrong, but I think you’d rather avoid pneumonia.”

I wriggled away from him and squelched to the employee restroom to change clothes. Then, warm and dry in a fleece pullover and leggings, I went to the front desk, where Thorin waited for me to sign the release of liability forms. “Are you sure about this, Miss Mundy?”

“Sure that I want to go on this trip? Yes, of course.”

“You’re making yourself vulnerable.”

“To what? I thought you wanted me out of town, minding my Ps and Qs. You should be happy.”

Thorin’s hand darted forward, and his fingers sank into my upper arm. “This isn’t a joke.”

I tried to tug away, but he had an iron grip. I gritted my teeth. “You’re hurting me.” Thorin let go so suddenly that I stumbled. I rubbed my arm and glared at him. “What’s your problem?”

Thorin stared at me, his eyes haunted, but then he shook himself and backed away. “Sign the papers and give them to Val.” Thorin turned on his heel and exited through the stockroom doors.

“What was that about?” I muttered and scribbled my name over the places marked with a highlighter.

Skyla and Val appeared as I finished, and he took the papers from me to put in a notebook.

“Mundy,” Skyla said. “We need to make sure you have all the equipment you’re going to need for this trip. And make sure you get to bed early tonight. We’re meeting again at first light.”

“Again?” I said.

“You can still go with me,” Val said. “You’ll be dry and warm, and you can sleep late. We’re not leaving until lunchtime.”

“Nice try, Wotan,” Skyla said. She lugged me away to go look at waterproof bags and other necessities. “Don’t look bummed,” she said. “It’ll be fun.”

“I’m excited,” I said. “I’m just too tired to show it.”

Late in the evening, Val called in an order for Chinese takeout, and we picnicked on the living room floor. Siqiniq didn’t have much in the way of office supply stores, but the tourist traffic meant hungry folks looking for convenient places to eat. Downtown Siqiniq kept several restaurants going year round, including the Oriental Garden. “Are you going to miss me?” Val asked. He poked chopsticks into his box of lo mein and pulled out a wad of noodles.

“I’m only going for three days,” I said and sniffed. The hot chilies in my kung pao aggravated my sinuses.

“But I’ll be gone for a week,” he said. “You can stay here when you get back.”

“With Hugh and Joe? No thanks. I don’t know how much longer I can justify staying here anyway. Mom and Dad are restless for me to come back to the bakery. And it turns out I’m kind of a sucky detective. The only thing I’ve been able to uncover is more trouble for myself.” I didn’t mention the Adam Skoll and Harold Hati hypothesis. “I don’t know how that’s going to do anything for Mani’s case.”

I’d never voiced my doubts out loud before, not like this, and I regretted sharing them with Val. He probably already suspected I was inept, but he didn’t need it confirmed by the source.

Val swirled his noodles around then stabbed his chopsticks in the box and left them there. “Do you want to go home?”

I looked at him. “Well, yeah, eventually.”

“It might be safer for you.”

I shrugged. “I guess.”

“Do you like being a baker?”

I set down my kung pao and turned away from Val. I set my sights on a mountain in the distance, framed by his living room window. “It’s all I know. I’ve always done it, and I’m good at it.”

“But do you like it?”

I chewed on my lip while considering my response. Val’s question was one I rarely posed to myself; I was too afraid of the possible answers. Without the bakery, without Mani, I was a dandelion seed in the wind, subject to the currents of fate. That was another aspect of my life I needed to confront and do something about. But I could only handle one overwhelming problem at a time. “I can honestly say I don’t know what else I would do.”

“You don’t have a secret dream you don’t tell anyone about? Astronaut, rock star, brain surgeon?”

I laughed. “Nothing like that, no. I like making things. I draw and paint sometimes, used to do photography in high school, but I’m too practical. I like having a regular income. I never wanted to be a starving artist.” I sipped my Diet Coke. “What about you? You’re happy leading tourists through the Alaskan outback?”

“Yes, actually.” Val leaned back and stretched his arm across the sofa cushions at his back. “It’s ideal. Dense populations and urban settings make me antsy. I don’t like crowds all that much.”

“Ha,” I said. “Anyone with your charm and charisma is a born people person.”

Val shook his head. “I like individuals. Humanity as a whole, particularly in large amounts and in confined areas, overwhelms me.”

“Overwhelms you?” I appraised Val’s broad shoulders, his big hands, the strong jaw. “You don’t strike me as easily intimidated.”

“I like open spaces and small groups of people. I like one person at a time best of all.” His eyes settled on me. “Like you. I like having you all to myself.”

I quirked my lips into a sarcastic grin. “Who says you have me?”

Val’s eyes swept the room. “Who else? It’s just you and me, babe.”

“It’s actually just you.” I yawned and stretched. “I’m going to bed.”

Chapter Thirteen

Our kayak group followed the coastline throughout the morning, stopping once for a quick lunch on the rocky shore of a mountainous island too small and too steep for habitation. I kept up with the more experienced paddlers, perhaps because the years of kneading bread and toting heavy kitchen pans had developed my upper body strength. But my biceps and shoulders would probably still complain about the workout in the morning.

Skyla pointed out wildlife—puffins, otters, bald eagles, sea lions. She also said something about looking for whales. On a large tour boat? Sure. In a kayak made of a few thin inches of fiberglass? Not so much.

In my tiny boat I bobbed on the surface of a vast and ancient ocean, as miniscule and inconsequential as a water bug in a pond. Out here, a tiny fleck on the face of the deep, it seemed as though none of what had happened in the last few months mattered. Oh, it mattered to me, plenty, but Mani’s death had no effect on the world as a whole. Regardless of my heartbreak, the tides still tugged on the oceans. Earth continued to rotate. The world would not stop and mourn for anyone or anything. It was jarring and unsettling.

I had lived most of my life in a small world of friends and family, and everyone spoke my language of grief and heartache. Being out here took all that away. I felt as though I had gone to sleep in my familiar bed but had woken up to find I had been transported to a strange and distant country during the night. No one knew me, and no one spoke my language.

This perspective strengthened my resolve to find out what happened to my brother. His redemption depended on me. Mani had mattered, and the world needed to know it. These realizations also showed me I had a chance to do something with my life that really mattered. I could use this time away from home as an opportunity to break old bonds and stretch in new directions. Reach out beyond the shadows of old expectations and grow into something new—a Solina who was more independent and self-reliant.