Free Shelf Ice by Aaron Stander Page A

to an article in the New Yorker, his lunch beginning to cool. The sound of a slamming car door was followed by a vigorous knock at his front entrance. Ray waited, accustomed to his friends just pushing the door open and walking in. With the second round of knocking, Ray went to the door.
    Hannah Jeffers confronted him; he could see a yellow and white kayak strapped to the top of a Subaru wagon on the drive.
    “You busy this afternoon?” Jeffers asked, sliding past him into the great room. “Looks like you’re having lunch.”
    “Just about. Do you want a cheese sandwich?” Ray asked pointing to the one on his plate.
    “That’s way too big. How about half?”
    “You got a deal. It was more than I should eat,” he said, getting a second plate. “Want an apple? I’ve got some Honey Crisps.”
    Hannah nodded to the affirmative. “I just came by to ask you if you would go kayaking with me on Lake Michigan. I wasn’t expecting to get fed.”
    “How did you find me?” Ray asked, sitting at the table again.
    “Real hard, Google, then Google Maps. You’re on my way to the big lake.”
    “So according to you medical types I shouldn’t drive, but you think that I’m competent tokayak?”
    “Can’t drive? I don’t understand,” said Jeffers.
    Ray explained.
    “That’s your internist, Feldman. I never said anything about a possible stroke. Saul is a lovely man, but he’s overly cautious. Is there the possibility that you had a stroke-like episode? Yes, but a stroke, extremely remote. He was probably trying to find a way to get you to slow down. And from his point of view, that’s good medicine.”
    “So I’m clear to paddle?” asked Ray, knowing that he was still sore, but that he would happily endure some pain to get on the big lake on a sunny winter afternoon. This would also give him the opportunity to search many miles of shelf ice on the off chance of stumbling onto Tristan Laird.
    “Trust me. I’m a doctor. If anything does happen to you, well, I’ll do what I can. And if that fails, I’ll give you absolution.”
    “Are you a….”
    “No, but when I started college, I was a drama major. I’ll give a convincing performance.”
    “You’ve got your drysuit?” asked Ray.
    “Everything is in the car. Just point me in the direction of some place I can change.”
    “There’s a bathroom and a guest room through there. Take your choice,” said Ray. “I need to check the weather on NOAA and local radar. Then I’ll get changed.”
    “Go ahead, I’ll clear up the dishes and get my things,” she said.
     
    • • •
     
    Thirty minutes later, dressed in drysuits and mukluks, they were off-loading the kayaks—long, slender boats designed for use in big waves and rough water—and carrying them to the snow-covered bank of a small stream. Then they donned thick neoprene spray skirts, stepping into tunnels and doing a little dance as they struggled to pull the skirts to their waists. Next they added bright yellow life vests, the pockets on each stuffed with gear.
    “Looks like we’ll have the lake to ourselves. No other kayakers.”
    “Not many people venture out in these conditions,” said Ray.
    “What are you going to do about a hat?” Jeffers asked.
    “When the water is this temperature, I always wear this neoprene hood. You never know when you’re going to get capsized,” said Ray. He pulled his on, centering the opening, exposing little more than his eyes, nose, and mouth.
    “You’ve persuaded me to do the same, I’ll just have to live with helmet-head hair,” she said. She pulled off a black stocking cap and retrieved a heavy neoprene hood from her gear bag. “Are you going to wear a tow rope or put it on your deck?” she asked.
    “Better to wear it,” answered Ray as he turned on and checked his VHF radio, returning it to the top, left-hand pocket of his life vest. Once they had all their gear attached to the decks of their boats—extra paddles, hydration packs, cell