A Simple Thing by Kathleen McCleary

“But it’s okay. I’ll go get them.” He went outside and she heard a long, piercing whistle cut through the night, and an answering whistle from the bay. “Come in!” Jim shouted. Another whistle answered him.
    Jim came back into the house. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said. “You’re going to have trust that we know what we’re doing here. My boys are smart kids. They’re pretty responsible, too.”
    â€œI was in a boating accident when I was thirteen,” Susannah said. “On Lake Michigan. With my father and brother and sister. My sister drowned. I’ve been afraid of boats ever since. One of the reasons I came here was to try to get over it, finally. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
    Betty looked at her. “I’m sorry,” she said. She looked at her a long time, her eyes studying Susannah’s face as though she’d never seen her before. “How old was she?”
    â€œThree,” Susannah said. “Janie. She was three.”
    Betty shook her head. “That’s heartbreaking.”
    â€œIt’s even harder if you don’t deal with it,” Barefoot said. He let go of her wrist. “Good God, you’re afraid of boats so you decided to move to an island ?”
    â€œI’m facing my fears,” Susannah said, with more courage than she felt.
    Barefoot slammed his hand on the wooden counter, palm down. “That’s settled then. I have to go to Friday Harbor tomorrow and I understand you need groceries. We’ll go in my boat. You can start getting over it tomorrow.”
    Susannah looked at Barefoot. He looked like a crazy person, with his wiry eyebrows and piercing blue eyes and the bandanna tied around the top of his head. But she was so tired . Constant vigilance was hard, exhausting work.
    â€œOkay,” she said. “I’d be happy to come with you tomorrow. Thanks.”
    The kids appeared in the doorway, breathless from running, cheeks flushed.
    â€œWhat’s up?” Hood said. “Why did you need us to come back?”
    â€œSusannah wants to get to know the island a little better before she lets the kids take kayaks out at night,” Jim said. “And it’s getting late. School tomorrow.”
    Susannah picked up her parka from the hook by the back door. “Thank you so much for dinner,” she said. “For everything. You’ve made us feel so welcome here. Here, let me help with the dishes.” She started toward the table, to clear the mugs and glasses, but was shooed away by Betty.
    â€œIt’s your first night here,” Betty said. “Go home and get organized.”
    Hood and Baker walked them home across the bumpy meadow to the white cottage. The windows of her little house gave off a warm glow, a cozy cocoon tucked inside the vast dark of the night.
    â€œWe moved Quinn’s mattress into the utility room,” Baker said to Susannah, as they entered the cottage. “I slept there a lot when we lived here because Hood snores like you wouldn’t believe.” He shot a merry look at his brother and began to snort loudly. Hood leaned over and cuffed him across the back of the head.
    â€œWe’ll come by at eight to get you for school,” Hood said. Then the door closed behind the twins, and, for the first time since they’d set foot on Sounder, Susannah and her kids were alone.
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    â€œI can’t believe you,” Katie said, turning to face her mother. “That was so embarrassing.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou made us come in from kayaking because you freaked out,” Katie said. “You drag us here, we finally are doing one fun thing, and you act like we’re some kind of babies. It’s just like at home.” She began to cry, tears of rage and frustration.
    â€œYou guys are not great swimmers,” Susannah said. “I have no idea how sturdy the kayaks are.