Pete and I snuck out thirty minutes after lights out. Again, he bounded across the dark field like a rabbit, while I followed carrying the soft-sided suitcase that Aunt Ellen gave me. This night was better than before. The moon sat up higher above the tree line, and I was more familiar with the route to the canoe launch. I dropped my bag at the river and turned back. Pete snapped his fingers at me.

“Hey, what’s this?”

“It’s my suitcase.”

And before he could ask another question, I was off to get my sister. I had only been to the Hootah cabin once since we arrived, so finding it in the dark was sure to be difficult. Except across the way, a small shadow sat on the porch of a cabin. It was Kaylee, sitting on her suitcase, looking up at the stars.

“Psst,” I whispered for her attention. She looked and stood up.

“Kevin?”

“Shhhh,” I whispered loudly and motioned for her to come. She picked up her bag and walked calmly to me.

“We see dad tonight?”

“Yep,” I said, “but we got to go now.”

“Okay.”

I took her bag and grabbed her hand. We hurried back to the canoe launch but stopped about fifty yards away. A tall masculine figure hawked over Pete. I could see his bony little legs shaking as the person chastised him. The man put his arm around Pete and walked him back to the camp. As they passed a corner flood light on the far end, the person was unmistakable. Jimmy Sunglasses but without his shades, and he wasn’t happy.

“What’s going on?” Kaylee asked.

“Shhh,” I whispered. “We’re going, but we have to be quiet.”

“Okay,” she whispered in return.

I grabbed the handle of her suitcase and the knot of her wrist and rushed her to the canoe. My suitcase was still in the shadows, so I tossed both of them into the vessel and pushed it to the water’s edge.

“Get in.”

“I don’t want to,” Kaylee whined.

“You want to see dad?”

“Yeah.”

“Then get in.”

She did, but the faint droning cry indicated her uneasiness about doing so. She stepped to the middle of the boat, I gave two strong shoves using my shoulder for leverage and we were off. And only a few steps in the water, so my shoes didn’t get soaked. I held the oar to the water like a rudder and let out a deep breath of relief. The frogs croaked, the crickets squeaked and the wind rustled about the leaves. And I felt safe for the first time in weeks, coasting on that river. So long as I didn’t hear banjo music.