At the river’s edge he paused to listen and heard the distant churn of what had to be the rapids coming from around the bend. He followed the bank as the river narrowed, emerging from the trees at a place where the river squeezed from a span of fifty yards across to a mere fifteen feet. They called that section the rapids because as the river narrowed, the water pushed through at a higher rate, the rush over the rocks that lined the bank creating a churning din. It sounded like a set of rapids, but was really nothing more than a bottleneck.

Reed walked to the edge and took in the sweet smell of the water and the trees—of freedom. Pip stood back from the river as still as a rock.

“I’ll take the pack across first,” Reed said. “Test how deep it is—then I’ll come back for you.”

Again, the boy didn’t so much as twitch.

Reed stripped down to his underwear, the cold November air biting every inch of his exposed skin—and this would be the warmest part of the next few minutes. He lifted the pack over his head and stepped into the river.

The water was freezing, colder than he thought he could stand, its icy grip moving up his leg with every step: ankle, calf, thigh, and he hadn’t yet reached the middle. He struggled to maintain his footing on the slippery rocks as the current pushed at him. When the water hit his stomach, he could only breathe in short bursts. When it reached his chest, he stopped breathing altogether.

Would Pip ever understand what his father had endured so that they could be together? Would he appreciate Reed’s sacrifices? He lifted the backpack high above his head, and with his next step he felt his body lift out of the water a few inches. He had reached Canada.

When he was close enough, he heaved the backpack to shore, his mind reaching for when he was a deputy and took a water rescue course. How long could a man survive in water that cold before hypothermia stopped his heart? For some reason, he remembered it being around half an hour, although that seemed generously long.

He turned back to the Minnesota shore and found that Pip was gone.

Reed’s first thought was that the boy had fallen into the river, the sound of his cry swallowed by the churn of water. He looked downstream and saw nothing. Then a flash of movement caught his eye. The boy was running through the woods, heading back the way they had come.

Reed charged across the river, climbing out on the Minnesota side and running barefooted and mostly naked through the woods, chasing after his son. The cold air on his wet skin introduced him to a whole new torture.

Pip didn’t get far before Reed caught up. He spun Pip around and slapped him across the face, knocking the stocking cap off his head. Reed didn’t think that the slap fell sufficiently hard enough, so he swung again, catching Pip hard on the cheek and sending him to the ground.