The canoe wobbled into the current. Amy paddled ineffectively, digging too deep. She was sitting, not kneeling, which made her center of gravity too high. The canoe turned sideways, scraping close to a gnarled log jutting out of the water.

“Be careful!” Trey shouted.

“Go back!”

She grabbed for an overhanging branch. The abrupt shift in weight tipped the canoe. It flipped, dumping her into the freezing water.

Amy shrieked. Trey swore.

“Amy!” I cried. She thrashed. Splashed. The cold water sank into her clothes, darkening them. Amy sank, too. “Grab the canoe!”

She reached for the hull. The upturned boat spun, bumping her. Her head went under. Resurfaced. Trey was rowing, pulling powerfully toward Amy, who was gasping and struggling in the water.

I fumbled with the buckles on my life jacket. “Don’t hit her.”

“Take an oar. Quick, quick!”

I scrambled to hold the boat steady with one oar while he stretched over the side, trying to reach Amy with the other. Her hands kept sliding off the paddle. She was clumsy with cold. Her lips were blue, her eyes wild.

I sobbed. Pulling off my life jacket, I threw it at her. She struggled to raise her arm.

Trey jumped into the water beside her. She gripped him like a monkey as he hauled her to the rowboat. I grabbed her under the arms. Together, we pushed and lifted her over the side; she was sputtering, freezing, crying.

My heart constricted with fear and shame. It was all the fault of my shitty temper. My fault my sister almost died.

I should have gone back.

My chest burned. My breath made little clouds in the air as I ran along the High Line. Ha ha ha. Hee hee hee.

I pushed harder, my heart pounding, my soles pounding the path. Two miles and turn. A combination of cold and sweat stung my face like tears. Three miles. Four. My emotions tangled, my brain on some stupid treadmill, covering the same ground over and over again, spinning and spinning and going nowhere.

I huffed. Jesus, I was pathetic. I pulled out my phone. No text from Meg yet today. That was good, right? At least, it wasn’t bad. I started taking pictures at random, finding spots of color in the winter-brown landscape. A spray of red berries against the wall. A clump of seed heads—coneflowers—that reminded me of home. Nothing I could use. I wasn’t writing a nature blog.

A big man in a green knit cap and navy Windbreaker was practicing tai chi in the wide space created from an old train platform. Not a class. Just this one guy, moving with fluid strength against a backdrop of sky and water. I stopped to catch my breath, watching him.

He looked so . . . centered. Calm. His powerful body flowed from one pose to the next, relaxed and graceful. Grounded. On impulse, I lifted my phone to capture his picture. He turned, revealing his face.