Allen nodded toward the front row where Kowalsky sat. Brennon sat on one side of Kowalsky, talking to a man wearing the only suit and tie in the building. On the other side of Kowalsky was a woman I’d never seen before.

“They think it’s a done deal. Brennon has already flown the dam down here, as well as the men and materials to put it up. All that does is put more pressure on Luckadoo.”

“True,” I said, looking over to the corner where Sheriff Cantrell and Hubert McClure stood. “But somebody must have thought this wasn’t going to be smooth sailing, else the law wouldn’t be here.”

I felt a hand on my shoulder, a firm hand.

“Proud of what you’ve wrought, Maggie?” Luke asked.

“I can’t help it that girl is in the river,” I said, my voice more defensive than I’d have liked.

“No,” Luke said, “but you’ve given them cause to get her out.”

Luke turned away before I could reply.

People leaned against walls and sat in the aisles while others huddled at the door. My photograph had helped fill this room. I watched Luke walk toward the front where Carolyn had saved him a seat.

I’M STARTING TO THINK MAGGIE IS MORE THAN A DILETTANTE, Luke had said in this same room eight years earlier. That morning was the fourth Saturday in a row I’d shown up, and Luke’s words served as confirmation not only to me but to all the others that I was truly one of them.

It wasn’t just my desire to help save the river that had brought me back to the community center each Saturday. Luke Miller was a handsome man, a fact I wasn’t alone in noticing. I began to dress like the others, not just the T-shirt and cut-off jeans but the pigtails and face free of makeup. Before Daddy stopped letting me drive the truck I’d take my bra off somewhere between the house and the community center and stuff it in the dash.

The weekend before I went back to Clemson, Luke asked me if I wanted to go canoeing. He knew every current, every depth, every wood snag and rock. He knew where to enter each sluice. The river rats had told me Luke sometimes kayaked the river at night, and I’d assumed they meant clear nights with a waxing moon and plenty of stars. But as we made our way downstream that last Sunday in August I realized he wouldn’t need light. He could navigate the river blind.