“Can you handle a kayak?”

Once upon a time I could. I nodded and glided out into the water, paddling furiously to keep up as Shortman swept by with barely a splash. We left the boys behind in a two-seater, trying to paddle in opposite directions.

“You may not see much,” he cautioned in a wisper. “A pair of nostrils, if you’re lucky—” He raised a hand.

There ahead, a ripple. A trail of bubbles. Then it was gone.

Shortman paddled into the mangroves, running his kayak up against the woven roots.

“Do the manatees go in here?” I asked increduously.

He nodded. “Look,” he said. But I saw nothing except another ripple that might have been a fish.

Then a definite splash, followed by shouting. The boys had ended up in the water. K blew his nose and grinned. “First time in a kayak,” he said. “Looks easier than done.”

Shortman ordered them back to dry land, but not before they capsized again.

Silence. And then there it was: a pale grey back arching above the soupy green water. Gone in an instant, like a mirage.