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I squint, certain someone must have thrown it. The hillside is as patchy and barren as ever. A raven flaps its wings, charging out of the sage scrub. More rocks cascade down the hill.

“Likely a bird,” I say, not quite believing my own words. I hunt the hillside again. There are no other signs of life. “Your best bet is Potato Harbor.” I point up the white stone trail that leads to the cliffs. “It’s two and a half miles that way, but you can’t catch a bad view anywhere along the bluffs.”

“Miss Stella?” Two girls sitting cross-legged on the ground call to her. She thanks me, then jogs off toward them.

I hop into my UTV and am about to hit the gas when the man whose wife was missing at check-in runs toward me. I forgot to follow up about her. That’s not like me, but there’s a lot going on today.

“Do you know—has the boat come in yet?” he asks.

I check the time. “About two hours ago.”

I can tell from his perplexed expression that his wife—what was her name? Megan? Molly? Something with an M—hasn’t arrived at the campsite. “So, she should be here now.”

I don’t say anything, getting a sinking suspicion that I don’t want to be involved.

“Is there another boat for today?”

“That was the last incoming boat,” I say cautiously. “Let me radio the other ranger, see if she checked in.” His face glints with the hope I’m about to crush. Still, I want him to know that we did everything we could. “What’s her name?”

“Mona. Mona Watson.”

I pull out my radio and ask if anyone has seen a Mona Watson.

“What’s she look like?”

“She’s five six. About a hundred and twenty pounds. God, don’t let her know I told you her weight. Brown hair, probably in a ponytail. Is any of this helping?”

He’s described about a third of the mothers.

I repeat this description into the radio, reporting her as slim. The radio goes staticky as Phil, one of the volunteers, chimes in, saying he hasn’t seen her. Ranger Sam confirms that she never checked in with him either.

“She wasn’t on the ten thirty a.m. boat,” I tell her husband, feeling increasingly uneasy.

“Is there an emergency phone I could use? I’m really worried about her.” He smiles, and it would be charming if he didn’t seem so broken. “Would you believe if I said my son dropped my phone over the side of the boat?”

“Sorry to say that’s not the first time I’ve heard of that happening.”

We have a radio at staff housing, back to the mainland, but this isn’t the type of problem a radio to the ranger station will solve.

“Maybe one of the other parents can lend you a phone? The dock’s the best place for reception.”

“I’ll give it a try.” He forces another smile. “I’m sure she just needed a little more time at home. I bet we’ll see her tomorrow.”

He waves goodbye, and I don’t mention that the boats for tomorrow morning are likely to be canceled, that with the growing swell, she can’t get to the island until the morning they’re expected to depart. This makes me realize that I might be here another night too. The park-service boat is more likely to go than the commercial one—the last thing the service wants to do is pay us overtime—but if it’s as rough as they’re warning, no boats are headed out.

I jump at the sound of someone screaming and see one of the other parents using a trash bag to thwart a raven that has grabbed it and spilled the bag’s guts onto the ground before making off with a hamburger bun. As I watch several parents scramble to get the trash back into the bag, that prickle down my spine returns. I reach inside my jacket for my binoculars and lift them to my face, expecting to find a fox, its eyes locked on me, or a spotted towhee flying from the tree right when I turn. I shift my binoculars toward the white stone path that leads to Potato Harbor, where several hikers trudge up the trail in single file. I keep scanning the trail down to the brush below, and my breath catches. In the brush, about a hundred feet down from the trail, is a set of binoculars fixed on me. I can’t see anything more than the shape of the face behind those lenses. His features are lost in the shadow of his camouflage hat. He’s definitely watching me, and I’m certain he threw a rock at me before. I can’t tell if he was trying to hurt or scare me. Either way, he’s gotten my attention.