Instead I end up on the ground, bleeding from the head.
Sam (she didn’t actually see or hear what happened— the diesel engine blocked out the sound of Claire’s “hraa” and my “ahh” when the bottle hit my head — she just saw Claire storming off) says, “Claire, come back. I have a towel in the canoe.”
“I’m going to dry my clothes off up at that lighthouse. We’re leaving when I come back down. Maybe you should give the towel to your new idiot-cousin.”
Then Sam sees me, bleeding on the rocks, laughing at myself.
While she’s cleaning me up with a first aid kit she had in the canoe, I say, “Did the Scotch bottle break?”
“Did it all spill out?”
“A lot did, but no.”
“Can I have some?”
“Sure, but I need to do something first, gotta protect you from any Lake Ontario pollution.”
Before I can ask what she means, she pours Scotch over my head wound.