Part 2 (1/2)

”Tight little b.u.g.g.e.rs, aren't they?” he said cheerfully.

No doubt wanting to imply that he had more experience than she! Down in the bilge, a puddle of cold water collected at her feet, and she wished she'd thought to get out her neoprene socks. But she wasn't going to go through the rigmarole of unclasping the carabiner and opening up her bag again.

So much work, just getting settled in a boat! How she hated being a novice!

Up front, the old couple had settled themselves efficiently, as though they'd done this a thousand times before. Meanwhile, Dixie waded knee-deep into the icy water and began coiling up the thick nylon bow line, which she then jammed into its own loop, giving it a fierce tug.

”All set?” she asked, and after getting nods all around, she gave the boat a push and hopped up and nimbly pranced across the piles of lashed-down gear to finally land with a little smack on her seat, where she wiggled herself into a good position and grabbed the oars and pivoted them out into the water. Deftly she gave two strong heaves with her right arm; the boat swung around, and to Evelyn's surprise, what she thought was the back quickly became the front as they caught the current and headed downstream.

”Good-bye, civilization!” Dixie exclaimed.

Evelyn gripped the straps. The sun bore down; the water lapped gently at the side of the boat. The river was a rich emerald green here, not blue as it had looked from the bridge, and it sparkled sharply in the sun, glinting where the current moved swiftly. Here and there, the water melted up into round blotches that simmered on the surface. Evelyn glanced back toward Lee's Ferry, where the motor rigs were still on the beach, and she thanked her lucky stars she wasn't on a motorized trip, for it seemed a clumsy and thoroughly illegitimate way to experience the river. Upstream, fishermen waded toward Wyoming, casting their lines.

With each stroke, the oarlocks creaked. Dixie sat facing forward and pushed on the oars, rocking at the hip. Choppy little waves splashed against the side of the boat as they headed into rougher water.

”Is this a rapid?” Peter asked as they jostled along.

Dixie leaned into the left oar to keep the boat straight. ”Just a riffle. Why? You worried?”

”Of course I'm worried,” said Peter. ”I can't swim. Just how cold is this water, anyway?”

”Forty-six degrees,” Dixie said. ”Straight from the bottom of Lake Powell, courtesy of the Glen Canyon Dam.”

”You really can't swim?” Evelyn inquired.

”Sink like a rock,” Peter declared.

”Didn't you take swimming lessons as a boy?”

”I flunked.”

Evelyn couldn't believe they let people come on this trip if they couldn't swim. And why was he here if he had such dread of the water?

”Trout!” hollered Lloyd from the back.

Evelyn searched the green water but saw no fish.

Dixie asked where everyone was from.

”Cincinnati,” said Peter.

”What do you do in Cincinnati?”

”Water my mother's peonies a lot,” said Peter.

Dixie laughed. ”How about you, Evelyn?”

Evelyn allowed that she was from Cambridge.

”And what do you do in Cambridge?”

”I teach biology.”

”Don't tell me you teach at Harvard,” Peter warned.

Evelyn allowed that yes, she taught at Harvard, which instantly put a stop to the conversation. This happened frequently; after fifteen years, she'd never figured out how much to say when people asked where she worked. If she volunteered that she taught at Harvard, she seemed to be bragging. If she held back, inevitably someone would coax it out of her, and then her attempt at discretion seemed snooty.

”I'm glad you don't talk with a Boston accent,” Peter said. But before he could start in on pahking the cah- pahking the cah-everyone felt the need to quote the stale little rhyme-there was a rubbery squeak from the back of the boat, followed by a thud and a cry of distress. Evelyn whipped around to see one of the old man's pale, hairless legs poking skyward, with no sign of the rest of him.

”Lloyd!” his wife cried. In a flash Dixie s.h.i.+pped her oars and hopped back over the gear to help the man up, letting the boat simply float along.

”Are you all right?” Dixie asked.

”Well gee!” Lloyd exclaimed. ”I don't know what happened!”

”You have to hold on,” Ruth scolded, brus.h.i.+ng at Lloyd's sleeve.

”I was!”

”Tighter, then,” said Ruth.

Dixie scooted back to her seat and took up her oars again.

”Doggone hot,” Lloyd said.

Soon they turned a corner, and Navajo Bridge came into view. Five hundred feet above them, its dark lacy arch spanned the canyon walls. Tiny figures dotted the railing. It was hard to believe that just over an hour ago, Evelyn herself had been standing on that bridge, looking down. Yet here she was now, on the river itself, already initiated into the world of river runners. Evelyn gave a small, insignificant wave to those above. She felt herself dividing the world into us us and and them them, those on the river and those not, sojourners versus the rest of the world. And it seemed somehow fitting to her, although she couldn't explain why, that this dividing point should be the resting place for Julian's golden heart.

Involuntarily she glanced down into the green water, half-expecting to see a flash of gold, knowing, even as she looked, what a silly, impossible thing that would be.

6.

Day One.

Miles 46.

Never in her life had Jill Compson felt the sun burn so intensely. Not in Salt Lake City. Not in Phoenix. Not in Key West, where she'd grown up. It scorched her shoulders and made her skin feel painfully stretched. She splashed water on her arms, but the relief was fleeting, the water so cold that it too burned, and she regretted not wearing one of the long-sleeved s.h.i.+rts that she'd so adamantly insisted the boys wear, back at Lee's Ferry. Sunscreen alone couldn't possibly protect her skin, she thought.

Jill and her family were all riding in the paddle boat today, along with Mitch.e.l.l and Lena from Wyoming. Jill hoped the boys were making a better impression today than they had the night before, at the orientation meeting. Over and over, she'd had to drag them away from the refreshment table and force them to introduce themselves to the other travelers. What kind of boys didn't know how to make eye contact and greet someone by name? Her boys, that's who.

Although why was she surprised? They hadn't wanted to come in the first place. In fact, when they found out last spring that she'd planned this vacation, they'd made a big scene, claiming they couldn't miss basketball camp. And she barely got any backup from Mark. ”Shouldn't you have checked with me before you paid the deposit?” he'd asked, right in front of the boys, giving them even more leverage. Eventually they negotiated a compromise, which included one week of private coaching, plus new video games for the eight-hour drive from Salt Lake City to Flagstaff-a drive that sorely tested everyone's patience, so that by orientation time, Jill just wanted to retreat to a spa for the next two weeks. They had adjoining rooms, and well into the wee hours she could hear the boys jumping on the beds. Four times she had to knock on the wall and tell them to turn the television off. Twice she tried with Mark to have an o.r.g.a.s.m. Twice she failed. When she got up in the middle of the night, she looked in the bathroom mirror and wondered how, in the span of thirteen short years, she'd come to look exactly like her own mother: pinch-lipped and stern, and utterly without humor.

But today, like Evelyn, Jill was feeling a distinct thrill as they headed out from Lee's Ferry. In contrast to the oar boats, where the pa.s.sengers could sit back and enjoy the ride while the guides did all the rowing, the paddle boat required work. The boat was set up for six paddlers, three on each side with a mountain of gear running down the middle. As paddle captain, Abo sat perched in the rear, ruddering the boat with his paddle, calling out commands.

Jill and Mark rode up front, the boys in the middle, Mitch.e.l.l and Lena in the rear. As they left Lee's Ferry, Abo had them practice their maneuvers a bit, the boat going in figure eights until he was convinced they understood his commands. Then they headed down the river for real. The sun grew hotter, the river greener, and she finally felt with deep conviction that the trip had truly begun. Already the canyon rim seemed to be in another world, a world full of engines and asphalt, clocks and credit cards and news reports that didn't really matter.