Part 20 (1/2)

”Sure! They were going to look just like me.”

Susan laughed in spite of herself, for the Compson boys didn't look anything like Jill, being pink-skinned and blond, as opposed to Jill with her olive complexion and dark, wavy hair.

”Well, I I envisioned a little girl with a Dutch cut and bangs,” Susan declared. ”She would be able to sing. We would harmonize on long car rides. She would want a horse too.” envisioned a little girl with a Dutch cut and bangs,” Susan declared. ”She would be able to sing. We would harmonize on long car rides. She would want a horse too.”

”I don't know about the singing, but I take it the horse didn't pan out?”

”Or dance, or team sports, or tennis.” Susan wanted suddenly to tell Jill about Amy's SAT scores. But she was afraid it would sound braggy.

”Still, she's awfully nice,” said Jill. ”I noticed it the first night with the boys-teaching them card tricks and all. And she's smart. You can tell. She and Peter were talking about Virginia Woolf I was impressed. Does she know where she wants to go to college?”

”Possibly Duke,” Susan said. ”Maybe Yale.”

”You see? You should be proud of her!”

”I am am. I just ...” Susan put her hands over her face. ”n.o.body tells it like it is,” she cried. ”The doctor calls her heavy. Her father calls her large. Everyone tiptoes around the fact that she's just terribly, terribly overweight. And she never, ever talks to me!”

The water lapped gently against the side of the boat as they began to pick up speed. Jill leaned over and patted water on her arms. ”When I was a teenager, I had acne,” she said. ”And my parents denied it. They said, Oh, it's just a pimple here and there. 'Dab a little makeup on your face; you're the only one who notices it.' Which was not true. I looked like I had the chicken pox. And it must be especially hard, with you being so trim and all.”

”Sometimes I think that's what did it,” sniffed Susan.

”Why?”

”Because I watch my weight. I like eating healthy. I like being thin. So maybe I made too big a deal over it, while Amy was growing up.”

Jill snorted. ”Matthew's sensitive-does that mean I mollycoddled him? And Sam's a clown-does that mean I didn't give him enough attention? We mothers certainly blame ourselves too much.”

The boat dipped down into another rapid. Jill and Susan barely noticed. It was too noisy to talk while they were in it.

”So what happened with Mark the other day?” Susan asked, once they were through.

”Oh,” said Jill, and she raised her face to the sun. ”Too much togetherness, I guess.”

Susan knew that wasn't the case.

”Fine,” Jill said. ”We bicker about the kids sometimes.”

”He's Mormon, isn't he?”

”Right.”

”And you're not.”

”Right.”

”So how do you deal with that?” And Susan, who usually bent over backward not to pry too much, was able to marvel at her boldness. How long, she asked herself, might it have taken her to ask Jill these things, if they hadn't been on the river together?

”You mean, am I the lost soul of the tribe? Mostly it's a problem for his parents,” said Jill. ”We get together at holidays, and they want to see my pantry, and I show them my pantry, and they say, 'That's not a pantry; we mean a ree-ul payantree,' ree-ul payantree,' and Mark steps in at that point and reminds them that we've had mice and don't really feel like storing a hundred pounds of rice in our bas.e.m.e.nt.” and Mark steps in at that point and reminds them that we've had mice and don't really feel like storing a hundred pounds of rice in our bas.e.m.e.nt.”

”That's nice, that he sticks up for you.”

”I suppose. Although being the b.i.t.c.h that I am, I always focus on what he doesn't doesn't do for me, instead of what he do for me, instead of what he does does do.” do.”

Both women chuckled, in mutual recognition.

”Remind me again, where's Amy's father?” Jill asked.

”Boston,” Susan replied. ”Amy goes and visits him in August. He has a cottage on a lake. She babysits his kids.” It suddenly seemed pathetic to her, that that was what her daughter did for the month of August at age seventeen.

”What's high school been like for her?” Jill asked. ”I know when I was in high school, kids were pretty cruel. Is it still as bad?”

”It was worse in middle school,” Susan said. ”Now they just ignore her. Although I will admit that she's gone to a few parties this past year, like last Halloween. But then she didn't go out much after that. Not sure why.”

”Well, its a start,” said Jill. ”Does she have a boyfriend?”

Susan wanted to throw her arms around Jill, simply for asking. None of her friends back in Mequon had ever thought to wonder.

”Be careful what you wish for,” Jill declared. ”From what my sister says, sometimes it's best that we don't know everything our kids do.”

Just then, the boat b.u.mped against something solid, and they turned around to find themselves nudging up against a steep sh.o.r.eline alongside JT's boat. The sun was dipping toward the rim. A long, drawn-out canyon dusk would follow. Peter s.h.i.+pped his oars.

”You got us here?” Jill said. got us here?” Jill said.

”Available for hire,” said Peter. ”Anytime.”

Dixie slid off the bow of the boat and stood in the water, grasping the rope and bracing them against the current as they unclipped their day bags.

”Let's continue this over wine,” Susan said.

But Jill was already climbing over the ma.s.sive pile of gear. ”I swear to G.o.d, if Evelyn takes the biggest campsite tonight, I am going to wring her thick little neck.”

33.

Day Nine, Evening Mile 150 Upset Hotel, as their campsite was called, was a difficult one to access. The water was deep and swift here, and sharp chunks of limestone made pull-ins tricky. In addition, the camping area itself was situated up a steep embankment, a daunting climb even without all their gear.

But JT didn't want to chance going farther downriver. If the next two camps were already taken, there would be no place large enough for them before Havasu, and since no camping was allowed at Havasu, they'd have to continue on downriver.

JT didn't want to think think about the prospect of Mitch.e.l.l missing Havasu. about the prospect of Mitch.e.l.l missing Havasu.

So they tied up the boats at Upset and, in keeping with the spirit of the last two days, everyone rallied cheerfully, s.p.a.cing out the fire line and hauling up the tables and the stove and the Blaster and the groover and the kitchen supply boxes and the can smasher and the first aid box and the twenty-four large blue dry bags and the twelve smaller white ones, with everyone joking all along about how easy it would be to get the gear back down to the boats the next morning. Soon they had the kitchen set up, the steaks defrosting; and those who appreciated geology were able to take a moment and enjoy the view.

Mitch.e.l.l being among them. He'd dressed for dinner tonight in a bold turquoise Hawaiian s.h.i.+rt with a few lost b.u.t.tons that revealed a hairy belly when he moved about. ”Things just keep getting more and more beautiful,” he murmured, gazing downriver, where gray-green cliffs, furred with sage and cactus, tilted out of the river. With a few quick twists he set up his tripod. ”Whoever would have thought I'd get so interested in rocks?”

”How many pictures have you taken, Mitch.e.l.l?” asked Peter.

”Twelve, maybe thirteen hundred.”