Part 33 (1/2)
”What would you tell him?”
Jill thought for a moment, then sighed. ”I guess I'd tell him the same thing.” She felt across the sand for Mark's hand and laced her fingers with his. ”But I'd try not to feed things.”
”I don't think I have,” said Mark.
”No. I don't think you have, either. You're pretty sensitive to nuance.”
”You think?”
”Yes, I do,” she whispered.
”Thanks,” he whispered back. ”You know, I really do think he's alive.”
”Keep thinking that, then,” she said, squeezing his hand.
Before going to bed, Peter walked down to Dixie's boat.
”Hey, Peter,” she said as she restacked gear. ”What's up?”
Peter stayed on the sand.
”Everything all right?”
”Oh sure,” he said.
”Do you need something?”
”No. I just wanted to say thank you.”
”Don't mention it,” she said cheerfully. ”It's been quite the trip, hasn't it?”
”I don't mean it like that, although thanks for that too,” Peter said. ”What I mean is, well, maybe you noticed and maybe you didn't, but I've had a crush on you the whole trip. I think you're one of the most beautiful women I've ever known. And you're a river guide! I was a goner as soon as JT introduced you to us all, back up at Lee's Ferry.”
Dixie sat down.
”But I'm not telling you this for the reason you might think. I know you have a boyfriend down in Tucson. I know we're going to say goodbye tomorrow, and I'll probably never see you again. But I just wanted to say thank you, for letting me be in love with you for two weeks.”
Dixie fingered the twisted wire horse at her throat.
”That's all,” said Peter.
Down on his boat, JT settled himself on his sleeping mat. The air was still, and the moon, now in its last quarter, bathed the river in its pearly light. Tomorrow they would row the last few miles to the takeout at Diamond Creek. They would unload the boats; there would be a bus and a truck and a big lunch spread waiting for them. After lunch the guides would load up the truck, and the pa.s.sengers would file into the bus- And that would be it. Trip over. Finito.
JT laced his fingers beneath his head. Ordinarily he was always looking forward to the next trip: a few days off, then the ma.s.s load-up again, a new list of pa.s.sengers, introductions, and lessons about the basics of life on the river. Ordinarily he didn't let himself get too sentimental at Diamond Creek, knowing the river would always be there, knowing that he would always be back.
But a large part of him was feeling way too fragile on this trip. He was afraid to say good-bye to these people, for reasons he couldn't explain. In the middle of the night, he woke up with a start. His heart was pounding. And a new thought came to him: he was a fraud. Who was he, to think that he could guide people down the river? Oh, he knew the water, he knew the hikes, he knew enough stories and history to write a book. But in the end, he was just a guy who loved the river, who made a pact with the stars every night, who woke up every morning with the current tugging at his soul. For people like him, going down the river wasn't just going down the river. It was something so much grander, a journey into a simpler time of a simpler soul, and JT suddenly had the feeling that in taking people down the river, he broke something in them, something that perhaps needed breaking but needed reconstruction as well; and while he was good at the breaking part, good at taking them to the other side of chaos, he felt like he gave them nothing with which to reconstruct themselves after the journey.
Fraud with a wrecking ball.
The takeout at Diamond Creek the next morning went as smoothly as possible. Everyone was as quick to help as they'd been on the first day at Lee's Ferry-only now they weren't trying to impress anyone; now they were simply getting the job done, stacking every single piece of gear into neat piles on the rocky beach. When all the gear had been unloaded, they rinsed off the boats, dragged them up onto sh.o.r.e, and opened the valves; and then the boys had an exhilarating ten minutes of flopping about to squeeze out every last cubic centimeter of air.
Jill looked on with dismay as the guides rolled the eighteen-foot rafts into three tight little bundles. Was this all it boiled down to?
”Lunch!” yelled Abo. ”WASH YOUR HANDS!”
As people crowded around the picnic table, JT coiled up his ropes and straps and stashed them along with his carabiners in a worn zippered duffel. He was hot and hungry and felt a sudden craving for an ice-cold c.o.ke. He was about to head to the shade of the picnic area when he looked up and saw the kayakers floating down the river. Six toy boats bobbing on top of the sparkling water, followed by the fat mule raft. Even from far away JT could spot Bud, with his full white beard.
As he neared the beach, Bud signaled to him with his paddle, so JT waited. Bud's kayak glided swiftly toward sh.o.r.e and collided with the pebbly beach. But instead of unhooking his skirt and climbing out, he rested his paddle across the top of the c.o.c.kpit.
”Senor,” said JT, nodding. Something about the man's posture disturbed him. ”Everything okay?”
”I thought you should know,” he said, squinting up at JT. ”We found our life jacket.”
”Your life jacket,” said JT.
”The one we lent you,” said Bud.
”The dog's, you mean.”
”Right.”
”The green one?”
”Yeah.”
JT felt his mind speeding up. He was already arguing with himself, that it didn't mean anything, that the dog could have slipped out of his life jacket and still be alive. Why, he'd even thought about this yesterday, the possibility that the dog might have lost his life jacket right off the bat, up there in Lava; it didn't clinch the issue yesterday, so it shouldn't clinch the issue today.
”Listen, I don't know if I should pa.s.s this on, but somebody on another trip was talking about a bunch of turkey vultures, back up around Pumpkin Spring,” said Bud. ”I don't know what they were circling.”
JT thought for a moment. ”Could have been a dead ringtail,” he told Bud. ”Could have been any number of things.”
”It could have,” said Bud. ”But I thought you ought to know.”
JT felt his ears begin to ring. He did not want to share Bud's news with the group. But Mitch.e.l.l had already spied the kayakers, and he came down to the sh.o.r.eline holding a messy sandwich.
”Greetings,” he said.
”Greetings,” said Bud.
”You haven't by any chance seen the dog, have you?”
Just then the mule boat skidded up against the sh.o.r.eline. There, on top of all their gear, was the green life jacket.
”Hey! That's-” Mitch.e.l.l broke off and glanced around at all the faces.
JT tried to draw Mitch.e.l.l aside, but the word ”dog” must have resonated, because instantly the boys came running down. When they saw Mitch.e.l.l's face, they slowed to a walk and came to stand by the nose of Bud's kayak.