The River at Night(28)

“How’s it going?” Rory flashed us a smile as we filed into camp. “Anybody hungry?”

“I could use some coffee,” I said. “Breakfast smells great.”

He handed me a tin plate and gestured at the pile of cakes and coffee. “Dig in. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

Sandra hesitated, then took a plate and served herself. Rachel did the same in silence. Rory stood with his hands on his hips, watching us. “Everybody sleep okay?”

I looked up from my food to see if he was kidding or being sarcastic or just what was going on, and his face did hold a question, but it was something more along the lines of How about it, ladies, are we going to make a big deal of this thing, or are we going to let it drop?

“Fine,” I said, my mouth sticky with syrup. “I slept great. Like a rock.”

“Sandra, how about you?”

“Good.” She nodded to her food. “This is delicious. Thank you.”

Pia wordlessly served herself breakfast, then sat near the fire, away from all of us. The sun had begun to take on altitude and strength, even under our canopy of leaves, and I stood up to take off my fleece.

“Rachel?” he asked.

Rachel tested a few bites of the pancakes but set them aside. She sat on a rock and peeled an orange. “Can’t put my finger on why, but I didn’t sleep a wink.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Rory said. “But tonight’s gonna be a different story. The river will wear you out, and you’ll all sleep like babies.”

? ? ?

By eight or so we’d dragged our gear out of the tents and rolled up the sleeping bags and pads. Rory had gone down to the river to wash the dishes and pack those up too. We took down our tents, which were still wet and covered with leaves and pieces of bark, and rolled them as tightly as we could, sitting on them like luggage, per Rory’s instruction. Everything had to fit on the raft from now on, including us.

We all lifted the raft, which was so much heavier than I’d imagined, and carried it sideways, awkwardly, from the campsite through the woods to the river and the put-in place, an inlet even farther upriver than our little island, so by the time we got there we were all sweaty and fly-bitten and hot. Then of course we had to double back, collect all our gear, and lug it to the raft, with Rory making an extra trip for the food and the second tent, leaving us alone to not talk to each other, or to sit by the river with a paperback, or to do nothing but watch all that water rush by, our silence like a wall I couldn’t muster a strategy to burst through, dig under, or climb over.

Exchanging only the information necessary to get the job done, our faces drawn and solemn, we arranged our gear, separating out what needed to be stored in dry bags from what didn’t, and strapped everything down across the center beam of the raft. We wore our white-water rafting getup: wicking fabrics, water shoes, and life jackets. Sandra in her hot-pink top and black shorts, Rachel sporting a black tank and dark purple shorts, me in a yellow T and aqua hiking shorts, and Pia in a bright white T and red cutoffs—we were already starting to look out of place next to the muted palette all around us. Our helmets and paddles rested by our sides.

Rory spent an hour or so teaching us about the best way to throw a rescue rope and other safety techniques, about chicken lines and carabiners; we learned about eddies and the different kinds of water we were going to hit; how to read the water, our positions in the boat, and how to paddle. During the drills, Sandra, Rachel, and I sat in a semicircle on the ground while Pia stood away from us and closer to him, finding every opportunity to not look at us. I tried not to think about how much fun we weren’t having.

Shirtless, Rory climbed into the raft and demonstrated the best way to sit and hold our oars. He straddled the lip of the raft, its thick rubber barely denting at his weight, then leaned back with bent knees. We watched his perfect abdomen tense flat as a board.

“This is the lawn-chair position. Remember it, okay? If we bail in some big water, you want your feet up, toes up and together like this, and keep your arms high.” He demonstrated. “If you fall in, first of all, don’t panic. You’ll be okay. You all know how to swim. Flip onto your belly when you can, but don’t try to stand up until you’re in shallow water. Or still water. And the key thing,” he said to the four of us, looking at Pia for an extra couple of seconds, “is to listen to me. Not just some of the time, but all of the time. And do what I say. Got it?”

We all nodded like children.

“And to remember that we are a team. I can’t emphasize that enough.”

We stared at him as if to look at each other would break some sort of spell.

“Last thing. We steer into the rapids, not away from them, and that’s going to feel weird, but that’s how we get through them. Any questions?”

Rachel eyed a bracelet Rory wore: braided strands of dull black hair strung with a few bright beads. “What’s that on your wrist? Is that your girlfriend’s hair or something?”

He looked hard at her, turning it a few times with his other hand. “It’s from my sheepdog, Lally. She died last year in a car accident.”

Pia made an “Oh” sound and took a step toward him as if to look at the bracelet, but he ignored her. “Anything else, about the trip?” Visibly hurt, she shrank back.

“I was wondering,” Sandra said, strapping on her helmet. She already looked younger than any of us, but with her face framed by headgear she could almost pass as a teenager. “You talked about ‘big water’ earlier. What would you call this water, then?”