The River at Night(6)

“Holy crap,” I said. “Maine is freaking huge. I never realized . . .”

“Ogunquit. That’s as far north as I’ve been. Remember?” Grimacing, Sandra pointed to a red dot only an inch of map space north of the New Hampshire border. “Ugh. That’s where Jeff and I spent our honeymoon.”

“So what’s up with the ole Jeff-ster?” Rachel said, smirking.

“Please,” Sandra said, waving her away. “Let’s not go there yet.”

“Just think,” Pia interjected, oblivious. “Over five thousand square miles—”

“—of trees, trees, and more trees—” Rachel said, shaking her head.

“—and gorgeous wild rivers. And we’re going to explore one of the least traveled ones. See places no one’s ever seen before. In fact, it’s possible we won’t see anybody but each other for five days.”

I wasn’t 100 percent sold on why any of that was a good thing, but I nodded along with everybody else as we sat down at my kitchen table. Unphotoshopped maps were one thing, zero civilization another.

Rachel flipped her glasses on top of her head, folded her arms, and leaned back in her seat. At about five feet five inches she was just a touch taller than me but wiry; the stress of her job no doubt kept her slim. “Funny thing, Pia, you never mentioned Rory’s little scrapes with the law.”

Pia took a healthy bite of her chocolate-dipped cannoli. “He sold some pot. He’s human.”

Rachel swiped through a few more pages on her screen. “Disorderly conduct, trespassing, vandalism . . .”

I watched a vein throb on Rachel’s forehead, imagined the blood pulsing there even as I tried not to. As per her habit, one leg bounced over a crossed knee. My stomach tightened down.

“That was years ago.”

Sandra stiffened. “Like, how many years ago?”

“Ask Rachel,” Pia said as she stood up and stashed her coffee mug in the sink. “She’s the one with the stats.” She turned, facing us. “Look, he’s twenty now. He went through a bad stretch—he told me all about it—but he’s cleaned himself up. Back in school, going for his degree, trying to start his own business, all that good shit. What are we, fucking angels?”

Sandra reddened and looked away. Rachel shook her head, issued a profound sigh, and leaned back over the map. “Where do we actually get in the river? Show me.”

Pia pointed and we all stared at a blue line on the map, then the topographical view on Rachel’s iPad, as if this blip of color told us anything.

A hollow feeling bloomed in my chest. “Where’s the closest town?”

“Eagle Lake. Thirty miles east, plus or minus.”

“Do cell phones work up there?” Sandra asked. I thought of her eight-year-old boy, Ethan, born with one leg shorter than the other but recently clocked at an IQ of 158. His thirteen-year-old sister, Hannah, was his fierce protector at school, where kids bullied him without mercy.

“We are venturing into the Allagash, my friends, part of the unorganized territory.” Pia slipped on her day pack, squinting into the sunshine that streamed through the window. “Lots of stuff doesn’t work up there. We ready to rock and roll?”

Rachel shook her head and got to her feet. “Oh, screw it, Pia. You may be one crazy bitch, but you know in the end we follow you around like a bunch of little ducklings.”

The tension left the room as we all broke into laughter. Pia and Rachel gathered themselves at the door.

Pia glanced back at Sandra and me. “Ladies?”

“Go ahead,” I said. “We’ll be down in a second.”

Sandra collected pieces of the ceramic pot into a pile, scooping up the dirt with her hands. “So”—she smiled up at me—“tell me the truth, Win. You nervous about this trip?”

“Me? Nervous about taking off to the middle of nowhere for five days? Never.”

We shared a laugh as she tossed the shards of clay into the bin, slapped the dust off her hands. “There’s nothing wrong with a little fear. Keeps you sharp.”

“What about you?”

“I’m more afraid of not going, I think.” She planted her hands on ample hips and gazed into the middle distance. A stunning mix of Japanese and Polynesian, Sandra Kato-Lewis (we called her Katy-Loo sometimes, or just Loo) had a face like a heart and shining black hair almost too thick to braid. Some mistook her dreamy quality for spaciness, but fifteen years of knowing her had taught me that nothing got by her. Speaking up for herself was another matter entirely. So was grasping her own beauty, so brutal was she to herself about carrying some extra pounds on her petite frame. “Don’t you want to break away for a while, have a big adventure? With the kind of year you’ve had, honey, this may be just what you need.”

She, of everyone, understood best the depth and breadth of my grief for Marcus. How Richard’s abandonment had slapped me senseless.

“I guess I am a little nervous.” My shoulders sagged. “What’s my problem, Loo? Why can’t I just go with the flow?”

She laughed and hugged me. “You can do this, Win, you’ll see. Fresh air, the woods, nature, every second not planned to death—you’ll love it! And don’t worry, I’ll protect you from the bears, and from everything else too. Come on, let’s get out of here.”