Rapid Falls(73)

“Hi, Dad.”

“Let’s walk down to the river,” he says. He has a small box in one hand, which I assume holds the ashes, and a silver flask in the other. He looks older and thinner than he did at the funeral. I realize suddenly that he has become an old man. I follow him. The fallen leaves on the trail crunch under our feet as we walk down the path that Anna and I used so often as kids. It is overgrown now. My dad must not come down here much anymore. I look around at the layers of fallen branches and dried ferns that make up the dying undergrowth, thinking of the baby deer that didn’t survive my touch. I know now that a mother will leave a fawn behind if she detects that taint of human scent.

My dad sits down on a gray log a few feet from the eroding edge of the bank. There is enough space for us both on it, but I stay standing. Some people might think the river is a strange place to lay Anna to rest, but I understand his decision. This river is a part of us all. It was the landscape of our lives for many years. It isn’t good or bad; it drowns, it saves, and it never stops.

“I saw her, you know,” my dad says suddenly. My stomach lurches and I take a deep breath. He couldn’t have seen her. Anna and I had been alone. “Her red hair was so bright. I called out. She was so close. She turned so quickly that she stumbled. I was trying to help.”

It takes me a long moment to realize he is talking about the girl at Rapids Falls, not Anna. The girl who died on his class trip. My dad continues, “I knew she was too close to the edge. She was writing in her book. She wasn’t paying attention to where she was walking. She fell so fast.”

“I know, Dad.” I have heard this story before.

“There wasn’t anything I could do to help her. I tried and I made it worse.”

“There wasn’t anything I could do either.” My voice is hard. He looks up and our eyes lock. There is no love in his, but that doesn’t surprise me anymore. My father hasn’t loved me for a long time.

“I thought then that I could change it, but I know now that no one can change the course of events. You think you know who needs saving and how to help. You guess who is in the most danger and how to make it better. Sometimes you’re wrong.” He turns back to the water in front of us. The river is high. It looks as calm as a lake, but we both know there are strong currents under the water that trap logs under the surface. We can’t see them now; no one ever can, but every so often, the rocks shift and the logs shoot to the surface, smashing through boats. We used to call them deadheads.

“I thought I was doing the right thing, every time. I called to her, and she fell. I moved that boy, and he died. I looked the other way, and Jesse drowned. I kept your secret, and I lost Anna. I thought I could make it better, that I knew how to make it all right. I made the calls, and they were all wrong.”

His face is dark with sorrow. “Turns out, I don’t know a goddamn thing. When she came here that day, I knew Anna was ready to ask questions she shouldn’t ask. I should have told her to leave it all alone.” He clears his throat. “Some things are best left in the past.” His voice changes on the last word, and he faces me again. His eyes are damning.

I want to scream at him to stop talking, but I dig my fingernails into my arm instead. They are long now. I haven’t bitten them in months.

“You know, after the accident, it took about a week to haul Jesse’s truck out of the water. They had to call in someone from Nicola to help them tow it to the police station. Allen looked it over for evidence, but I got the feeling he wasn’t searching too hard. He’d pretty much made up his mind about what happened by then. He asked me if I wanted to take a look and see if there was anything of yours or Anna’s that you might want back. The backpack was wedged deep behind the seat.” His voice was gruff but steady again. “I was trying to help. I wanted to see if there was anything you or Cindy would want back.

“When I opened it, the mildew had already started. God, it stunk. I was just going to throw it all away, but then I saw the jacket and knew Cindy would want it. I pulled it out to let it dry. There was a mark on the back, Cara.”

I stare at the river, as if looking at it hard enough will burn every detail in my mind. I know now this is the last time I will ever return to Rapid Falls. My dad swallows like I do when I’m trying not to throw up.

“I’ve been a mechanic for a long time, Cara. I know what a tire mark looks like.” My shoulders stiffen at the words. “I thought, well, maybe it was on the ground at the Field and someone ran over it by accident. But this one was even and deep. It could only have been made if that white leather was stretched tight over something. Like someone’s back.”

An acrid smell of rubber and leather fills my nostrils and takes my words away.

“I couldn’t sleep for weeks. I didn’t want what I was thinking to be true. But then I found the ring, Cara. In Anna’s room. I should have told Anna and your mother. I should have told the police. Instead I burned the jacket and put that jewelry box in the attic. I thought that would end it. I didn’t think she’d come back for it.”

I hope he can’t see my hands shaking.

“I saw the way Jesse looked at Anna, Cara. And I saw the way she looked at him back. Sometimes you see things and you wish so hard they aren’t true. I thought it would fizzle out, that you and Jesse would leave Rapid Falls and it would all be over. I didn’t want to confront a kid about breaking my daughter’s heart. I’ve never been good at fixing things when I tried, so I thought I could ignore it. I thought I could make it go away. But the truth is always there, even if you make yourself not believe it.”