River Bodies (Northampton County #1)(20)

Parker stepped on a rock farther out in the river where the water crashed and sprayed. She wished he wouldn’t go out so far where the current twisted and churned. He didn’t seem concerned. She couldn’t recall anything that had ever frightened him—not Dead Man’s Curve, the fastest stretch of rapids, where people had been known to get crushed against the rocks and where he kayaked several times a year; nor had he been afraid of sitting on the rail of the pedestrian bridge, the site where jumpers had lost their lives and where he’d dangled his legs over the side of the forty-foot drop.

“Look, no hands.” He’d waved his arms around, tipping closer and closer over the edge.

“Stop,” she’d yelled and grabbed the back of his shirt, pulling him onto the bridge. “Don’t joke around like that.” He’d frightened her to near tears. “You could have fallen.” She’d punched him in the arm. “You could have.” She’d pointed to the sign: JUMPING FROM THIS BRIDGE CAN BE FATAL AND TRAGIC.

“But I didn’t,” he’d said. “Race you.” He’d taken off running over the bridge to the Pennsylvania side. She’d shot after him.

Thirty minutes into their little fishing competition and neither one had a bite, although Becca wasn’t paying much attention to her line, keeping her eyes on Parker and the rapids, gripping her pole so tightly that her hands hurt. Finally, he made his way back to the water’s edge, mumbling under his breath the entire way.

“What did you say?” she asked, relaxing now that he stood next to her.

“Nothing. I wasn’t talking to you.”

She looked around. “Then who were you talking to?”

“The river.”

She gave him a funny look.

“What? Don’t tell me you’ve never talked to her before?”

“Her?”

He shrugged. “The river. I talk to her all the time.”

“What do you tell her? The river, I mean.”

“Stuff I can’t say to anyone else.”

“Like what?” Becca wondered what it was he could tell the river but he couldn’t say to her.

“I don’t know. Just stuff. She’s a pretty good listener.” He continued. “Right now, I told her I wish I could figure out where she’s hiding the shad.”

“Oh.” Becca looked down, away. She’d been hoping he was talking to the river about her, how he thought he was falling in love with her. A stupid, teenage-girl wish. “Does she ever answer you?” she asked.

“She’s good at keeping secrets. But sometimes if you listen real close, she’ll whisper what she thinks you need to know.”

“Yeah, okay,” Becca said, shaking her head.

“You don’t believe me? It’s true. I don’t know all the science behind it, but some people are convinced that water has a certain kind of intelligence.”

“Come on.”

“I’m serious. Some say she’s a reflection of our souls and that she thinks and feels just like us.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“I do.”

After their exchange, they continued fishing in silence. Several more minutes passed without a hit. Parker put his pole down. He stared at the water, his hands on his hips.

“You know, if you miss the shad’s line by a few inches, you’re not going to catch them,” Becca said, offering a realistic explanation. Shad swam in single files rather than in big groups. If you were in the wrong spot, it was all too easy to go home empty-handed. Parker liked the challenge, but it also had the potential to put him in a bad mood.

“That’s not it. But I think I know what the problem is.” He pointed to the river. “I think she’s picking up on your sour mood, and that’s why we’re not catching anything.”

Her sour mood? She didn’t argue. Maybe he was right. Maybe she was in a bad mood. Lately she didn’t know what was wrong with her. Her emotions swung one way and then another and then back again. She laid her pole next to his. While he fiddled with the tackle box, she scooped a handful of water and watched it run through her fingers and down her arms. She thought about what he’d said about the river, how the water had a kind of intelligence, kept secrets, was a reflection of their souls. Maybe it wasn’t all that crazy of an idea talking to her, saying the things Becca felt in her heart, things she didn’t know how to say to the people who hurt her.

She checked Parker’s back was turned. She wasn’t sure what made her do it, but she put her face close to the rushing water, whispered the one secret she’d kept hidden, the truth she’d kept tucked inside: “I think I’m falling in love with him.”

When she looked up, Parker was staring at her.



They carried their fishing gear along the path, avoiding the poison ivy growing on either side of the trail. They walked up a hill, wound their way through the woods, and came to the clearing where his truck was parked. A warm breeze blew. They stashed their fishing poles and tackle box in the bed.

“Now what?” Parker asked. “Do you want to head over to the diner?”

They walked the two blocks to town. The diner on Delaware Drive was the closest restaurant around. Most of Parker’s and Becca’s classmates hung out at the counter and back booths after pep rallies or sports games to grab milkshakes and root beer floats. Families celebrated birthdays there, and couples toasted anniversaries. Truckers who traveled on Route 611 stopped for home-style meals served with a healthy dose of fat and grease.