Karen Harper - Down River

She felt him drop his pack and heard it hit below.

“How far down?” she asked, not daring to turn to look.

“Not too bad. I’m going to lie on my stomach, help you down to our stuff, then scoot down to join you. Here, turn carefully and sit on the ledge. You’ll have to look down, just for a sec, so you know what I mean.”

As he held her, she turned and sat. Pressing her back to the rock, she looked down and gasped. The ledge was at least five feet below and only about four feet wide! Although no water churned beneath them now, their escape route had narrowed so much that if they slipped, they’d be wedged in jagged rocks.

But looking left, she could see that from the lower level, they could work their way down to the valley that spread out below. And the most glorious sunset stretched across the sky, streaks of pink and orange and fuchsia. In blinding colors, it looked almost neon, like in The Wizard of Oz she’d been somehow thinking about—hallucinating—the part where Dorothy lands in Oz. This was the part where the movie went from being black and white to amazing hues.

“Lisa, you ready?”

“I better be. I don’t see we have a choice. And, at least this time, I’m ready to ride off with you into the sunset.”

The minute that was out of her mouth, she regretted the choice of words, but he only said, “That’s one of the treasures of living in Alaska. This time of year, though you can’t see the aurora borealis clearly, that kind of sunset will last all night.”

All night. It must be night now, she thought as she somehow found the courage—or sheer desperation—to turn on her stomach and inch her legs and lower torso over the edge while he held on to her. She scraped her thighs, belly, breasts and chin while he slowly dangled her lower. After what seemed an eternity, she stood alone on the ledge, praying silently for his safety, while he scooted closer on his stomach.

“I said, don’t touch me in case I fall,” he gritted out, but she pressed her hands to the backs of his thighs, then to his hard buttocks as he came over.

“On second thought,” he said when he finally stood beside her, “that felt great. Maybe you can boost me up there again and—”

“We’re just hiking and camping buddies, remember.”

“And we’re going to have the time to talk we’ve needed.”

“I’d like to say ‘water over the dam,’ but it isn’t, is it? Not with either of us.”

Pressing his lips tight together, he just shook his head, then bent to pick up their gear again. He slung the makeshift pack over one shoulder. “Let’s find a good place to rest, and we’ll get these shoes taped on you,” he said, sounding all business now, just the way he always had in the office or in court when she used to study how controlled he was, how self-assured. Even that had moved her deeply, because she knew the other, passionate side of him, when they were alone—as they were now.

When Spike told the search party what Christine had said about the kayak trail from the ridge to the water, many of them rushed to the river. A few went down to look at the exact spot, but most stood on the lawn of the lodge, gazing in the direction Mitch and Lisa must have gone in the two-seat kayak. Some whispered and shook their heads, then turned away, heading back to their trucks.

“But why?” Mrs. Bonner asked her husband. “Has Mitchell become such a daredevil in extreme sports here? He seemed all about safety rules and regulations yesterday.”

“Life in Alaska can be an extreme sport,” Spike said just loudly enough for Christine and Ginger to hear from his position between the two of them. The Bonners stood directly behind. “But something’s weird—really wrong,” he added.

“And I can’t believe,” Mrs. Bonner went on to her husband, “Lisa would agree to such a thing, not after losing her family that way.”

Despite the fact Christine never would have let on she could overhear, Spike turned to the Bonners and said, “You mean her family drowned in a river?”

“An accident in the Atlantic—or maybe it was the Caribbean,” Mr. Bonner said, frowning at the churning foam.

“What kind of accident?” Spike pursued, though Christine elbowed him as subtly as she could.

“Boating, not swimming,” Mrs. Bonner said, sounding brusque. “Her mother and her sister drowned. It was a long time ago, but I’m sure it’s something one never gets over.”

That was sad about her family, Christine thought, but she couldn’t help resenting Lisa Vaughn’s continued sway over Mitch, her power to still hurt him. Christine had seen it in his eyes and heard it in his voice.

“I’m going to phone the state troopers,” Spike told them. “I’m not sure what they can do if Mitch and Ms. Vaughn are kayaking the rapids, heading for the gorge, but they gotta be informed.”

“Wait!” Mrs. Bonner cried, grabbing for Spike’s arm. “I—I was reading online about Alaska before our trip and learned that law enforcement officials are really scarce and have to cover hundreds of miles. Maybe my husband can pull some strings to get some here.”

“Here wouldn’t help,” Spike told her. “In that river they’re long gone—from this area, I mean. But the local police may be able to get the Denali Park Rangers to help with the search way downriver. I’ll call the locals and the feds.”

He strode away briskly, with the Bonners following. Christine went, too, leaving Ginger with just a few stragglers to gaze out over the river. Spike muttered, talking aloud to himself as he often did, “They’ll have to look for them below the series of falls in case they got around or over them.”

“Falls?” Mr. Bonner said, his voice stern and clear, compared to his wife’s sweeter tones. Christine had seen lawyers up close and personal. That’s why the guests made her uneasy. She could just imagine Graham Bonner cross-examining someone on the witness stand. “Waterfalls?” he repeated in his clarion voice. “How many, how large?”

“Four fairly small ones, but any one could put you in that cold, rough river,” Spike said, still walking. “Mrs. Bonner, as soon as I contact the police and park rangers, I’ll take you up on that offer to fly with me for an air search.”

“But with these rapids—and the falls—you think they can survive all that?” she asked, tears in her eyes and her hand clutched at her throat. “They are both very dear to us.”

“Gotta try.”

“Mitchell should have known better,” Christine heard Mrs. Bonner mutter as the couple fell behind and she and Spike hurried into the lodge to make the calls. “Graham, it just shows you they are both a bit foolhardy yet, just when you think they’d learned to stay apart and away from all that past pain.”

Christine stood next to Spike while he used the kitchen phone. She wrapped her arms around herself tight, as if to hold herself up. She shook all over and blinked back tears. If she lost Mitch, she lost her future. Mrs. Bonner was right. Mitch knew better than to risk the river, no matter what the reason. But she kept hearing Mrs. Bonner’s last words: You think they’d stay apart and away from all that past pain …

She and Clay should have stayed apart. She should have left him—fled—but Yup’ik women were loyal and tenacious. She bit her lower lip hard, trying to stop the jagged memories of the lawyers picking apart her testimony about being beaten black and blue … all that pain … but she stayed with him too long….

But now—far worse—she knew Mitch had been gone on that devil of a river far too long.

Lisa hurt all over, as if she’d been beaten by someone’s fists. Her skin, what she had seen of it before donning the wet suit earlier, was turning black and blue, even greenish in spots. A new fashion statement in an eco-conscious world—green blotches to complement her green eyes. She was so exhausted she thought she could fall flat on her face and drown in this shallow, spongy-bottom muskeg they traversed. But she went on, step after painful step, behind Mitch as he made a wobbly path for them around thickets and through grass and sedge in about one foot of water.