Karen Harper - Down River

“How are those Mitchell Andrew Braxton designer shoes holding up?” he asked. He sounded and looked exhausted, too, plodding under the burden of that pack like some old, worn-out Santa Claus.

“They’re a bit buoyant so I’m almost walking on this water.”

“When we were first dating, I used to think you could walk on water.”

“I know you keep talking just to keep me going, but I can’t even concentrate—can’t go on.”

“You can because I see tundra instead of this muskeg ahead of us, and, I think, some berry bushes. It’s about time for blueberries but that might be lingonberries, something like cranberries.”

“I just want to lie down.”

“We will, soon as we hit dry ground. By the way, in case an airplane should fly over, looking for us or not, raising two hands means we need help. Raising one means we’re okay.”

“I don’t have the strength to raise one, let alone two.”

“You know what? It looks like a patch of blueberries, so I hope the bears have left us some.”

“Bears?”

“They love them. Come on, Lisa Marie!”

“I told you a long time ago not to call me that, even if it is my name. I hate my middle name. It reminds me of Elvis’s daughter, who married Michael Jackson, no less. Married Michael Jackson!”

“Yeah, but they didn’t last long. You know, it sounds like you’re awake enough to be mad at me and at Michael Jackson, Lisa Marie.”

“You’re just trying to get me riled so I keep going to spite you.”

“Riled? Now, isn’t that a good frontier word? As it says on the state’s license plates—The Last Frontier.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to get that picture. And you’re starting to sound like a travel brochure.”

But she had to admit, as he’d said earlier, the sunset never ended. It was still glorious, a rainbow of hues that didn’t just hang in the west but covered the entire sky. Mitch turned back to help her up to higher, dry ground. She didn’t care what he said, if he insulted her or praised her. She sank down where she was, surrounded by some sort of spiky pink flowers. He dropped his pack beside her with a thud.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, jolting her alert again.

“Right back from where?” she blurted, getting to her knees to rise until she realized he might have to relieve himself. They’d both managed some privacy for that, on and off the ledge, but she seemed to have sweated all her hydration out now.

“I see a birch tree, and I’m going to use my knife to cut you some of the inner bark to chew. It’s what the Inuit use for aspirin. I know you’ve got to be hurting.”

Got to be hurting. When had she not? Actually, as sore as she was, as many aches and pains that plagued her right now, she knew from experience that this physical agony was nothing next to that of the heart and spirit.

She closed her eyes. Did she doze off?

“Chew this,” Mitch said, already chomping on a piece of bark when he came back and offered her a short, white strip. “Honestly, it will help. Then, take my knife and cut some of these fireweed greens for us. They make good salad greens, even though I don’t have a variety of salad dressings to offer. I’m going to get the backpack full of berries, and we’re going to have a feast before we go to sleep.”

“Sleep right here? Will it be safe?”

“You said you couldn’t go on and neither can I.”

They ate the last of their smoked salmon, gorged themselves on plump blueberries—the best she had ever tasted—and chewed fireweed washed down by river water. Mitch had made stoppers for the soda cans with plugs of neoprene so it wouldn’t spill out. Neither of them said much, until she watched him spread out their tent, lie down and gesture for her to come into his arms.

“We can’t sleep the way we did before,” she protested. “Both in there, I mean.”

Looking exasperated, he shrugged. “Suit yourself, but after being hypothermic, I’d think you’d want to keep warm. This cover is fine for two and, once again, we’ll need the body heat. Nothing personal, Ms. Vaughn. Besides, I’m expecting some voracious females tonight, if I’m not covered up.”

“What?”

“Mosquitoes. The females of the breed are vampires, you know, but I think we’ll be safe from everything else.”

“I’ve got this wet suit on under my clothes, and I’ll put your backpack over my head. I’ll be fine.”

He snuggled into the canvas tent, and his voice came to her, muffled. “I thought you were exhausted. Say your prayers but quit talking.”

She lay down about four feet from him. At least he could have let her use the tent he made a big deal of wrapping tighter about himself like a cuddly cocoon. Facing him, she curled up on her side and pulled her knees up nearly to her chest. What if a bear came by after those blueberries? She heard the high-pitched whine of a mosquito, and she swatted at it. But she was so tired, nothing would make a difference now, nothing….

She drifted away—away on the foam where her mother beckoned to her through the whirling white water.

“Well?” Christine said to Spike when he hung up after the second call to the authorities. “Can they help?”

“Yeah, but they wanted to know why he’d be crazy enough to kayak that part of the river. They said he had permission only to put rafts or kayaks in six miles to the west of here which is a good mile before all the rapids get dangerous.”

“He knew that. I—I can’t understand it either. Unless—”

“Unless what?” he said, turning to her. He looked into her teary face—he had never seen her cry—and put his hands on her shoulders. Big, warm hands when she was shaking all over. She lifted her hands to clasp his wrists.

“I don’t know. Unless he was showing her something about the kayak, and it just took off with them in it.”

“Not like him. Too crazy,” he said, then leaned against the counter. He pulled her into his arms and held her tight.

For once she didn’t flinch when a man so much as touched her. Her head found a perfect fit under his chin. Mitch always smelled of pine and fresh air, while Spike emanated Lava soap, gasoline, motor oil and his precious sled dogs. But she didn’t care. She needed his strength right now, maybe more than that. She sniffed hard, then, instead of just standing stiffly in the circle of his arms, hugged him back hard, her arms around his waist.

“I don’t think of you this way—crying and needy,” he murmured, his lips moving in her hair atop her head. “You’re always so strong, even … with everything. Hell, honey, got to get going,” he said, setting her back and avoiding her eyes now as if he’d seen something there that scared him.

“You and Ginger stay near the two-way. I’m gonna go get the plane and fill it up, then take Mrs. Bonner up with me. Hard to believe it, but that little lady knows cockpits, loves to fly. Keep the home fires burning now,” he added as he made for the door, nearly running into his sister as she came into the kitchen.

“Spike!” Christine called to him, and he turned back. “If you go right now, you’ll have the sun in your eyes over Denali and the top of the gorge. You may have trouble seeing anyone. Just be careful….”

Had she called him back for that? He knew this area better than she did. Or was it that she just couldn’t bear to let him out of her sight right now?

“I’ll be in touch,” he said, and hurried out.

In touch. She still felt his touch as she turned away from Ginger’s probing gaze.

Lisa heard herself crying in her grief, howling inside her head like an animal in pain. She felt so alone since Daddy ran off with some woman, with Mommy and Jani dead. Grandma Colleen took her in and loved her, but it wasn’t the same, wasn’t right. Nothing was right until she made friends she clung to and then Mitch. Mitch, let her down, down onto the next ledge.