by Casie Bazay
What is this, a game of twenty questions? I almost snap at her, but then, for some reason, decide, what could it hurt? “Not much,” I admit. “I see him a few times a year. Usually around holidays and stuff.”
“Does your mom talk to him?”
“Nope.” I tolerate my father, but I still think he’s a complete jerk for what he did to my mom. Though I always thought it was odd that Mom seemed to blame her sister more than her ex-husband for the affair. They’re both equally guilty in my opinion.
I glance toward K. J. “Do you ever talk to your dad?”
She laughs. “Heck, no, that guy’s an asshat. Didn’t give two shits about me. He left my mom as soon as he found out she was pregnant.”
“I guess we have something in common, then,” I say. “Asshat dads.” I try not to, but it’s impossible not to smile after I say it.
She takes another sip of her drink, the straw making that annoying sucking sound when all you have left is ice. “We’re also cousins.”
“Being related isn’t the same as having something in common.”
“Why not? Our mothers are sisters. Isn’t that something we have in common?”
“Whatever, you win. I don’t feel like arguing right now.”
K. J. heaves a deep sigh. “It’s impossible to have a conversation with you, you know.”
“Oh really?” I glance over at her and put a little bite in my tone. “I could say the same about you.”
Like a sulking child, she slouches down in her seat and crosses her arms; but a few moments later, she reopens her book and starts reading.
That’s more than fine by me. I’ll take the peace and quiet any day.
We stop at an Arby’s in Birmingham to get dinner, and then K. J. insists on driving the rest of the way to Atlanta, where we have reservations at a Super 8 for the night. I’d rather she didn’t—I feel safer when I’m behind the wheel—but it is her car. Plus, it’s been a long day and I’m tired, both mentally and physically.
I’ve lost track of how long we’ve been back on the road, and my eyelids are starting to grow heavy when K. J. breaks the silence again.
“Hey, sorry I blabbed about the whole affair thing to your friends.”
My eyes snap open and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I guess I wasn’t expecting an apology, and I’m really not sure what to say now that I’m getting one. Finding a string on the hem of my jean shorts, I wrap it around one finger and tug, but it doesn’t want to come loose.
“Yeah, they had no idea,” I finally admit.
“I could tell.” She glances my way, but I’m still toying with the string. “And just so you know, my mom feels really bad about everything. I mean, she doesn’t ever talk about it or anything, but I know she does.”
“She should feel bad.” My words come out harsher than I intended, but K. J. doesn’t seem to notice. “How could someone do that to their sister?”
“I don’t know… maybe there’s more to the story than we know, though.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh please. Don’t make excuses for her.”
“I’m not! God. I hate that she did that. I just wish we could maybe talk about it without you getting your panties all in a wad.”
“What’s the point?” I say, finally yanking the string on my shorts free. “Your mom and my dad screwed up, and now we’re the ones who have to pay for it. End of story.” I turn the radio back on to effectively put an end to the conversation.
It’s evening and the sky is a swirling mixture of pink and orange by the time we pull into the motel parking lot. We get checked in and settled into our room, reverting back to our familiar pattern of silence. K. J. reads and I use the free Wi-Fi to get caught up on Instagram. Mom’s posted a picture of herself and Tim at a fancy restaurant. They’re toasting with glasses of wine. The waiter must have taken the photo. I use my fingers to enlarge the picture. Mom’s wearing her favorite dark red lipstick and a floral sundress I’ve never seen before. She looks so happy—they both do—which for some reason, leaves me feeling empty and sad. I can’t quite pinpoint why, but maybe it’s because Mom has found someone to fill part of the void that losing Ricky left.
I don’t have that, and I’m not sure I ever will.
It’s still dark when we set out the next morning for Long Creek. K. J. insists on driving again, and I have no choice but to let her. We have less than a two-hour drive but need to make sure we get there with plenty of time to get ready for our rafting trip. Mr. Sisco’s itinerary told us we’re supposed to hit the river by nine.
For most of the drive, I stare out the window, watching the sun slowly emerge over the horizon, and sip from my to-go cup of coffee. I have zero energy right now, but I blame that mostly on being tired. I didn’t sleep so great again last night.
By the time it’s fully light, we’re surrounded by fields of white. It’s strange to imagine cotton growing right off a plant, but there it is, like someone’s enormous popcorn bucket has spilled over. Slowly, the farm fields give way to suburbs again and exhaustion finally claims me. I don’t wake until the car comes to an abrupt stop.
“Yay! We’re here,” K. J. announces.
I’m not sure if she’s being sarcastic or if she’s genuinely excited but I yawn and get out of the car.
A large, log-cabin-style building with the name Wildwater Chattooga Adventure Center sits before us. I follow K. J. inside, where we check in at the front desk and fill out some forms. Then, along with a group of about twenty-five other adventure-seekers, we’re given a safety briefing and outfitted with life vests and helmets. A white bus with blue rafts tied to the top waits outside to shuttle us to the launching location.
My head is still fuzzy with sleep and maybe other things, too, but everyone else is raring to go. Much to my annoyance, people sing and carry on loudly as we bounce along the gravel road. Fifteen minutes later, we file off the bus and find our guide for today’s trip—Barry, a middle-aged, half-balding guy with a friendly smile. He’s no Johan, but I guess he’ll do.
K. J. and I have been grouped with a family of four—youngish-looking parents and their two kids, a boy and girl who appear to be twins around thirteen. They both have that “I’d rather be anywhere but here” expression on their faces.
I can relate.
“Now for our five-mile hike,” Barry says as we start along a well-worn trail through the woods. He turns to survey our surprised faces. “What, they forgot to tell you about that back at the center?” His expression is so serious that neither K. J. nor I get that he’s joking until he gives a loud chuckle. “Oh boy, you two are gonna be fun, I can already tell.”
“Hey,” K. J. says, looking offended. “I’m loads of fun.” She inclines her head toward me. “Can’t speak for her, though.”
I narrow my eyes but say nothing. I couldn’t care less what Barry thinks of me. I’m just ready to get this over with.
The hike is mostly downhill, and it’s not long until we hear the soft whooshing of the Chattooga River. The gray-green water comes into view, not nearly as menacing as I expected. Though, to be fair, I’m sure they wouldn’t have us start out at the roughest part either. Something George from Georgia said back at the Grand Canyon comes to mind: he’d called me a daredevil for planning to run the Bull Sluice, which must mean that things are only going to get worse. I’d been dreading the drive with K. J. so much, I forgot to be nervous about the rafting trip, but now that I’m here the remnants of my early morning coffee and half-eaten pastry are starting to gurgle inside my stomach.
There’s more excited chatter and shouting as everyone loads into their rafts. Barry holds ours steady while the family climbs in, followed by K. J. and me. It wobbles dangerously for a few seconds as he jumps into the back, but then the raft settles onto the smooth surface of the water as the river slowly pulls us out to its center.
“Paddles ready?” Barry asks.
We all hold them out in response.
“Let’s do this, crew!”
&nb
sp; I have to give him an A for enthusiasm, at least. We begin paddling the way they showed us back at the center and, thankfully, it gives me something to do besides worry about what’s coming next. For a long while, the river is unexpectedly serene, with huge trees hugging in at both sides. The other groups have spread out by now, some rafts way ahead of us, while others trail far behind. The family in our raft talks among themselves. The parents are trying—and apparently failing—to get their kids excited about our adventure.
“Bet we’ll hit the rapids soon!” the dad says. He has light brown eyes that twinkle when he smiles. He’s probably a good dad—not the kind that would cheat with his wife’s sister.
“Oh, look,” the mom says. “Did you see that fish?” She points to the water, but her kids don’t even bother to look.
“You two sisters or friends?” Barry asks K. J. and me.
“Neither,” I say.
He laughs, like I’m trying to be funny.
“We’re just fulfilling our grandpa’s wishes,” K. J. says and she proceeds to explain our whole situation. I glance her way between strokes. It’s not that I’m upset she’s telling Barry, but up until now it felt like there was some kind of unspoken agreement between us to not fill anyone in on the entire truth. I realize the family has grown quiet, and I’m certain they’re listening in, too.
“Wow,” Barry says, “your grandfather sure sounds like a cool guy. That’s one hell of a bucket list, if you’ll pardon my French.”
Bucket list. I guess that’s the best way to explain all of this, and I wonder why I hadn’t thought of it that way before.
“So you said this was the third trip on the list, right?” he continues. “What’s next?”
“Key West,” K. J. says. “Don’t know much about it, but it sounds cool.”
Barry whistles. “Woo-ee, you’s some lucky girls. I’d love to go there.”
“That’s on our vacation list, too,” the dad interjects. He turns to flash us a smile. “Maybe a few years down the line. Name’s Luke, by the way. Guess we didn’t introduce ourselves properly back on shore.” He nods toward his wife and then his kids. “This is my wife, Trista, and our twins, Dillon and Delilah.”
“That’s cute,” K. J. says. “Their names.”
Delilah offers a semi-smile before giving us both a once over.
“Alrighty folks,” Barry says in a tone that instantly grabs everyone’s attention. “Our first set of rapids is just ahead. Everyone ready?”
Perfect, I think, my heart rate quickening.
“We’re ready!” Luke shouts, a little overzealous.
I peer around Delilah, searching for signs of fast-moving water, but the river looks the same as always. Then we round a bend.
“Oh man, I see it!” Dillon says.
I see it, too.
“Okay, we’re gonna stay to the right,” Barry says. “Everyone help out here.”
We do as he instructs, and our raft picks up speed. Soon, we’re bouncing along the white-crested water. Adrenaline courses through my veins, but I’m hyper-focused on rowing as hard as I can. The water tries to pull us left, and Barry yells to keep rowing right. I let out a screech as we miss a large rock by inches, but then the water calms and so does my racing heart. We did it. We worked as a team and we did it.
“Yeehaw!” K. J. yells, lifting her paddle into the air.
I can’t help but smile, too. Okay, this might actually be a little fun.
“That was dope,” Dillon says, which elicits a shared smile between his parents.
“Did you like it, honey?” Luke asks Delilah. Her helmet bobs up and down as her brother reaches out to give her a high five.
And just like that, my smile fades as a familiar heaviness pushes its way back in. I’m transported back to a memory of an early morning game at the rec soccer fields. Ricky, sporting a mismatched sweat suit and uncombed hair, stands on the sidelines, waiting for me as I jog off the field. We didn’t win the game, but you’d never know it by the look on my brother’s face. He stretches his hand up for a high five. He always wanted to be the first to give me one after a game.
“Way to go, Becka!” he yells, loud enough for everyone to hear.
We slap palms, and then I move past him to grab a drink from the cooler, still grumbling about my missed goal. At the time, I had no way of knowing that that would be the last high five I’d ever give my little brother. Or that it would be the last soccer game he’d ever attend.
CHAPTER 19
K. J.
“WATCH OUT BELOW!” I YELL IN MY BEST CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow voice before jumping from a ginormous rock.
I resurface to find Dillon cracking up. He gives me a playful splash in the face, which, of course, I have to return. Ever since I mentioned that I landed eight bottle flips in a row one time, he’s been sticking to me like glue. Poor kid, he must think I’m cool or something.
“So what do you think the Bull Sluice will be like?” he asks as we climb out of the water and onto the rock again.
“No idea. Guess we’re about to find out, though.”
“Guess so.”
Nearby, Becka and Delilah sit on another rock, sunbathing. Dillon’s twin sister appears more taken with my cousin, which isn’t surprising. Most girls tend to keep their distance from me for whatever reason.
Dillon and I wait behind three other guys, water dripping from our shorts and life vests. The afternoon sun is sizzling, so I’m glad Barry is letting us stop along the way to swim. Plus, it’s nice having a chance to get away from Becka some.
“I hope we crash,” Dillon says with a crooked grin that reminds me a little of Carter.
“I hope Becka falls out.” I glance over at her, not caring if she hears me or not, but it appears she’s just out of earshot.
Dillon shakes the water out of his hair. “So you guys really hate each other, huh?”
I shrug. “It’s a long and complicated story.” It’s finally our turn to jump, so I step up to the edge. “Hey, let’s see who can make a bigger splash.”
He gives me another crooked smile. “You’re on.”
We each make our jumps, and I tell Dillon he’s the winner even though I’m pretty sure it was me.
“Delilah!” he yells. “You should come try it.”
Her face pinches up and she shakes her head before turning back toward Becka.
Dillon rolls his eyes. “She’s such a priss.”
I agree but don’t share my opinion because that’s probably not my place. As Dillon and I climb out to make yet another jump, Barry whistles and waves us back over to where he and the twins’ parents are standing on the opposite riverbank.
“All right, folks, no more swimming stops until after the Sluice,” he informs us as we get back into the raft. “It’ll be coming up here in about half an hour.”
“Nice,” Dillon says, and we exchange a smile of excitement. Becka and I sit up front this time, and before we set off she quickly reapplies sunscreen on her arms and legs. To my surprise, she then offers the bottle to me.
I mumble my thanks, reminding myself that she probably doesn’t care if I get sunburned or not; she just doesn’t want everyone to think she’s rude. Even though I’d remembered my own sunscreen for this trip, I left it in the car like a dummy.
I’m still rubbing the lotion onto my legs when I spot another patch of fast-moving water in the distance. “Rapids ahead!” I yell before Barry has a chance.
“Let’s keep left,” he instructs, so we all paddle in that direction. The raft’s speed quickens, and soon we’re zigging and zagging between rocks. It’s a total buzz.
“Woo hoo!” Dillon yells from behind me, and Delilah gives a squeal of delight. Guess this trip isn’t so lame to them now.
“Good job, gang,” Barry says as the water calms once again.
“See, this is fun, isn’t it?” Trista says.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her and Luke fist bump. They seem like the perfect couple, cute and young
and sort of cool. I wonder what it would have been like to grow up with a mom and dad like that. The kind who love each other and have money to take their kids on fun vacations like this. Dillon and Delilah probably have no clue how lucky they are.
“You having fun?” I ask Becka, because I am and maybe I just feel like being nice for once.
Her wary look turns into a halfway smile. “Yeah, I am actually.”
“Cool. This might be my favorite trip so far. I can’t wait for the Sluice.”
Becka’s brow furrows as she seems to consider something. “I think Yellowstone is still my favorite.”
Pretty sure I know why, but I don’t bring that up. Instead, I try to think of something else to say, something friendly, but having a pleasant conversation is still pretty much foreign territory for us, and I’m coming up short. Becka doesn’t seem all that keen on chatting, either, so maybe it’s for the best.
We hear the Sluice before we see it, and my excitement multiplies ten times over, but when the “Mother of All Rapids” finally comes into view, Barry tells us to row to shore.
“How come?” I ask, because it feels a little anticlimactic to stop now.
“I want you guys to see how it’s done first,” he says with a wink.
We climb out, and Barry pulls the raft to shore. There are several large rocks directly across from the Sluice, and they serve as the perfect front row seats. Anticipation continues to swell inside me as we join several other people there. The rapid is nothing like I pictured it, and more like a mini-waterfall instead. Totally sick.
“Here comes one,” Barry yells over the roar of the water, as if we can’t already see the raft for ourselves. It slips over the steep drop-off with a splash and the people inside cheer.
“Awesome,” Dillon says, nudging his shoulder into my arm. I would have to agree.
Seconds later, a kayak approaches. It wobbles but makes it over the drop unscathed. I’m starting to think this won’t be so bad.
“See?” Barry yells. “Nothin’ to it.”