“The bigger problem is,” I heard myself saying, “he’s gonna have to come back across. He’ll get to walk home wet.” I shook my head and looked Danny daringly in the eye. “Why do boys do such stupid things?”
A faint surprise flicked across his face. “Well,” he said, clearing his throat, his gaze sliding away again. “I suppose we like to do things now and think later.”
I laughed, feeling a twisted enjoyment at his discomfort. A strange sense of power, fresh and tingling, washed through me at the thought that I could cause a reaction in someone as rough as Danny Cander. I flashed back to a perfume ad I’d seen in a magazine at Tull’s, the beautiful model, red-lipped and narrow-eyed, pulling a man toward her by his tie, an electrified apprehension on his face. Thinking of that picture, suddenly I understood it. Here at the riverbank, with the rocks under my sneakers, the sun on my face, and my chilled little brother fishing, I felt as if I’d just tapped into an age-old secret bursting to be discovered. My mouth opened for another laugh, but at that moment Danny’s face hardened and he stared straight back at me. The sound died in my throat.
We looked at each other in silence.
Had I ever noticed how big he was for his age? He must have been a good head taller than me, and his chest was broad compared with the skinny boys in my class. His voice had deepened long ago, when the rest of the boys were still squeaking. Maybe that’s why he didn’t fight anymore, I thought. Nobody was willing to take him on.
Danny turned away. “I better be goin’,” he said, suddenly shy again.
“No, wait.” Impulsively I stepped forward to lay a hand on his arm. He shot a glance at my fingers and I took it away.
“What is it?” He wouldn’t look at me.
My courage was crumbling. “You came here to fish, didn’t you?”
“I can go down the bank a ways.”
No, I thought. “Stay here, Danny. I didn’t mean to run you off.”
He swiveled toward me, a challenge glimmering in his eye. “You weren’t runnin’ me off.”
I smiled up at him through my lashes. “Then stay.”
Our eyes locked. His eyebrows relaxed, his jaw softened. I could have sworn I saw a flicker of delight play around his mouth; then it was gone.
“Sure,” he shrugged.
chapter 8
Danny and I had a heck of a time carrying on a normal conversation. I trailed him as he walked over to the large rocks to set his tackle box down. Seeing our can of worms, he made the mistake of offering to bait my hook. Huffily I replied that if I cared to fish, I could do it myself. A minute later I tried to make amends by inquiring about his parents, to which he answered stiffly that they were just fine. Then when Kevy waved to him, I shouted across the water teasingly, “Look what the cat drug in!” only to reap a black look from Danny as if he’d taken me seriously.
Good grief, I thought. Getting along with him was almost as bad as trying to get along with Mama.
Danny was frowning at Kevy. “Hey! Ain’t you got a catch on your line?”
“Yeah! It’s pullin’!” Kevy started reeling in slowly. “Told you, Celia!”
“It’ll be the last fish he catches, he keeps makin’ so much noise,” I grumbled.
“You started it,” Danny said.
“Celia, look how big it is!” The fish was out of the water, scales sparkling as it flopped fiercely on the hook. Kevy was standing at the edge of the boulder, leaning forward precariously as he tried to grab the line.
“Kevin, watch out!” Danny shouted.
It happened so fast. One minute Kevy was on the rock, jabbering about his catch, and the next minute he was tumbling headfirst in the air. His pole flew upward, the reel spinning from the weight of the fish, then sailed down into the current. My brother hit the frigid water six feet below with a loud splash, then disappeared.
“Kevy, you idgit!” I leaped up and watched anxiously for him to appear. Stupid boy, he never should have gone out there in the first place. “Where is he?” I scanned the river, shading my eyes. “You see him?”
Danny was on his feet, too, squinting. “There he is!”
A good five feet downstream from where he’d plunged in, Kevy surfaced, his face blanched against the dark water.
“Come on, Kevy, swim!” I cried. “Forget your pole!”
My brother and I had both learned to swim at a young age, Granddad often walking us to the swimming hole below the rapids. Under his watchful eye I’d first learned how to roll onto my back and float, then mastered the forward crawl, and finally perfected the powerful arm and leg movements of the breaststroke. Years later I stood a few feet away from Granddad, helping him teach Kevy, backing up a little at a time, calling, “You’re doin’ great!” as I urged my brother longer distances.
I trotted toward the water. “Would you come on!”
Kevy gasped air in a terrorized rattle. Frantically he flailed his arms. “Kevy? Kevy! Swim!” I yelled. But something was wrong. He could only slap erratically at the water, coughing ferociously. While I froze in fear on the riverbank, my brother went under for the second time. A trapdoor opened in my stomach. “Kevy!” I wailed.
“I’ll git him.” Danny was throwing off his shoes and socks, jerking the T-shirt from his waist. He ran into the river, dove shallowly, then lunged into a powerful swim.
“Please, God,” I prayed aloud, watching the current flow, desperately looking for Kevy—an arm, a head rising above the water. The river was so cold; falling into it must have shocked him something terrible. I should never have let him wade out to that rock. Mama would not forgive me for this. I ran down the bank, watching Danny slice through the current, but Kevy had popped up far ahead, spluttering. “Kevy! Swim to Danny!”
He splashed crazily for another second, then disappeared for the third time.
“Kevy!” I sprang into the frigid water only to feel my spine pull away in terror, my calf muscles melting. I stumbled and fell, hands plunging into the river, unseen rocks cutting into my palms and knees. As the water soaked my shirt, I struggled to raise my head. Kevy had surfaced again but wasn’t moving, Danny swimming toward him with all his might. Somehow I pulled myself to my feet and lurched through knee-deep water, shoes saturated and pulling off my heels. I could taste blood from a cut in my hand as I pressed it against my mouth. Breathing another prayer, I watched Danny as he fought to close the gap. They neared a bend in the river, and suddenly I jerked to a stop, hearing the rapids far too loudly. The gorge ahead would be swollen to capacity, the icy water churning in its headlong plunge over heavy rocks.
Kevy slipped out of sight around the curve. A moment later Danny was gone, too.
I heaved myself out of the water and ran down the bank, tripping over rocks and logs, calling their names. I reached the bend and rounded it, the roar of the rapids hitting me in the face, and saw the water’s hue lighten as it began to spiral into a surging white. There I saw Danny Cander throw an arm around my brother, pause a moment to change course, then begin to swim toward shore with one hand, face taut with effort.
“Swim!” I screamed. “Swim!” I fell over sun-bleached wood, pulling up immediately. Danny was sliding with the current faster than he could reach the shore, eyes bulging with the knowledge that he could not make it. I watched him falter, then slow, losing precious headway as the current strengthened. They were so close, twenty feet from me now, but the river was beginning to funnel, plowing them back into its center. “Danny!” He lifted his head and caught my eye. “Swim!”
In three steps I’d jumped back into the water, diving into a shock that snatched my breath away. Then I was stroking toward Danny. Seeing me, he struggled harder, pulling against the current. Yes, I cried inside. Yes! In another minute our fingertips were touching, and then my arm was around his shoulder, straining toward shore as he pulled my brother. The rapids rose to a scream in my ears, my eyes blinded by foaming water. Then Danny’s arm fell away and he floated aimlessly, eyes half closed, his other hand loos
ening its grip around Kevy. “No!” I kicked, connecting with Danny’s thigh, and dazedly he shook his head. His eyes opened, filling with fear. With a final effort he strengthened his fingers around Kevy and began to swim. I felt us both lift slightly, then surge forward.
The shore stretched before us, rugged and unreachable. Close the gap, close the gap, I chanted in my head, the frigid water numbing my senses. Kevy’s dead weight was like a giant stone around our necks. Get to shore, close the gap. Would the bank ever grow near? Stroke, kick, stroke, kick. Hold Danny tight. Danny, hold Kevy tight. Stroke, kick. The rest of the world ceased to exist. I was in a dazzling white, cold place, no sound as loud in my ears as our gasps for breath. Then a thought spun across my mind with sudden, brilliant clarity. Our own choking was louder than the rapids’ roar.
We were going to make it.
The knowledge lent me a burst of speed. We moved faster through the water, the gathering sweep of current behind us. Two more strokes and I let my legs sink, touching bottom. I stood, shaking ferociously, and pulled Danny and Kevy toward me. Danny dragged himself to his feet, bent over and heaving, gripping my brother so tightly that I had to forcibly unclench his fingers. “It’s okay, Danny,” I gasped. “We made it.” We huddled, filling our aching lungs. I glanced at Kevy. He was still, his eyelids and lips cold and blue. “Come on, we gotta get him out of the water.” Still gasping, we floated Kevy to shore and dragged him up the rocky bank, his head rolling listlessly, arms limp. Kneeling over his body, we slapped his cheeks. “Kevy! Kevy!” My voice sounded tinny. His wet, cold face stung my fingers. “Kevy! Wake up!” I gripped his wrist, checking for a pulse, his skin like frozen wax. It was there, faintly. “His heart’s beatin’!”
Danny leaned close to his face. “He’s not breathin’.”
Willfully I calmed myself, summoning my knowledge. Hadn’t we studied it enough in P.E.? Hadn’t we practiced dozens of times on dummies and teased our classmates about being mouth-to-mouth? “Tilt his head,” I said.
Kevy’s chin jutted into the air. Danny pulled open my brother’s mouth, looking inside; then I took over. Pinch the nose closed. Cover the victim’s entire mouth. Exhale forcefully. And again. How many times in a row? I couldn’t remember. Danny pushed me aside for another look. Nothing. I repeated the steps and pulled back. Still no movement. “Turn him over,” Danny commanded.
Panic rose within me and I fought to push it away. We flopped Kevy like a fish, ignoring the sharp discomfort on which he lay. Danny turned his head to one side and pushed on his back. “Lord in heaven,” Danny prayed aloud, “please save him.” Brown water trickled out of Kevy’s mouth. Danny pushed again. Another trickle. On the third push Kevy’s lips convulsed, his legs smacking against the rocks. He coughed violently, then retched. His eyeballs rolled under their closed lids, his throat gurgling. Danny flipped Kevy over to his back again and tilted his head. I bent down to cover my brother’s mouth with my own once more, feeling the slick coldness of Kevy’s skin on my lips. After three breaths I pulled away. “Come on, Kevy, breathe.”
I started to bend down again but Danny caught my arm. “No, wait.” My brother’s chest began to rise, air whining in his throat. “Yes, Kevy.” I rubbed his forehead hard. “Come on.” His chest fell with a moan.
“Thank you, Jesus!” Danny cried excitedly. “Come on, Kevin!”
Kevy sucked in air again, his white face turning a slight pink, eyes fluttering open. “Celia.” His lips barely moved. Danny and I shot each other a victorious glance.
“Yes, Kevy, I’m here.”
For no reason a sob rose suddenly in my throat. I hadn’t cried the whole time; now was an odd moment to start. “Oh,” I moaned, voice breaking. I tried to push the emotions away but could not. Kevy was all right; my brother was going to be fine. “Thank God!”
“Don’t cry, Celia,” Kevy whispered.
I brought both hands to my mouth, overwhelmed with exhaustion and relief. Dear Kevy, nearly drowned, and he was worried about me. I felt the chilly touch of his fingers on my forearms, which made me cry all the more. “It’s okay, Kevin,” I heard Danny say. And then I stood up and Danny was standing, too, saying my brother was going to be all right. I nodded fiercely but still I sobbed, turning away so he wouldn’t see my face. After a minute I felt a tentative touch on my shoulder and was embarrassed to find him right behind me. “Please don’t cry, Celia; he’s okay now.”
“I know.”
“Then why’re you cryin’?”
“I can’t help it; I’m just glad he’s all right. He’s the only brother I’ve got.”
“Oh.” I could sense him shifting uncomfortably. “Are you through yet?”
I tried to breathe evenly but the tears kept coming. “No. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. You don’t have to apologize.”
I turned toward him, the ground blurry beneath my feet. “I just w–want,” I stuttered, covering my mouth so he wouldn’t see my lips pull, “to thank you for s–savin’ my brother.”
“It’s all right; I couldn’t a done it without you. And God helped us both.”
“No, if you hadn’t jumped in—”
“Celia.” He put a hand on each of my shoulders. “You got to stop now; we still need to help Kevin. He’s shiverin’ somethin’ awful.”
“Okay, I w–will. Sorry I’m bein’ so stupid.”
“You’re not bein’ stupid.”
Danny’s unexpected empathy pulled another sob from me. I tried to apologize for the third time but couldn’t talk, so I just shook my head.
“Oh, brother,” Danny said, sighing. He put his hands halfway around my back and we stood awkwardly for a minute. “Come on, stop now.” He patted the back of my head as he would a whimpering puppy.
“Okay.” Swallowing hard, I raised my head to look at him, hiccuping. His hair was plastered against his forehead, droplets of water still on his neck, green irises vivid against chilled skin. Our eyes met and held, an unreadable expression flickering across his face. As the last cry died in my throat, something changed inside me. I was suddenly, acutely aware of Danny Cander’s arm warming my shoulders and how close we were. A tingle ran through my nerves. Blinking hard, I stepped back quickly, his arms falling away and his cheeks flushing a deep red. “I’m sorry. I’m okay now.” I dropped my eyes, turning to lean down at Kevy’s side. My brother’s eyes were not quite focused. “Kevy. You okay?”
He nodded, reaching for my hand. I grasped him tightly, my fingers turning white. A shiver shook his body. “I’m c–cold.”
“I know, Kevy. We’ll get you warm.” I turned to catch Danny staring at me. Flustered, he glanced away. It’s okay, I wanted to assure him. Don’t worry about it. “Danny, your T-shirt. It’s still dry, remember?”
For a moment his face was blank. “Oh. Yeah.”
“Can you run get it?”
His brow knit with concern. “Yeah. Sure.”
I smiled at him briefly. Slowly he smiled back. Then he was off, loping barefoot over the rocks upstream.
“Celia.” Kevy rubbed my hand. I turned toward him.
“Yes, little brother. What is it?”
“Did you get my fishin’ pole?”
chapter 9
With Danny’s shirt reaching to his knees, Kevy lay on the ground, still shivering. I wished girls could go shirtless as Danny was; my bra chafed and my damp shirt was smeared with dirt and blood. I must look a sight, I thought.
“Kevy, can you walk?” I squatted beside him.
He rolled his head, teeth chattering. “I’m s–so cold.” His cheeks were still unnaturally white, each freckle a dark contrast. I shot Danny a concerned look.
He nodded. “We gotta git him somewhere quick, git him warm.”
I was tired enough to lie beside Kevy and go to sleep. I tried to think of the closest place to take him, but my brain wouldn’t work. “What should we do?”
Rubbing his forehead, Danny looked across the field that bordered the riverbank. H
is hair was half dry and looked good in a messed-up way. I took in his strong profile and the length of his black lashes. One hand was on the hip of his wet jeans, the other dangling, his muscles well defined. He’d been wearing his shoes and socks when he returned, and he’d picked up Kevy’s shoes as well. He must have hurt his feet on his way up the riverbank, but he wasn’t complaining. I glanced at the cuts on my palms and knees. They had stopped bleeding, although they stung a little.
Danny and I were keeping our distance. I knew he was thinking about our hug, too, was probably even more embarrassed than I. It wasn’t his fault any more than mine; it just happened. The whole thing was almost funny. If anybody had told me I’d end up clinging to Danny Cander today, sobbing on his shoulder, I’d have laughed myself silly. He shifted awkwardly under my gaze, our eyes meeting. I made sure not to glance away, lest he think I still had that particular moment in mind.
“We should take him to my house.”
I tried to hide my surprise but it was too late.
“It’s closest,” he explained quickly, pointing across the field. “We cut through there, it’s only about a half mile.”
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