The Singing River

by R. K. Ryals

  Mom’s green eyes narrowed behind her glasses. “Haven Ambrose, are you ashamed of me?”

  My cheeks burned, my gaze traveling over her poofed, dyed blonde hair, her outdated clothes, and open-toed sandals. I was as outdated as she was. It wasn’t her.

  “I’m not ashamed of you, I’m ashamed of the car,” I muttered.

  Mom laughed and pushed me out the door, her keys rattling. “She’s part of the family.”

  I shuddered. “No, she’s a temperamental, evil stepsister you have forced into my life.”

  Mangy Beast met us on the porch and snuffled at my Walmart bag.

  “She adds character,” Mom insisted.

  I chuckled, pushing the dog out of the way as I hopped down the stairs. “Says the woman who was cursing at her just two days ago. I think your eye doctor prescribed rose-colored glasses.”

  “Better rose-colored than black,” Mom pointed out.

  She ushered me into the passenger seat, my legs sticking to the cracked green leather even at seven o’clock in the morning. I had a love/hate relationship with Spot the Cadillac. It started when I was twelve and Mom bought the car for five hundred dollars out of someone’s front yard. Even as ugly as it was, it was the nicest thing Mom had ever owned, and the first time she’d ever owned a car with electric windows. I had been excited, sticking my head out to watch as she drove it through the neighborhood. Mom had been playing with all of the new buttons and somehow managed to close my head in the window. A little crying—and maybe a little laughter—later, Mom had gotten the window back down. At church the following Thanksgiving Sunday, when the preacher asked if anyone had anything to be thankful for, I’d stood—to my mother’s horror—and shouted, “I sure am thankful my mama got my head outta that car window.” It would forever remain a joke between us.

  “It’ll make me feel better to see you off,” Mom said, her voice breaking through my thoughts.

  I looked over at her, at the way the early morning light danced on her glasses as she drove, highlighting the deepening wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. Mom had been thirty before she ever had children, and she’d lived a hard life, even harder than ours. It had aged her.

  I patted her free hand where it lay on the seat between us. “I’m excited.”

  Mom grinned. “Good! That’s what I was hoping.” She glanced at me as she pulled over at the fork. “But if you happen to decide you don’t want to go—”

  “Keep an eye on Mr. Nelson while I’m gone,” I interrupted.

  Mom sighed. “It’s just till Wednesday.”

  “I know, but he gets lonely with only his plants to talk to.”

  Mom threw me a look. “You’re a strange kid, Haven. Shouldn’t you have young friends?”

  I grinned. “Peculiarity runs in the family.”

  The sound of an engine caught our attention, and we looked up, our eyes meeting a gleaming pick-up truck coming down the right fork. Black and new, the Dodge Ram 1500 looked like it had been bought simply for a trip to the river. A canoe was tied to a rack on the top, and I eyed it.

  “That’d be him,” Mom said. “It’s the truck from the office.”

  “Wonder if he’ll trade it when we get back?” I muttered.

  Mom bumped me with her knee. “Hush, Haven.”

  Opening her car door, Mom nodded at the canoe. “I hope they have life jackets.”

  Now it was my turn to hiss, “Hush, Mom!”

  I stepped out of the car just as the truck pulled to a stop.

  An older man with salt and pepper hair climbed out of the passenger side, his face strained but excited. “Ho, there!” he waved. “Susan Ambrose?” His eyes studied me as we approached the vehicle.

  Mom’s arm went around my shoulder. “I’m Susan. This is Haven.”

  “Oh, right, right. I remember now.” He shook Mom’s hand, and then turned toward me. “Hello, I’m Marley Brayden. Ready for a trip to the river?”

  Peering around him into the truck, my eyes widened when I caught sight of the driver.

  Marley’s gaze followed mine, and he winced. “My nephews will be joining us,” he explained. “The driver is River, and the young man in the back seat is Roman.”

  I glanced at River’s brother, my gaze taking in his angry expression before traveling down his arm.

  I coughed. “Um, is he handcuffed?”

  Mom’s hand tightened on my shoulder, and she fought to see around me. “What?” Her squeak was loud in the still morning.

  Marley sputtered.

  River, who’d seemed as surprised to see me as I had to see him, grinned. “It’s a forced family vacation. He didn’t want to go. We’re making him,” he said.

  Mom peeked into the backseat, her mouth near my ear. “They’re insane.”

  “And here you called me peculiar,” I whispered.

  Marley retreated, pulling open the back door before motioning at me, his expression full of apology.

  “Boys,” he muttered.

  Mom’s eyes were full of uncertainty when she looked at me.

  “I’m not sure ...” she began.

  I waved her off. “It’ll be fine, Mom.”

  Hugging her quickly before she had a chance to change her mind, I climbed into the front seat, ignoring the back door.

  “I’m not sitting next to the criminal.”

  River laughed even as Marley huffed. “She has a point, Uncle. You shouldn’t have bought a truck you weren’t willing to drive.”

  Marley climbed in next to Roman. “I’m beginning to think this story isn’t worth it,” he grumbled.

  Mom gestured at the truck, her face troubled as River rolled my window down. Mr. Nelson was right. Mom often made rash decisions and regretted them later. I wasn’t particularly comfortable leaving for a trip on the river with strangers, but there was something about this trip that felt right. Scary, but right.

  “It’s going to be fine,” I told her.

  Mom’s eyes narrowed, her voice rising as her gaze traveled over the men in the truck. “She knows karate.”

  I groaned, “God, Mom!”

  River leaned over my lap, giving my mother a hundred watt smile, the kind designed to build trust on a show of teeth. “She’ll be fine. Scout’s honor,” he promised.

  Mom retreated, wringing her hands as the truck window slid up. One of her palms went to her leg as her gaze locked with mine. I blew her a kiss, my eyes following her as she moved back to our car. I didn’t have to hear it to know the door squeaked when she opened it.

  “This is a bunch of bullshit,” Roman muttered.

  River ignored him, glancing at me before pulling into the road. Something about his dark eyes and strong face made me feel funny, and I clutched my Walmart bag.

  “So, Uncle Marley says you know a lot about this legend he’s studying? That you’re coming along as a sort of research assistant?” River inquired.

  The older man in question leaned forward, his tone surly when he spoke. “I gather you’ll be a much better assistant than my nephews.”

  Again, River ignored the occupants in the backseat, his gaze sliding to my face. “Other than Frieda’s, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in town ...”

  Roman groaned. “You saw that car, right? Wrong side of town from us.”

  My cheeks burned. “I live down the street, not the other side of town.”

  Roman huffed, “Same difference.”

  River glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “And you’re one to talk?” he asked. A silent message passed between them.

  I turned, giving the boys my back as I glanced at Marley. The older man’s eyes moved helplessly between his nephews, his lips pressed together.

  I tapped the seat. “Mom said you’re an amateur historian?”

  Marley looked up, pushed at his glasses, and grinned. “A writer with an interest in history.” He held up his hand as if it were full of documents. “I’ve written a lot of memoirs and brochure pieces, but I’ve become senile in my old age. Memo
irs don’t interest me anymore.”

  I returned his smile. “Because now you find yourself interested in myth?”

  “Something like that,” he said, “but more that I’m interested in mystery. You know the river tale?”

  I nodded.

  “Bullshit, all of it,” Roman mumbled, pulling on his wrist where it was handcuffed against the door. He had a butterfly bandage across his nose, the area around it swollen and purple.

  “It’s a haunting story,” I offered.

  Roman looked at me. “It’s bullshit.” Something about his eyes caught my attention, brought back old memories.

  I faced forward, my gaze going to the road, my hands gripping my bag.

  “We’re only an hour out from the river,” River warned, his voice low, his eyes fighting a silent battle with Roman in the mirror.

  A hush fell over the truck, the low whir of the air conditioner the only sound. In the quiet, I found myself glancing at River. At his strong profile, the way his jaw tensed, and the way his dark brown hair fell over his forehead. He wore a pair of older blue jeans, and a black T-shirt with Harvard University along the front. Even the rich knew when to dress down in the South.

  He caught me looking at him, his gaze meeting mine a moment before I glanced away, my eyes going to the passenger side window.

  The road sped by beneath us, the sky blue, the sun bright and blinding as it climbed. I pulled a pair of cheap sunglasses out of my Walmart bag and slid them onto my nose. Forty minutes passed with no conversation.

  We’d pulled off the highway onto back roads when River finally broke the silence.

  “Are you interested in history?”

  I didn’t look at him. “More interested in stories, but I like history.”

  “Then English is your favorite subject in school?”

  He was fishing for my age, and I knew it.

  “It was. I graduated in the spring.”

  Roman sat up in the back seat, his handcuffs knocking against the door. “This past spring?” he asked. “From the public school?”

  I glanced over my shoulder, my gaze suspicious. “Yeah.”

  “Do you know Greg Hinkley?”

  I shrugged. The name sounded familiar. “I think he was in my class. I ... I work a lot.”

  Work was always my excuse for my lack of social grace. Mr. Nelson said I had an old soul, that I’d been born years ahead of everyone else. Sometimes I agreed with him. Other times, I just felt disconnected.

  “Who’s Greg Hinkley?” River asked.

  Roman leaned against the window. “Nobody.”

  The silent battle of eyes ensued in the mirror, neither brother conceding.

  Marley snored in the backseat, his glasses sliding down his nose, and I bit back a grin when a bump in the road caused his snore to rise before falling again.

  “He always does that,” River said, noting my amusement. “Has since I was a kid. Put him in a vehicle he isn’t driving, and he’s asleep in minutes. Something about the motion, he says.”

  My lips twitched. “I had a dog once that did that.”

  River chuckled. “I’m sure Uncle Marley would be ecstatic to know his sleeping habits are akin to a canine.”

  I started to look back at the road, but River tapped the steering wheel lightly, his gaze swinging to my profile.

  “What’s your full name?” he asked. “I didn’t get it the other day.”

  My gaze met his. “Haven Ambrose.”

  Roman grunted. “Sounds like a stripper name.”

  I blushed. “Mom saw it in a romance novel when she was pregnant, same last name, and felt it was too much of a coincidence not to use.”

  “Very creative,” Roman muttered.

  I threw him a look. “Certainly no more strange than Roman or River.”

  River laughed. “She has you there, brother.”

  My gaze fell to River’s shirt. “Do you go to Harvard?”

  He shrugged, and I watched the way his shirt stretched across his chest, his biceps rippling. He seemed entirely too fit to be a preppy college student.

  “My first year,” he answered. “I’m down on break. And you? Any plans for school?”

  My face heated. “Maybe.”

  It was all I said. Right now, Mom and I depended on my paycheck. College would be decided by her new job, and even then I would still work. I’d signed up for the work program at the Junior College where I’d work a minimum wage job on campus between classes.

  We paused at a stop sign and River’s eyes searched mine. “You ever been down to the river before?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Not this part. I go fishing with my cousins on the river close to home though.”

  Roman snorted. “Such a feminine past time.”

  River’s jaw tensed. “Ignore Roman. He’s just angry because I forced him to come.”

  I glanced at the handcuffs. “Literally it seems.”

  River’s lips twitched. “Sometimes we do extreme things for people we care about.”

  Roman glowered.

  The truck moved onto a dirt road, the tires sinking into ruts a vehicle without four wheel drive wouldn’t have been able to maneuver. A pair of sunglasses hanging on the rearview mirror swung as River pulled into a crude driveway, the ground leveling off in front of a large one floor cabin built on stilts. Wooden stairs led up onto a wide wraparound porch with shining French doors.

  “This was my grandfather’s old fishing camp,” River said.

  “Joy,” Roman mumbled. “We’re roughing it.”

  I stared at the cabin. Simple as it was, it was still bigger than my house.

  River put the truck in park before reaching over the seat to pat Marley’s leg.

  “Time to wake up, old man. We’re here.”

  Chapter 10

  River

  My gaze lingered on the river below us, my forearm resting against the window at the back of the cabin. The sun was high, but the shaded porch beyond cast the side of the room in shadow, and I could see Haven’s reflection in the glass as she dropped her Walmart bag on a black suede sofa against the wall. She massaged the back of her neck, her eyes roaming the room.

  The cabin wasn’t large, just a small living space with a modest flat screen television separated from the kitchen by a black marble island. White cabinets lined the back wall, flanking a fireplace. Three doors led off the living area, each leading to a small bedroom with its own adjoining bathroom.

  Roman’s reflection joined Haven’s in the glass, his expression sour as he sat on the sofa, his hand sweeping Haven’s things to the floor. A Ziploc bag and a pile of clothes tumbled to the hardwood.

  “You buy everything from Walmart?” Roman sneered.

  Haven bent to pick up the clothes, her sleeveless white button up top revealing a cropped, black tank beneath.

  “No,” she countered. “Sometimes I get it from Goodwill.”

  I bit back a smile. It was obvious Haven wasn’t easily riled, even if she was defensive. She reminded me of an injured boxer who’d endured several hard rounds, who knew he was losing, the odds stacked against him, but who still refused to give up. I respected resilience. Stubbornness, I could live without. The Braydens had enough stubbornness in their blood to last generations, but resilience was something else entirely.

  “Of course,” Roman said. “We Braydens often contribute to Goodwill.”

  There was anger in my brother’s voice, anger and something deeper, more troubling. A hint of desperation. Roman had always been the silent type, but generally happy and generous to a fault. I didn’t know this new Roman; the angry, desperate one.

  I clenched my jaw, my fist tightening against the window frame. Haven finished replacing her things and eyed my brother.

  “Then your generosity is appreciated,” she replied.

  There was no sarcasm in her tone, nothing to suggest Roman had angered her.

  I pushed away from the window. “Maybe Uncle Marley could use some help unl
oading,” I suggested.

  Roman didn’t move, his gaze meeting mine. “I didn’t sign on for this trip.”

  Instead of arguing, I simply walked past him, my feet finding the stairs beyond the front door. It was muggy outside, the hint of rain in the air, but it wouldn’t come today. It was too hot for rain.

  Footsteps sounded behind me.

  “I can help,” Haven offered.

  I started to shake my head, but then realized she’d probably be offended by it. So, I glanced over my shoulder at her flushed face and falling ponytail, and simply said, “Thanks.”

  She nodded, coming up beside me as we reached the back of the truck where Uncle Marley stood looking at the sky, his lips moving as he mumbled under his breath.

  My gaze followed his. “It won’t rain today.”

  Uncle Marley pushed up his glasses, squinting. “Are you sure? Some of this equipment ...”

  “I’m sure,” I interrupted, my tone short.

  Marley sputtered but nodded, his hand gesturing at the boxes. “Then move them to the ground. I want to try setting up a camera near the river.”

  Haven climbed into the back of the truck. She was average height, maybe five foot five inches at most, but she was all legs, tanned and honed, and I found myself watching her as she pulled herself over the tailgate.

  “I can hand them to you,” she said.

  My eyes drifted to her face. “I can get them.”

  She laughed. “I’m stronger than I look, but I’m also not afraid to admit my weaknesses. I can give you the boxes from up here, but you’re definitely more able to carry them.”

  She had a soft laugh, not the kind I expected from her, and the way her eyes moved to my arms made my blood heat.

  I pulled the truck’s tailgate down and braced myself for the load. The boxes were heavier than they looked but not uncomfortably heavy, and I set them down on the ground at the foot of the cabin’s stairs. There were only four boxes and a cooler of food. Haven straightened after she handed me the last one, her hands moving to her back, her eyes going to the sky.

  “How do you know it won’t rain?” she asked.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance.

  She watched the sky, but I watched her face, my eyes studying the way her sun-bleached hair curled around her temples in the humidity. The wavy mass looked like it tangled easily.