“When’s dinner?” Nia asked.
“Jesus.” He realized he had all the tents. E.B. would have to make do with a tarp, and one sleeping bag, if they had one. They’d freeze. “I’ll get started. Everyone set up your gear?”
They scattered. He unrolled the roll-up camping table, set in the legs, and pulled out the stove. This trip had been a nightmare from the start. He should stick to what he knew. New York. Daisy. Paperwork. And he should never have let Laura get in his car. If E.B. had been alone, he would have kept up. Well, that was kind of a mean thought—Campbell kicked over a bucket of water by mistake. They had newbies on the river all the time and took good care of them. Campbell’s stomach twisted into knots. He should have waited for them.
“I could use a hand. Francine?”
“Maybe later, Dad.”
Campbell looked on as Francine sidled up to dewy-eyed Nia, who was reading, leaning against a tree. What was Francine up to now? He craned his head to listen.
“Are you finished yet?” Francine asked Nia.
“You read romances? Five more pages to go.” Nia held out her dog-eared paperback, Despair in Duluth.
“We’ve all read it now.” The other girls, sitting nearby, nodded their heads.
“I don’t have time to read junk like that.”
Nia frowned. “Then what’ja ask me for?”
“Fun.”
Nia was eight years older, six inches taller, and built, but probably flabby as hell, Campbell thought.
“What is it that you want?” Nia asked. She turned to the other girls, held up her hand, and whispered something.
“You remember kindergarten, don’t you, Nia?” Francine stood in the other girl’s face. “That’s where I learned that it’s rude to whisper.” She pulled up to her full height of five foot three. “If you share with them, you share with me. Or maybe— think about it, because you never know—out here? To you or one of your friends.”
Nia visibly stiffened.
“You got a problem over there, Francine?” Campbell called.
“Everything’s just ducky, Dad. We’re all getting along like gangbusters.” Francine slid up to Nia. “Apologize.”
“Francine! Knock it off!”
Nia sneered. “You’re worse than your dad and he’s so bad, it’s laughable.”
“You slimeball.” Francine tightened her hand into a fist.
“Campbell!” Nia yelled. “Get her to back off. She’s trying to kill me!”
“Francine, please.” Campbell moved in and dragged her away.
“Get a grip,” he whispered. “You can’t go around hitting people. These are paying guests. What do you think you’re doing?”
“She dissed you, Dad. And made fun of me, too.”
“Feel pretty powerful? Picking on a girl twice your size?”
“Let me go and I’ll finish her off.”
Campbell held her around the waist. “I’ll let you go when you stop grinding at the ground like a taxi at a red light.”
“You can’t stand there and let her get away with shit like this. Makes you look like a wuss.”
“You’ve been suspended twice for fighting at school. You can’t stop now? While we’re on vacation?” He released his grip a little. “Give it a rest. Mom said to count to twenty when you get mad like this.”
“Mom’s not here.”
“I am and I’m telling you to wait. I’ll let you go when you calm down.”
“But Dad,” she said. “Those girls? They’re all dickheads.”
“Suck it up, Francine. Being a grown-up, sometimes, really sucks.”
“Eggs. It sucks eggs. Let me go.”
“As you wish.” Campbell dropped his hands.
She shook off his arms, but held still, trembling.
When did his little girl get so strong? He could hardly hold her anymore.
“I’m okay now,” she said and picked up her philosophy book. It was five hundred pages and heavy. He’d told her not to bring it, but what else did she like to read?
“Francine,” Campbell said.
“Don’t worry, Dad, I’m on page three hundred forty-two. Interesting guy, Kant.”
He watched her walk away. A moment later when he saw her approach Nia, he tensed up.
Francine held the book low and slapped it against Nia’s leg as she walked by. “Whoops,” she grinned. “This is a mother-heavy book, Nia. Would you like to see what grownups read?”
Nia, widening her eyes, picked herself up and ran into her tent.
Ten minutes later, Campbell arranged the coolers in a circle so they could all sit together. Everybody dug into the pasta and salad he’d prepared. After supper the sun dropped below the canyon walls and the light was dim. He sank his head into a storage bin, looking for a flashlight, and heard a crackle in the underbrush. It was Francine.
“Better?” he asked, feeling relieved it wasn’t one of the other campers.
Without a word, she turned on the stove and set a pot of water to boil. “Tea?” She gave him a funny look. “You okay?”
“Maybe they’re resting and will come in later. Maybe he’s showing her a homesteader’s cabin. Damn it all, Francine, E.B. knows better.”
“At camp last summer one of the canoes was late, and the counselors had a fit. This little twerp Larry Peeves broke his arm. We had to go back. Took all day. An infection too, not pretty.” She dug into one of the coolers. “E.B. have any antibiotics? Then they should be okay.”
“Francine? Don’t scare me like that.”
“What’s for dessert? I’m still hungry.”
Campbell searched his pocket for his last Power Bar and tossed it to her. Antibiotics? The first aid kit was in his canoe.
With the others out of sight, this was as good a time as any to tell her about Daisy. “So, Francine”—he swallowed— “this is a real special time . . . dad and daughter . . . you and me . . . Soon you’re going to . . . You having a good time . . .?”
“I’m all right,” she said, taking a bite.
“No more fights? Your tent set up, kiddo?” Cool air ruffled what was left of his hair. He swallowed. Daisy would be on the river in less than twenty-four hours. At this rate he wouldn’t be there to meet her—and she’d be alone. And he had her sleeping bag and coat.
“I don’t know why you made me bring my own tent, Dad. We could have shared. Mine’s big enough.”
“I snore,” Campbell said.
“No more than I do,” Francine laughed. “You say so yourself.”
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
“Hey!” She turned suddenly. “Did you see that? Antelopes!” She scampered across the grass.
“Francine!” Campbell, in despair, watched her run. He cursed himself. He could have told her about Daisy long before now. Back in New York, or in Great Falls, or in Fort Benton, or on the river, or any old time. The minutes were falling away. Though secretly, he was relieved. He was such a coward.
It was just going to be so much harder in the morning.
The sky in the west turned a dark rose, and Campbell remembered, for a moment, the reason he kept coming to this river and this wilderness. He adjusted his headlamp, picked up dirty plates, utensils, cups, brought everything over to the roll-up table, and set up two pots of boiling water, one hot and soapy, the other rinse water, to which he added a dot of bleach. All he wanted to do was climb into his sleeping bag and crash. He knew better. If he didn’t clean up, all the food and pots and pans would attract raccoons, possums, or worse, skunks.
He washed the camping plates and utensils by the light of his headlamp. He looked around and saw flashlight beams splash tent walls. Some of the canoeists were laughing, more than he could imagine after his day. From another he heard snoring—his little girl.
He adjusted the strap on his headlamp, stared into soapy water, and rinsed one dish after another, setting each clean plate on the table to dry, feeling like a failure.
If only he’d waite
d for E.B. If only he’d gone farther upstream with Francine. If only he’d told Francine about Daisy. If only he’d given Daisy her coat.
Now, they were a day behind. E.B. or Laura could have gotten hurt. Daisy was going to freeze. And when Francine heard that Daisy was coming, she’d be crushed. No way getting around that now. What a stupid fool he’d been.
Daisy had been such a sport about coming. She’d been so happy when he’d promised he’d spoil her. She’d have loved to watch a fire burn and to peer out of his tent in the morning, her soft blonde hair on his cheek, tucking her face onto his neck and shoulders, the raspberry scent of hers warming his heart. Now she’d be afraid, alone, and cold.
Lost in thought, Campbell didn’t hear the sound at first. When he did, he froze, his wet hands suspended above the water. The howls and cries that came floating over the water echoed in the hills, causing a too-familiar pain in his chest. They weren’t the “high high yip yips” of coyotes but something baser, deeper, and more haunting. Howls and wails. It was wolves, a gang of them. The roaming pack from Loma had entered the Missouri River valley.
He patted the table beside the stove, carefully, trying not to cut himself on the blade of a knife. When his fingers touched smooth metal, he moved them down until he found the handle, closed his fingers, and held the blade at his side. He listened again.
The howling came in waves, one after another, and then silence—absolute silence. He could hear his heart during the quiet. Another howl, then another.
Across the campground a branch broke. He stayed real still. Another branch, louder this time. He swallowed, hoping the wolves wouldn’t go to the tents.
Hearing a crinkle of leaves behind him, he spun and felt something slip. He reached up and tried to grab his headlamp. Too late. It dropped into the water, plunging him and everything else into darkness.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sunday, earlier that same evening land
LAURA, E.B., AND TUCKER
“Enough.” E.B. touched her wrists. Laura’s hands were trembling.
“You let him go, you idiot,” she said.
“Hey!” Tucker yelled. “Untie my neck at least! I’m going to die out here!”
Laura’s hair was disheveled; her body amped up like a fearful colt. “Are you hurt?” E.B. asked.
“No,” she lied. Everything ached. But she wasn’t going to tell him that; she wasn’t going to tell him anything like that. “He was tied good and fast to that canoe. Next person coming by will let him go. Oh, he’ll get loose somehow.” She twisted away from him.
“I would hate it if he hurt you,” E.B. said.
“‘I’ll be back in an hour, two, tops,’ you said.”
“When I got to the top of the ridge . . . I should never have left you,” E.B. sputtered.
“You think?”
“Did he come at you first? Or was it the teenagers? How did you get away? How many were there?”
“Ask him,” Laura said.
Tucker, noticing they were talking about him, started screaming again.
“Maybe you’ll tell me some other time,” E.B. said.
“Maybe pigs will fly and cabbies will dance.” All she wanted was to be home, in her own bed, Stella’s number lighting up her cell phone. “Give it a rest. Just give it a goddamn rest.”
E.B. noticed a deep scratch on her arm. “Did the kids do that?”
“Stop asking me dumbass questions.” She pushed Tucker’s canoe into the river. “Get in.”
Tucker’s yells filled the air, scaring some birds who were coming in to feed.
“That asshole’s not coming near me again.”
“Did the kids show up first or was it this guy?”
“Where the hell were you?”
He could hear the quiver in her voice.
E.B. moved their gear into Tucker’s boat and checked his own. “I’ll come back, with Ken, with a fiberglass kit, and patch it. Nothing we can do now.”
“Quit dawdling. I can’t stand the sight of him.”
“Yes, of course.” He pushed off into the river and within a few strokes, felt the current pull them. It felt good to be back on the water again and back with her.
“You were gone a long time.”
“I found a little cabin,” he replied. “Thought it was part of Milt’s place. Smoke coming out of the chimney and everything. An old lady answered the door and started shouting at me right away. She went to grade school with my grandma—I thought that would help. I asked to use her phone. She disappeared inside and came out blasting. I stole her ATV, and she shot out the oil pan. I had to run the rest of the way.”
“That was you? I thought it was hunters.”
“I wish it had been,” he said, going quiet. Shit, that old bag had shot him right between his legs. He took a look upriver and watched Tucker and the clearing disappear as they went around a bend and picked up speed.
“Better now?” he asked a few minutes later.
“Let’s just get going. I hate this river.”
Despite his sore hip E.B. matched his stroke with hers. Whatever he had gone through, she’d had worse. “I don’t doubt it,” he said. “I would too.”
Half an hour later, while the sun’s rays pinked canyon walls, E.B. eased back on his paddling. They’d gone around two, three bends, and in all the time she hadn’t said a word. He checked his watch. Dusk in the canyon came early. There was no telling where there would be a good landing again. With an expert stroke, he pulled them onto a beach.
“You need to go? Again?”
He couldn’t stop looking at her, her sad little shoulders, paddle across her lap, blonde hair streaking across her face. She was more powerful than she looked and full of secrets.
“We need to make camp. This is as good a place as any.”
E.B. passed her a bottle of water. Watched her a minute or two. “Drink.” What had happened back there? Should he ask? Or should he just wait, like they did with the kids in Sunday School who fidgeted and dawdled when he knew they’d taken off with the chalk?
He put out his hand to touch her.
She recoiled.
“When did you get that scratch? Before or after the kids tied him up?” She defeated a bunch of teens and a grown man? She was a mere slip of a thing.
“I wasn’t paying attention,” she answered, tipping her head back and swallowing half the water.
The evening enveloped them, hugging trees with a dank mist, touching their flushed faces with cool air.
“We’re going to camp here?” Laura asked. The place looked bleak.
“Yes, of course.”
“And the others?”
“I’m not sure where they are. We can’t look for them now. I don’t want to get caught on the water in the dark, Laura.”
“There’s no place to hide,” she whispered.
Owls called from the other side of the river.
She jumped.
“There’s a great campground above this cutbank,” he said. “And steps, too, see?”
Something slipped into the water nearby, making a swooshing sound. She grabbed his arm.
“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s just an otter. Let’s get set up, shall we? While we still have plenty of light?”
He unpacked Tucker’s canoe.
“I don’t know what’s in here,” E.B. said. “Up on the bluff, it’s safer. I’ll hide the canoe. You’ll see.” He pulled the boat up on shore and climbed the bank. “Come up here, Laura. It’s okay now,” he said, his voice soothing. “I’m here and I won’t leave you.”
“I’ve heard that lie before.” Her dad used to say that; he used to say a lot of things that weren’t true. She saw his face fall. “It’s been kind of a long day.”
“Yes, of course, I understand,” he answered, hurt but a soldier. He wouldn’t mention it again.
She contemplated arguing with him, but was too tired. She watched him gather up gear and take off up the bluff. Suddenly, she was alone. Wavelets sla
pped the beach. Feeling vulnerable, she grabbed a cooler and an old army bag and beat it up to the bluffs.
A flat plain spread itself out in all directions. Trees stood sentry. Golden light—the last of the day—spread itself along fields of honey-colored grass.
She stood there, uneasy and still. That strange feeling again—E.B.’s kindness.
“E.B.?” she asked, calling to him. She peered into some trees. “You there?”
“You bet, kiddo,” he answered. “I’m right here. Take my hand.”
Despite her lingering despair, she reached out and felt warmth.
Fifteen minutes later, they hid the canoe behind two shrubs, well out of view of the river. Then they carried up all the rest of Tucker’s gear—plastic bags full of clothes and a cooler full of cans.
In the bottom of a tackle box, E.B. found a small flashlight, turned the batteries over, and switched it on. A pinpoint of light stretched out in front of them. He splashed the light onto Laura. She blinked. The little metal mag light was dim, but decent enough to set up a makeshift shelter. In another hefty plastic bag, he found a flannel sleeping bag. It reeked of cigarette smoke, but it was better than nothing.
“Can you find the stove?” he asked.
She bent over into the boxes again. She imagined something big and bulky—like the four-burner stove her mother had on Staten Island. It was as if someone turned out the klieg lights, as if she was staring into the darkness of the audience. Except there was no one there, no one whistling, moaning, sighing. Not a cough or a stir. Frogs croaked in the distance. She dug her hands into a pile of bags, not finding any stove.
“It’s okay, I’ll find it,” E.B. said. “Put on all the clothes you can find. It’s going to be chilly tonight.”
She dug into a bag patched with duct tape and found a flannel shirt, holes in the back and patches at the elbows. There was an extra pair of jeans, stiff with dirt and grease, as well as some socks, a hat, a bomber jacket. They smelled just like her brother after a basketball game.
She stood up, Tucker’s bag of clothes bunched up in her arms, and headed off for some bushes.
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