Montana Rhapsody

by Susanna Solomon

  Laura heard E.B.’s footsteps disappear as Tucker’s weight pushed down on her neck. She tried to kick him, but he was too heavy for her. He reached back to slug her. She twisted, reached around above her head, found a rock, and hit him with it. Tucker fell.

  Laura rose and pounded one good blow into the asshole’s face, then another and another, the rock slimy with blood, her breath heaving. Tucker still struggled a little. She could finish him off. She reached back again.

  “Stop!” E.B. yelled.

  “Get the fuck out of my way,” she cried.

  Tucker opened his eyes and stared at her, his eyes fathomless.

  She held the rock over his head.

  “Don’t.” E.B. pushed her aside. “Leave it, Laura. Have a little Christ in your heart.”

  “He never watched out for me before.”

  “But he’s watching you now,” E.B. said. “And he says, let it go.”

  Together they tied Tucker’s arms behind his back, bound his feet to his hands, and roped him up good. They tied him into the good canoe and towed the leaky canoe to an island. They covered him with leaves and branches and duff so no one could see him from the water and left him in the middle of the island. Then they bashed the leaky canoe with rocks until they cracked it but good, filled it with rocks, towed it to the middle of the river, and watched it sink.

  “Maybe he’ll drown out here,” Laura said.

  “Maybe he will,” E.B. said. “Maybe no one will find him until December. Maybe God is watching him too.”

  “Not on your life,” she said.

  “You’re probably right,” E.B. said, taking her hand.

  At the water, they stood there watching the river. She was too fidgety to sit still.

  “Quit worrying about me, I’m fine,” she said, through tightly clenched lips. But she wasn’t. She was going to have nightmares about Tucker Claymore for a very long time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Monday, afternoon

  Coal Banks Landing

  DAISY

  “Hey!” Daisy hollered, waving her arms over her head. “Hey! Frank! Stop! Wait!”

  He flicked a cigarette out his window, skidded around the corner, and disappeared, blowing up a cloud of sand that came toward her like a scene out of Star Wars.

  Choking on dust, Daisy turned away. Grit clung to her eyebrows and rimmed her ears. Her once-pristine white shorts were now peppered with dirt. In front of her was nothing but flat, bare ground dotted with clumps of dead brown grass. Rusty barbecues, leaning precariously on their supports, stood clustered beside chipped concrete picnic tables. A small block building with a smokestack squatted in the center of the campground, and off to the side, a trailer teetered on supports. The open door banged in the wind.

  Feeling deserted, Daisy knew, just knew, that Frank had made a mistake. This certainly wasn’t the Coal Banks Landing that Campbell had described. This place was a dump.

  Now, she’d have to walk back to the main road and hitchhike to the proper place.

  On her way, she noticed a sign, just near the entrance to the campground, set off to the side, that read “Welcome to Coal Banks Landing.” She gasped.

  Desperate to see someone, anyone, she clung to her handbag with one hand and clutched the handle of her duffle bag with the other, wishing she was still home, or at least back in Frank’s truck heading to civilization. She ran over to the trailer, peered in to see a torn Naugahyde sofa, a sky-blue plastic chair, and a pile of dirty dishes on a counter. Yellow faded curtains drooped from the windows.

  “Hello!” she yelled into nothingness, her voice echoing and hanging empty in the air. “Hey—is anyone here?” She felt like an alien. Mosquitoes and gnats buzzed in and around her ears. She tightened her grip on her handbag, stepped out of the trailer into a bright summer sun, and almost tripped on the low step just outside.

  This was not at all what Campbell had promised at the Museum of Natural History where he had shown her dioramas of pronghorn antelope grazing among lush and expansive landscapes. As soon as he came in to pick her up at Coal Banks, she’d give him what for.

  A twisted US flag banged from a pole, startling her. A crow called overhead, banked, and flew away. Near her feet plastic bags and aluminum beer cans skittered and hopped across dirt. Off to the side and dropping steeply toward the water was a boat ramp. Maybe he was down there. She practiced what she was going to say.

  On her way over, Daisy did a mini-clean, eased her fingers across her eyebrows, smoothed down her hair, and swept dust off the front of her red-linen camp shirt. She dug into the bottom of her purse for her favorite lipstick, Maybelline Coral Red Dream. She might not be a Saks Fifth Avenue girl, but she was no slouch either. As a receptionist at Fanflagen and Neut, she knew her way around. And this was no resort. She tapped her foot. What the hell had he been thinking?

  Her sandals flapped against the scored concrete as she followed the ramp down below the level of the campground to where it buried itself into water the color of a macchiato. No Campbell, no one at all. Just marsh grass and a river, moving way too fast. She choked back tears.

  Had he forgotten about her? Was she in the wrong place? Wrong time? Hadn’t he said Coal Banks Landing, 2:00 p.m. Monday, and made her repeat it three times? No, she was right. He was late. Making her think it was her fault was so much like him.

  She squared her shoulders, wheeled her duffle bag over gravel, and headed toward the little welcome building in the middle of the campground where she could at least get out of the wind to wait.

  A black smokestack rose six feet above the roof. She stumbled on a rock, hurt her toe, cursed Campbell, entered the vestibule, and, grateful to be out of the wind, opened the door to an inside room where she expected to find a little stove and sink. Instead, she saw an open metal toilet standing in the corner. Flies circled lazily in the dim light. It stank.

  “Jesus Christ!” She backed out into the vestibule and heard the whoosh and clatter of wind. She covered her head, crouched down, and tried not to cry.

  This was a test. A test to see if she was tough enough to be with Campbell. After five years of sneaking around, what was she going to say? No? She could do this. No tears allowed. She stood up and marched out of the vestibule into a driving wind. Within the hour he’d come for her, and they’d have a great night, and he’d pop the question and she’d say yes. She kicked at dirt. Yes to the dirt and dust, yes to the bleak landscape. Yes, even to his daughter, Francine. Yes to everything. Yes to her new life. Yes.

  She placed her duffle bag down carefully on a patch of dried grass to keep it clean, shoved her hat down, and marched back to the campground to check out the last item she had yet to explore—a large sign, set on posts, near the entrance. Posters and maps and fliers clung to the corkboard, held on with not enough rusty thumbtacks.

  The words “Missouri Breaks National Monument” ran across the top of the sign. Underneath, a wiggly red line ran from left to right on a rain-streaked map. One hundred fortynine miles with crazy names: Black Bluff Rapids, Evans Bend, Wood Bottom, Hole-in-the-Wall, Judith Landing, and Slaughter River. The river’s route. Wow, it went all over everything, wiggling back on itself like the worms she’d seen in Central Park.

  Below the map was a faded photo of two men in Indian buckskin jackets. The shorter guy held a pelt in his hand, the other a rifle. Lewis and Clark. Daisy smoothed the papers in place and studied them. Behind her a truck pulled into the driveway. Engrossed in thought, Daisy hadn’t heard a thing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Monday, afternoon on the river

  CAMPBELL AND FRANCINE

  Fifteen miles upriver from Coal Banks Francine brushed a mosquito away from her face and frowned. “Daisy? Who’s Daisy?” she asked, her face clouded. “She’s a friend of mine,” Campbell said, his voice cracking. He took one look at his daughter’s sweet face and didn’t know what to say. Nothing would be right again.

  Across the river a group of huge white pelicans w
ith bright yellow beaks took off. They looked like something out of Francine’s Curious George children’s books. He wished she was young again and he was still her hero.

  “Someone you know in New York?” Francine asked, pulling strong and steady in the stern. “From work?”

  “Yes from New York but not from work.” Campbell tried to make his voice sound lighthearted.

  “Then where? At a movie? Union Square? The sushi place you keep threatening to take me to?”

  “We’ll go to Uncle Jack’s when we get home, if you want,” he said. “Have some mushroom and salami pizza, your favorite.” Oh God, he was in for it now.

  Francine was puzzled. “Known her long?”

  “Well, it’s not important.”

  “Really? Then why are you all nervous and shit? You’re flitting around like a fly in a window.”

  “She’s a nice girl.” He took a few strokes. He couldn’t lie to her, not anymore.

  “Nice? Like girlfriend nice? Or nice like Helen, who runs your office and knows everything? Or Mom’s first cousin Bertha? You’re kidding, right?”

  Down a long, straight stretch of river Campbell saw the blue-green tents of camp. Ten minutes away. He worked his jaws, grinding his teeth while he paddled, an old habit he used to relieve stresses beyond his control. Jesus. What an idiot he’d been. Francine didn’t deserve it and neither did Daisy, who at this moment was waiting for them at Coal Banks Landing. A full day away. Alone. Where she’d spend the night, completely unprepared. At least E.B. and Laura had each other. He aimed toward a bluff of marsh grass and bumped harder than he wanted.

  “Dad, don’t stop here. We’re almost there.”

  “I’ve got to get out,” Campbell said.

  “You have to go? Again?”

  “No, that’s not it.” She knew, then? How much did she know? He glanced at his daughter, at her ponytail all jammed under the rubber band. Just the way she liked it. “Are you coming? Want to stretch your legs or something?”

  “Nah, I’m okay here.” She watched the river flow by between them.

  Campbell couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her sit quietly like this.

  An owl called, its hooting echoing across the cliffs towering overhead. Seemed to call out to him, coward, coward, coward.

  “Enough of this shit. Come on, Dad. Get on with it. We need to get back to camp.”

  “Give me one more minute,” he croaked. Now or never.

  “Is it trouble with your heart, again?” A turtle laboriously climbed up a rock. “You have to tell me. Is it worse than we thought?”

  “You like the river? Beautiful here, don’t you think?” He felt terrible. “Francine, my heart is fine. It’s just—I’m sure Daisy will like the river as much as you do.”

  “Daisy who? Your girlfriend?” She sat up suddenly. “She’s coming here?”

  The turtle extended his head.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re screwing her?”

  Francine’s little body was ramrod straight, jittery with tension.

  “And it’s not important? Does she know that? How does she feel when you call her nothing?”

  “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “You say what you don’t mean. You don’t say what you do mean. Anyone home?”

  “Francine, I’m not very good at this,” he said. “And yes, she’s my girlfriend.”

  She watched the turtle slide into the river, wishing she could disappear too.

  “I thought you’d rather tell me off here than at camp.”

  “You think I care?”

  “It was . . . I planned . . . let me explain,” he stuttered. “Your mom and I weren’t getting along. I was lonely.”

  “Too good to be true, I thought so.” She dug into the ground and picked up a handful of rocks. “I knew something was up the minute you invited me.”

  “That’s not it,” he said, searching for something, anything to calm her. He needed to think, sort it all out.

  “I don’t want anyone else here. With us.” Francine threw a rock into the river. “You’re the one who said, ‘This is going to be a special dad-daughter trip.’”

  “I’ve been trying to tell you about her for weeks. Just never had time . . .”

  “You shithead. You know that. You lied to me. If I’d known about this charade, I wouldn’t have come and you knew it,” she said. “Take me home.”

  “In a few days, I will, I promise.”

  “I’m not getting in a canoe with your goddamn girlfriend. I’ll catch a ride at Coal Banks.”

  Campbell felt his stomach cave in. “It’s out in the middle of nowhere. They don’t have taxis. They’re just truckers, farmers, there, if you can find a ride. It’s a long way to Great Falls, and you can’t just get in anyone’s car.”

  “I’ll find a way.”

  “Francine, please.”

  “You don’t give a shit about me,” she said, silent now, tears escaping their constraints, pushing over her eyelids. “You never have.”

  “I always have. I’ve always loved you. More than you’ll ever know.” Campbell struggled for words.

  “Does Mom know?”

  Campbell cringed. He didn’t feel like answering that question. Too close to the bone. He changed the subject. “You’ve done nothing but push me away these last years. Always running to Grandpa’s.”

  “For good reason. It’s all about you.”

  “Spending time with a sullen teenager is no fun.”

  “Being present is what parents need to do. Teenagers aren’t supposed to be fun.”

  “I never wanted to hurt you.”

  “Right.” Francine’s tears overwhelmed her eyes. “As if you ever gave a shit.”

  She stood back from him, a mere few feet away, but it was a distance that felt like a mile. Her skinny little body shook with rage. Was she right? He couldn’t stand to see her hurt like this.

  “I’ve made a terrible mistake,” he whispered. What an idiot he’d been. “I am so very sorry.” He stood away from her.

  “When we get home, I’m moving to Mom’s permanently.”

  “Hey, no, please don’t . . . I love you, Francine,” Campbell stuttered. Their evenings together were the highlight of his week. “Please. Francine, please don’t do that.”

  “Wanna bet?” she said.

  Francine moving out permanently so he could keep seeing Daisy was a no-brainer, but losing Daisy would be terrible too. He couldn’t do it to either of them.

  “It’s not that hard, Dad. Just dump her,” Francine said, leaning against a tree. “We don’t need anyone else on this trip. Not with us, not now, not ever, Dad.”

  Campbell watched her eyes follow a butterfly skittering around the trees. If they were home, she’d run after it. If they were home, he’d be with Daisy. So now Francine knew everything. Most of it, anyway.

  “Well, now, wait a moment.” Campbell could see Daisy less, he supposed, but no Francine? No more Dad-daughter nights? No more having her at his side, sitting beside him on his beat-up couch, watching baseball, telling stories about the Yankees, and throwing popcorn at the screen? He couldn’t bear it if he couldn’t see her. That hadn’t been in his grand plan at all.

  “Come on, get back in the canoe, and let me think,” he said. Paddling always helped him ease into his day, or what was left of it anyway. It was time they got back to camp.

  Behind him he could feel Francine lengthen her strokes. That girl was not afraid of anything. At least he had taught her one thing right.

  “Full balls out, Dad, only way to go.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Monday, afternoon

  Coal Banks Landing

  DAISY

  Daisy, engrossed in the history of Lewis and Clark’s Voyage of Discovery, sensed something behind her.

  “Have you been saved?”

  “Jesus Christ!” She clutched her handbag. “You scared the hell out of me.” She looked up into the shadow of a tallish
man, and saw a narrow, grizzled face in need of a shave. Had he seen Campbell? She wasn’t sure if she wanted to talk to him at all.

  “Didn’t mean to startle you, ma’am.” He stepped back, tipped the bill of his maroon Montana Grizzlies cap, and put out his hand. “Good afternoon. My name’s Logan.”

  “Where’d you come from?” Daisy looked at that hand, a much stronger hand than hers, and shook it slowly. He twisted her fingers, letting go when she squirmed.

  “I drove here. My little Louisa—my red truck—she’s parked right behind those trees. And you? Paddled here all alone? I don’t see another car—or a boat. How’d you manage?”

  Daisy checked him out—early thirties, dark-brown, curly hair, chocolate eyes she could swim in, a dirty, ripped Tshirt, ratty, sun-bleached blue jeans with holes at the knees, and New Balance tennis shoes with torn, knotted laces. A pocket held cigs. Another country hick? Place was full of them. “Uh, I got a ride,” she said, not really ready to make conversation. But perhaps he could help? Somehow?

  “You here for the revival meeting?” he asked, sticking a toothpick in his mouth. “Lot of folks in these parts, they’re kind of hesitant, but you sure got here early.”

  “Uh, no.” Daisy frowned. She’d seen Mom go to those meetings every week, hopeful, trying to get solace, trying to get some help when she’d been so broke, and all they did was ask her for money. “I’m waiting for my . . .” she hesitated, “. . . my husband.” She wasn’t lying, was she? Isn’t that why she came? So he could pop the question?

  “What brings you to Coal Banks?” Logan asked. “What’s your name?”

  “Daisy,” she answered, feeling a little nervous.

  “Well, Daisy”—he pulled out a cigarette—“no one who’s been on the river before reads that shit about Lewis and Clark.” He struck a match on his jeans and lit his cigarette.

  “Have you seen anyone out here? Is it always this quiet? My husband, have you seen him? Six foot and change, full head of dark hair, he was supposed to be here an hour ago.”

  “Nope.” Logan peeled a piece of tobacco from his lip. “No one here but us chickens. Can I get you a drink? Something ice cold and refreshing?”