Montana Rhapsody

by Susanna Solomon

  “So you understand.”

  “Yeah, of course. If you don’t want to tell me, it’s okay.”

  Everybody in LA understood. Why would a country hick mind? Maybe he was all right, after all. “Then why do you keep asking?”

  “Just forget it . . .” E.B. said. “Let’s just go. Campbell has got to be crazy with worry.”

  “Well then, E.B., I’m a pole dancer, best dancer in downtown Burbank.” She grinned.

  “I figured something like that . . . with . . . your . . .”

  “With my what?”

  “Good looks,” he stumbled.

  Laura knew better. She knew what was coming.

  “Is it difficult? I’ve never been, but guys say . . . You wear anything?”

  “Of course. More interesting in what I do wear. I always have something on. Pasties, my butterfly thong. And my Christian Louboutin Lady Page pumps. Real classy shoes. Expensive.”

  “Does your mother know?”

  “I support her. What do you think?” She paced the shore. “What part don’t you like? Five hundred dollars a night? Make that much a day? Didn’t think so. My body? That’s your problem.” She climbed away from him, stood very still, and hooked her fingers under the bottom of Beth Ann’s top. “You want to see your problem? Supported me since I was fifteen when my father left. If you had these, would you be ashamed?”

  “No, no, please don’t.” E.B. covered his face with his hands.

  She lifted her shirt up to her elbows. “It takes work for this body. People pay good money. Hey E.B. Here’s a look— for free.”

  “Please, don’t.” He backed up. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Stared you down, didn’t I? Got special skills, don’t I? What about you? If I had wanted to tell you, I would have. And you dare judge me. I thought you were different.” Suddenly she climbed into the boat and pushed off.

  E.B. stood, stunned. By the time he came to his senses, she was twenty feet from shore, moving away fast.

  “Wait! I screwed up. Laura!”

  He dove in, heard nothing but the beat of his own heart, and kicked hard, then harder. When he came up for air, she was forty feet away. He had to reach her before she gained the center of the current and was gone. He swam hard, forgetting about his breathing, giving it his all, kicking and stroking as fast as he could. When he heard the scrape of a paddle on the hull, he popped up just below the boat and slowed her down. He slid his hands up until his head was above water.

  “Hey, you, you with stars in your eyes,” he gasped. He draped one hand over the bow. “Stick around. Come on, be reasonable.”

  “Will wonders never cease.” Laura splashed him. “Find out what I do for a living, then, boom, you think I’m a hooker.”

  “Let me get in the boat.” Hand over hand, he moved down the hull until he was opposite her. He leaned down on it and almost tipped it over. “Water’s warm,” he said, tipping the canoe a little more.

  “Let go! You’re going to dump me!” She leaned back and raised her paddle.

  He tightened his grip and pushed down harder. The top of the gunwale kissed the water. “Go ahead. Hit me, if you like. I’m a good target. Unless you’d like to come in? We both could use a bath.”

  “I’ve already been in today, or don’t you remember when I saved you?”

  The current moved both of them downriver fast.

  “Give it up, E.B.” She paddled over and over, not giving in.

  “Then you’ll forgive me?” he asked, spitting water. Waves broke over his face, but he held on. The sun grazed the hills opposite, painting them rose.

  “You’re a nuisance, Ezra Benson.”

  “You could say that again,” he said. Pulling the canoe, he swam toward a muddy bank. Thirty feet away and closing fast.

  He felt something soft under his Tevas. He stepped into knee-high water and sank up to his thighs. Pulled the canoe closer.

  “And what do you want now, river monster?”

  “You. C’mon, get out a minute.”

  “No.”

  He tucked the top of the hull under his arm.

  “So you can swim. Good for you.”

  “I couldn’t care less about what you do for a living.” What would Mom say? Not if she met Laura, not if she saw what he saw.

  E.B. could feel the warmth of her body, the touch of her skin, the beat of her heart. He looked at her and imagined holding her. God’s little sense of humor was working overtime today. He moved in closer, breathing in her scent. “I care about you, Laura.”

  “Right. As if.” Dad used to say that when she was five, and disappeared when she’d been ten. Had Stella been right? That there was someone out there? The right one?

  He reached out and touched her arm with his muddy fingers. A rivulet of mud ran down her hand, staining her leg and dribbling on her toes. She gazed at globs of mud on the nail polish on her toes.

  “So?” she asked.

  He rubbed her arm with the back of his hand. “Want more? I’ve got plenty.” He leaned into the canoe.

  “No. Not now! You’re all muddy!”

  “All the better.” E.B. got up on one knee and climbed in, mud and water streaming off his body, his hair plastered over his forehead, eyes closed for a kiss.

  “Don’t even try it. E.B.! No! Stop!” She pushed him back, mud sliming her hand.

  “Can’t stop me now.”

  “Wanna bet?” She dabbed a dot of mud on his forehead, marking him.

  Without another word he leaned forward and kissed her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Monday, afternoon Coal Banks Landing

  DAISY

  “Go back to church where you belong, Berniece!” Logan yelled. He turned back to Daisy with a smile. “You coming, honey?”

  Daisy’s resolve was dissolving. Berniece seemed so sure of herself, but religious people were like that. So who was the better risk, the lunatic fat lady or the man in the dirty T-shirt and ragged blue jeans? Neither.

  She threw back her shoulders, pivoted her duffel behind her, and headed for the shade of a tree that overlooked the river.

  Logan motored away.

  Damn him, and damn that big fat lady. It would have been great to see Campbell so surprised. Take the initiative indeed. Damn them all.

  It was about four. The slight breeze earlier in the day had built to a stronger wind that flicked leaves over her head and tossed twigs onto the ground. Families and children called to each other over the crowded, busy campground.

  Daisy scanned the river, the boat ramp, and started asking other canoeists about Campbell. No, no one had seen a man six feet, with sandy hair in a group like his. She went back to her post, ahead of the campground, on a little spit of land. There, she’d see him first as he rounded the bend. She waited for hours as shadows crossed the canyon walls and made their way slowly down to the water.

  When the last canoe came in after 7:00 p.m., it was downright chilly. Daisy paced, trying to keep blood moving, her fingers and toes stiff and cold. Dusk dropped like a shroud. Campers lit lanterns while children turned on flashlights and giggled by firelight. Daisy tucked her little sweater around her and shivered. “I’ll take care of everything, sweetheart,” Campbell had said back in New York. Even the damn toilet shelter would be better than this. Daisy paced the shore, trying to stay warm, looked at the little families fifty feet away, and her heart just caved.

  Over the sound of the wind, she heard a man singing, and concentrated. Yes. It was the same one! “I’ve Touched the Hem of His Garment,” that old hymn from Mom’s church choir! It felt as familiar as her favorite sweater. Mom!

  Daisy, torn, wandered toward the sound. It was the most comforting thing she’d heard all day. She found a small gathering singing “Come, Ye People, Come,” and walked up close enough to see them. She hid behind some trees.

  Children and adults were praying over a table covered with plates of blackened hot dogs, baked beans, buns, bowls of pickles, and potato chips
. Oh God. She was so hungry. Something caught on her ankle. She lifted a paper and glanced at its headline, which was hard to make out in the twilight. “Have you been saved?”

  She balled up the flimsy paper and allowed the wind to take it away. Religion hadn’t been Daisy’s savior; it had been her ruin. In her senior year of high school, Mom had donated her college fund to the church. Pissed off and unable to control her anger, Daisy had taken up collecting butterflies. Driving pins through their crunchy bodies was deeply satisfying, even though it made her high school friends wince.

  Now, she returned to her spot beside a tree, by the bluff again, near the river, and kept her eye on some butterflies flicking around a bush. One of these days she’d show Campbell her collection. He’d be proud. She had forty-eight boxes tucked in the back of her closet.

  Trying to cheer herself up, she practiced what she was going to say when he popped the question. How long should she make him wait before she said yes? Five minutes, ten? Make him squirm? An hour? She worked out his every move, the twinkle of his eye, the slow smile crossing his face when she’d say yes.

  “What are you doing over here in the bushes?” a woman asked.

  Daisy jumped a mile.

  “You all right, honey?”

  In the flickering shadows from a smoldering fire, Daisy couldn’t see who it was at first. Someone large, wearing a long coat with big red buttons.

  “Don’t be scared. It’s just me, Berniece.”

  “I’m fine,” Daisy sputtered.

  “I’m so glad you didn’t go out with that Logan.” Berniece clucked her tongue. “It’s cold and lonely out here, Daisy. Want to join us in the revival tent?”

  “Me? No.” Daisy backed up. Mom had ended up in a mental hospital from talking to people like this.

  “Hungry? Thirsty?”

  “No.” Daisy paused a moment. “No, thank you.”

  “It’s just us girls. Me and Marcy. We’d love to have your company.”

  “Can’t. Sorry. I’m waiting for someone.” Daisy stuffed her hands into the pockets of her sweater.

  “Marcy and I—we’ve been worried about you.” Berniece smiled. “Wait with us. You must be freezing. Honey, whoever he is, he’s not coming now.”

  Daisy felt like Berniece was walking inside her head. “Leave me alone.”

  “You got a tent? Marcy says you’re all right, but I can’t stand to see someone suffer. The Lord God, He doesn’t want anyone to suffer either, sweetheart.”

  Daisy stepped to the edge of a campsite. Behind her, flames crackled and sparked as someone threw a log on the fire. Weren’t there any cops or rangers out here to keep this lunatic from bothering her? “I’m not your sweetheart,” she said, her voice faltering.

  “But you’re God’s and He cares for you and He loves you.”

  “To take me to the promised land! Yes!” Daisy hissed. “But not now,” she said, her mouth taut, her voice a rasp. “I’m not ready.”

  Berniece’s face fell.

  “Now, would you mind?” The last time she’d seen Mom, it was at the mental hospital, where she was working a rosary, while the Ativan made her forget Daisy had even been there.

  “The Lord God works in mysterious ways,” Berniece murmured. “Honey, you’ll be with us tonight, somehow, I just know it. Lost lambs always run at first, until they learn to follow the shepherd. You’ll be much happier. I promise. God will take good care of you, you’ll see.”

  “I’m not a lost lamb. I’m fine on my own!” Daisy yelled back. She knew Berniece was lying. Her back hurt and her legs were stiff and freezing. Campbell was nowhere in sight, and she hadn’t had anything to eat since that goddamn twoday-old muffin at Kennedy airport.

  “It’s my nature, I guess,” Berniece cooed. “Cornelius says. Everyone needs the Lord sometime.”

  “Oh, bunk.”

  “Cornelius thinks he has to work hard to earn a place in heaven,” Berniece explained. “But I don’t think so. God’s already reserved a place for him.”

  Behind her, Daisy could hear chicken crackle on a barbecue and smelled hickory as it sizzled and popped. Oh God, I’ve got to stay strong. She willed her backbone to stay straight. “No thanks,” she said, her voice weak. Is this the way it started for Mom too?

  “My mission is to save souls. And yours needs saving. I can tell.”

  “Can’t you see? The preacher is waving to you.” Daisy squinted in the dark. She couldn’t see diddly-squat. Wouldn’t recognize Campbell if he stood right next to her. Where was he? Drowned? Lost? This was no time for her to lounge around and eat.

  “Owe no man anything but to love one another: for he that loveth another hath fulfilled the law. Romans thirteeneight,” Berniece intoned.

  Daisy stood straight. She hadn’t gone to church all those months for nothing. “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. Matthew fivesix,” she recited and watched Berniece’s eyes grow wide.

  “If anyone thirst, let him come to me and drink. John seven-seventeen,” Berniece said with a smile.

  “The end of all things is near,” Daisy grinned. “Therefore be clear minded and self-controlled so that you can pray. One Peter four-seven.”

  Berniece backed up, her mouth contorted. “You don’t have to. I mean, I was just trying to help.”

  “Better start praying. Now.” Mom’s training had come in handy after all. Daisy thought of other verses; she knew so many.

  The fat lady left.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Monday, late afternoon land

  CAMPBELL AND FRANCINE

  “You’ve still got that cruel streak, Francine,” Campbell said. “Knock it off.”

  “This is like Groundhog Day, Dad. You know, like the guy had to wake up literally, like, fifty times acting like an asshole until he finally figured it out?”

  “Chill out.” He hoped he could get her back before they returned to New York.

  “As if. Whatever.” She slammed her paddle on the water. “You don’t have to be that way,” he said.

  Six baby birds paddled like hell after their mother, who was heading into the grass. Would the mother ever wait for them? “Just drift, please, Francine, give me a sec.” A sec to gather his thoughts, a sec to get his heart beating normally again. He took a deep breath, then launched into new and unexpected territory. “Look,” he turned around, faced her. “Daisy is my business, not yours.”

  “Be that way. See if I care.”

  “You asked me to spend more time with you. I will.” He took another breath. “You told me that I’ve been less than thoughtful about inviting her without asking you first.” So far so good. “That was the wrong thing to do.”

  “Less than thoughtful? You think?” Francine spat. “You dissed me, Dad.”

  “Yes, I did.” He took a long stroke and watched the water flow off his blade. “Now, would you be so kind as to listen for a few minutes?”

  “More shit about Daisy?”

  “No.”

  She placed her paddle across her lap. “I’m here.”

  “So.” Campbell hoped he could bring her around. He pulled them into some rushes and held on to the tall grass. “Do you remember when you were little and I had to teach you how to cross the street?”

  “I’m gonna drive next year. Get a grip.”

  “Yes, of course, I knew that.” Where did the time go? “And?”

  “Growing up so fast. Too fast.”

  “It happens.” Francine’s voice was sharp. “What did you expect?”

  “So, soon you’ll be going on dates.” He watched a duck land across the river and slid his eyes over to Francine, hoping he was on solid ground.

  “Me? Someone’s going to want to go out with me?”

  “You bet.” Campbell moved carefully onto a log. “Of course they will.”

  Francine turned aside. No one would want to go out with her, of course. Her world of horses, Descartes, and Grandpa was just too weird. She wasn�
�t even pretty, not like the other girls. Not like Hannah. All the boys wanted to go out with her. “As if.” Francine stared at her hands, then started picking at one of her fingernails, still caked with mud, short and stubby, just like she was.

  “They will. Because you’re beautiful.”

  Francine blushed. Too much time with Dad and she was going soft. Still.

  “So let’s make a deal.”

  “Like Hannah’s father? He’s going to buy her a car when she turns sixteen?” Francine grinned. “A sixty-six Camaro would be good, fire-engine red.” She hummed a little. “Glass packs.”

  “Not that kind of deal.”

  “Ah, c’mon, I already know how to drive.”

  “No. Stop chattering about a car.”

  “What kind of deal?” She narrowed her eyes.

  “If you go out on dates, can I go on dates too?”

  “This is a trick question. And if no one asks me out?” “Then I stay home with you. I always loved watching ballgames and Friends reruns with you. But I’ll bet you’ll be going out.”

  “That’s a stupid sitcom. I always told you I hated it.” “Something else, then. I don’t care. We’ll make a bet. Grandpa taught you how to bet, didn’t he? Ten bucks?”

  She shook her head.

  “No? Twenty?”

  Francine looked down at her skimpy chest. No bet was going to make any guy like her.

  “All right, let’s talk real money. A hundred bucks? You can spend it on whatever you like.”

  Hm. This was starting to get interesting. “Maybe.” She could use a hundred toward a new iPhone.

  “So, okay, that’s settled. But our deal—there’s more to it.” “What more? Two hundred?” This was getting better by the minute.

  “Nope. Something different.” He folded his hands together. “You want to do something with me? Say, a weekend in the Pine Barrens?”

  “I’ve been there and I ride alone.”

  “I can learn.”

  “To ride horses? With me and the guy? That’s just too weird. Unless you want to buy another horse? I know a nice colt, fifteen hands, needs just a little training.”