He took off his clothing and stepped carefully into the hot spring next to her. Jeff was like the salmon Jess loved, moving in the air world the way they moved through the familiar currents of the river. He was confident in his body yet able to dart away with a flash when she got too close. She was wary of that now but believed after their day working together along the river that she had found a rhythm with him, similar to the synchronized sway of salmon bodies as they find their mate and begin to let go of the constant struggle and fight of their journey.
He moved closer, his hand sliding hesitantly across the back of her shoulders. Jess hadn’t been close to anyone in a long time. She steadied herself and closed her eyes.
“Can I kiss you?”
She opened her eyes, smiling slightly, then pulled him toward her with the same certainty with which she’d stepped into the hot spring. She wanted him; she wanted to feel through him into the place where his love for salmon wound into his desire for her, a desire that moved toward life, toward connecting, sliding body to body in the fast curves of the river.
The rain fell harder, and the mist from the hot springs rose up around them. She looked up into his eyes, and he smiled. He slowly kissed her forehead, then her neck, then her shoulder. There was no one—just the two of them flowing together, abandoning themselves instinctively to the privacy of the water.
As he kissed her, her desire for him moved her closer. Her leg slid over his. His response was certain and careful. She felt the swaying of the river move through her body to his. He slid into her, and she opened to him. She came quickly, and her orgasm led her down the ancient path into the gravel of the spawning bed, her back pressing hard against the rock of the spring’s bank. He came with her, and their cries soared out through the darkening forest.
BARBARA
Turning from the plate-glass window, Barbara walked slowly across the living room to the worn plaid sofa. She sat heavily in the corner and ran her hand over the threadbare arm, the blues and greens once so alive in her once-so-alive world. Her hand rested there for a long time, and she let the weight of her body relax and press into the familiar softness of the cushion. Her heart was quiet, and she was glad for the peace, for the constant crying and terror to leave her alone. She looked out the living room window again, half expecting to see her two girls chasing each other around their backyard play set.
“Mooom,” her daughter Jess would cry out in her lilting chant, “Monica won’t let me use the swing, and it’s been my turn for sooo long!”
Monica would smile back at her brightly, and Barbara would sigh and wipe her hands on her sunflower dishtowel before heading into the warmth of the summer morning.
“Now, honey, please take turns with your sister . . . Hey, you two—remember, your dad is coming home later to take you both fishing on the river. Let’s make sure you have your lunch and are ready to go.”
They had loved fishing with their dad and riding in the riverboat up and over the rapids around the bend from their house. The Nesika was famous for runs of summer steelhead, renowned for a mythical fight that fishermen craved. Barbara had once been happy raising her two daughters here, where they could swim and fight and play in the current of the fast-moving river behind their house. Moving here from Los Angeles had meant that she could protect them from the threats of the big city, from the drug deals going on in the schools there, and could try to preserve the gentle wonder in their surging young spirits. Jess had her beloved horse, and Monica had her sweet young friends and the adoration of her older sister. It had been almost perfect. Their days and nights had been filled with the constant chanting of the Nesika’s current.
Barbara stood slowly. From her small kitchen window, she could see down to the Nesika and was surprised that it just looked the same—the river that had torn her open, taken her daughter Monica from her, a part of her heart that she could never get back. It was a physical tear, she was sure. Even now, eighteen years later, the healing felt only barely contained. She was able to go to the grocery store without collapsing in the cereal aisle when she saw Monica’s favorite kind, but when she did the laundry and saw that Monica’s clothes weren’t there, it still felt like some sort of accident. They were just missing—just like Monica’s smile, her laugh, her tears, and her sweet, open face. Gone. Into the river, into that river.
Barbara reached into the cupboard, remembering tea. She sighed and went through the motions of living and trying to make her life matter again. If it weren’t for Jess . . . If it weren’t for Jess.
Grief felt to her like an open, unexplored canyon with steep walls, unexpected storms, and beckoning, dark side canyons. She had spent years walking the trails and taking the unpredictable turns of unexpected loss. At first, it was always night. Then, after the local sheriff recovered Monica’s body, Barbara felt like she was falling into the black fissures of grief and didn’t even try to hold on—it wasn’t possible. Her husband tried, her religion tried, but she just fell and held on to her falling. She wanted to cross over to where Monica was and had constant dreams of finding her, tangled in the bushes just across the river, along the bank, muddy and disoriented. In her dreams, Barbara would take Monica food and hold her again. Her sweet young body was still growing, still being, still loving.
Holding on to the edge of the Formica kitchen counter, Barbara closed her eyes, trying to stop the feeling that she was falling. In some ways, it hadn’t changed. Taking a slow breath, she steadied herself and reached for her cup of tea. On the refrigerator was a picture of Jess and her big dog, Miko, standing proudly on the banks of the flashing blue-green river. Jess had become a scientist, and now she was studying, working for, and trying to save the same river that had taken her sister’s life. Somehow Barbara took comfort in that, comfort in knowing that her daughters would stay close. Her brother, Robert, who had worked for many years for the Oregon Department of Wildlife, had inspired and supported Jess through her studies. Barbara was glad for that, as she knew she couldn’t be the one to guide Jess. Science was too mysterious, too right about everything. Barbara wanted to know less, to rest in the mystery and simply trust in the process of everything. Mostly she knew now that she absolutely had no choice. There was nothing she could control, and so she spent her days getting through them, tending them as if they were a disabled child—hoping for progress but expecting none.
Her phone rang, startling Barbara back to the present moment.
“Hi, Mom!” Jess always sounded like she was in a hurry. “How are you doing?”
“I’m okay, just having some tea. How are you?” There was always a slight awkwardness to the beginning of their calls; then they evened out, became familiar—a simple way of checking in on each other without the tension, without the demands of anything unexpected.
“I’m good, Mom. Hey, I just met someone—well, I met him a while ago, but we’re still getting to know each other—and I was wondering if you would like to meet him. Maybe next week? What about going out to dinner? His name is Jeff.”
“Well . . . Jeff . . . I would love to meet him, of course. Dinner would be fun. Where did you meet him?”
“I met him at a conference a few weeks ago, and we just now, well, have been working on a project together. He works for PowerCorp—funny, huh? But he’s really nice, cute, smart, you know . . . I think you’ll like him. He’s from Eugene but has been working here in Penden Valley for a few years.”
Barbara smiled to herself—Jess had been a boy-crazy girl in her teens and had had a few close relationships in college. Although Barbara tried not to pry, she couldn’t help but feel a constant tug of concern: After what Jess had been through, would she be okay?
Barbara sat back down on the couch and looked out the window. “Eugene is a nice place. Does he know your uncle Robert?”
A young doe walked across the front lawn as Barbara was talking; her movements were cautious, and her fur glistened in the morning sunlight. “Wow, a deer just walked into our yard. She’s so beautiful, maybe
not even a year old—so young to be on her own.”
Just then, the doe looked up at her as if she knew she was being talked about. As Barbara paused to take in the young deer’s eyes, Jess was quiet and Barbara sensed her daughter’s worry. Jess tended to Barbara in between her words, her gestures. It was something Barbara loved about Jess—her complete certainty and her doting, devoted nature.
“If she’s a year old, then she’ll be okay. Remember the time Dad’s friend brought home the albino fawn that he had shot? That was horrible. I never understood why people would do that! Men are so blind sometimes. Dad had some pretty clueless friends.”
“Yeah, I remember when that happened. I made sure we made good use of that meat—poor thing. I was so mad at them. How could they not have seen what a horrible thing that was? But sometimes the only thing they can see is what’s right in front of them. Is Jeff a hunter?”
“His dad was—he was actually killed in a hunting accident when Jeff was just a boy. They were hunting elk in the coast range, and his gun just misfired. Jeff was twelve, an only child. The way he tells it, his mother never got over it. She still lives in Eugene, out in the country, in Jeff’s childhood home. She’s the same age as Uncle Robert—maybe they do know each other.”
The deer walked slowly over to the blueberry bushes and began nibbling the last of the summer crop. Barbara wanted to shoo her away but just watched, imagining the horror of losing someone to a gunshot wound. Her heart took in the weight of this image, and for a moment, she loved Jeff, even though she didn’t even know what he looked like yet.
“Oh my—that must have been so terrible for him. And his poor mother . . .”
Barbara paused. “Poor mother” was like a code when Barbara found herself in the rare company of mothers who had lost their children and wives who had lost their husbands. It was a strange country, filled with broken marriages and torn-open hearts.
The deer walked away, and Barbara sighed into the phone. “Well, I look forward to meeting him. Just let me know what night works for you two.” She liked the sound of “you two” and imagined the “kids” coming for dinner. She smiled to herself. “I’m glad you found someone, sweetheart—you are so worth loving and having love.”
“Okay, Mom—we’ll talk soon? I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Jeff and Jess, Barbara mused after she hung up. She imagined her daughter being drawn to the wounded boy, to his story and her story—the terrible threads that kept them strong, that perhaps helped them see more clearly the outcomes of their work together. Maybe they shared tenderness: for the young deer, for the panic in her eyes, for the gunshot that changed everything.
JESS
Rich looked expectantly around the room. “So, here we are. It’s good you could all make it today. We have our agenda. Jess could you review some of your latest findings?”
She was in the room with the people who had the most influence in what would happen to the Nesika. PowerCorp would have to comply with whatever guidelines were required for it to relicense the Nesika Power Project. There were seven dams on the Nesika, and the largest—the Green Springs dam—was in dire need of repairs and enhancements. Jess and others at the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife had worked steadily for two years, gathering data on the best options for the river and the restoration of the decimated salmon and steelhead runs. The best recommendation was removal of the Green Springs dam and restoration of more than twenty-three miles of prime spawning habitat. Jess’s boss, Rich, had presented the findings to PowerCorp and assured Jess that they had been accepted. This meeting was a mere formality—the decision to remove the dam had been made.
She sat up confidently and opened the report. “Sure. What I have here—if you will look at page five of the Environmental Impact Statement for the Nesika Watershed—are the sediment records for the reservoir behind the Green Springs dam. As you can see—”
“Just a second, Jess,” Mack, one of the PowerCorp representatives, said, tapping his fingers nervously on the table. He leaned back in his chair, and the buttons on his red-and-orange-plaid shirt seemed to pull in protest. “I want you all to know how much we appreciate your hard work on this project. You’ve done some very fine research here. I know that it looks like taking the dam out is the best option, and we’ve been pursuing that idea for a while now.” He cleared his throat and took a drink of his coffee. “However, unfortunately, something’s come up: we just got word from our headquarters that they won’t sign any settlement agreement that includes dam removal as an option.”
Rich leaned forward. “Wait a minute—we’ve been working on this for years! How can you, how can they, make a statement like that after all this time?”
“Well, Rich, PowerCorp needs to keep this dam in place. It’s just too expensive to take it down. There are too many changes we would have to make. We’re going to have to look at our other options.”
Jess couldn’t be stopped. “What are you saying? I have the science right here.” She pushed the phone book–size document toward him. “There’s no way anyone can dispute what this says! We have findings based on our research and the independent research Greenbank did in Berkeley! Rich . . .” She turned to him as if she were trying to wake him up from a dream.
When he didn’t respond, she felt her voice leap out of her throat. “There are no other sound scientific solutions. None. There is no question that the facts in this report support dam removal as the only solution that will allow us to even come close to accomplishing the directives of the Aquatic Conservation Strategy. Listen to what it says: ‘Dam removal is the most effective option for both adult and juvenile fish passage at the Green Springs dam. The watershed analysis determined that the removal option was the only one that had high potential for restoring both habitat connectivity (upstream and downstream) and key physical processes.’ You can’t change this!” She slammed the report shut.
“Well, Jess, I of course see your point—but we just don’t agree that taking the dam out is the only possibility. We need the Green Springs to run the rest of the system. Without that dam, we won’t have any way of regulating everything that goes on above it. We’ve been working on a counterproposal that includes some fine mitigation for the salmon. You know, fish ladders and stuff.”
“Wait—what? You can’t tell me you have the ability or the desire to overturn this study. It’s conclusive, Mack, not open for negotiation. We had PowerCorp’s support on this. Today’s meeting was about crafting the wording for the settlement agreement. You know we have to fight this.” Jess felt heat in her chest and tightness grabbing at the small of her back.
“I’ve said all I came here to say.” Mack looked over at Rich, then stood up and walked out.
Jess stared at Rich; why hadn’t he pushed harder and defended the project? Instead, he was just gazing at the report and seemed to be thinking about something else. Then he said, in an even tone, “Hey, Jess, this has always been a long, somewhat uncertain road—we all knew that. I’m as surprised as you all are. I’ve been thinking this would be my legacy—you know, pictures of my accomplishment, the news . . .”
Jess stood, turning her back to Rich, and looked at a large photo of spawning salmon in the Nesika hanging on the wall of the conference room. She felt as if she were calling out to them, We’re trying to save you!
“No, Rich,” Jess said to the photo, “we did think this was a sure thing. We came a long way to this point.” She put her hands on her head. “We were so close to having that thing signed, and they walked out on us. Just like that—like we were some kind of alien species . . . We can’t let them do this. There’s no way they can dispute the science. For God’s sake, Jeff knows. He’s their lead biologist!”
But does he know? Jess thought. They had just been at breakfast together—he had known the meeting was happening today; they had talked about it. Maybe he didn’t know—he hadn’t worked for PowerCorp long. Then again, he was the lead scientist on this project.
Jess was still staring at the photo, the spawning salmon—now long dead and spent from their journey. The ancestors, she thought. She exhaled slowly and said, “Let me find out what I can from Jeff. He sure didn’t say anything to me about this . . .” She let her voice trail off. “I need to use the restroom.” She pushed back and gathered her papers.
“Fuck,” she said to her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her eyes looked clear and angry; her long, dark hair, draped over her shoulder, was evidence of a link back to her Native American ancestors on her father’s side of the family. Her hands were shaking as she absentmindedly dried them and threw the paper towel into the garbage with a bit of force. She leaned on the doorframe before going out. Her throat caught, and she swallowed hard against the rage threatening to break through her.
Walking slowly back through the large, noble marble entryway of the federal building, Jess looked for Rich. He was leaning against a tall pillar, his lanky frame crumpled in sadness. She stopped and gathered herself. The anger in her throat and her swirling thoughts were not about him. She was sure he hadn’t known anything like this would happen.
She approached him and said, “Hey, Rich, we can fight this, you know.”
He looked up at her slowly, his large, light blue eyes seeking her out from under his thick, graying hair. “I don’t know, Jess. Everything has changed so much in the last five years. The battles are different, and I’m just not sure how to fight them. I don’t think we, as the agency, will have a legal fight. The environmental groups might. I guess we have to find a way to reemphasize how important this recommendation is, maybe get the media in on it somehow.” He sounded so easily defeated, Jess couldn’t help but wonder if he was telling her everything.
The Same River Page 2