by Spencer Hyde
But that was just it: her body was too deep. Even with lower water levels, they couldn’t get to her. I remember staring at that water months later, when I finally visited the site, knowing she was stuck beneath it, and yet the river moved on like it always had and always would without a care in the world.
I was lost in that moment next to Skye, my mind reeling backwards, completely assailed by memory because of the river, when he spoke again.
“Were you and your mom close?” he asked.
I couldn’t talk about that. “Why not Shelby?” I said instead.
“You really can’t get over that, huh? I like Shelby,” he said, “but not like that.”
“Why? Did you date her best friend or something and now you can’t date her because of it?”
He was silent. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak.
“Holy buckets. I knew it!”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“Way to be predictable,” I said.
“Thanks. But that’s not why. I don’t think it matters if I dated her best friend. Besides, that friend is in college now, and I’m still here. And I’m talking to you, not her.”
“You were talking to me,” I said as I stood and brushed the sand off my board shorts and sweater. “That’s part of the whole past thing. I have a good idea of what Skye was like, so I know exactly what his future will be like.”
I started walking away, knowing he was perfectly capable of returning to his tent on his own. I was drenched in confusion and I was annoyed and the adrenaline was still circling my heart and I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to sleep.
I had my crosswords in my tent, and I could work on those until I fell asleep. I could try to think of all of the four- or five- or six-letter words for “confusion and regret,” because I felt them all in that moment but didn’t know what to say. Was I angry at Skye, or at the fact that I wasn’t allowing myself to open up to him when he was clearly trying? Could I separate the two?
“I think we were supposed to be on this river together, Indiana,” he said to my back.
I didn’t turn. “I don’t believe in coincidences,” I said over my shoulder.
If I had turned, Skye would have been an outlined shadow against the backdrop of the river and pine and sky. I didn’t turn, and I didn’t stop until I was in my tent with my head on the pillow, the headlamp off, my heart pounding, heat burning in my chest and neck and face. Wyatt was snoring in his tent—another lie. My eyes got heavy, and I forgot about Skye as I turned on my back and felt the weight of the ring on my chest and thought about a great sink opening up in the sheet of space and swallowing me whole.
FIVE
When I emerged from my tent the next morning, I saw Nash salvaging the food we had missed the night before and throwing it in the twisted cooler. We still had meat and eggs and bacon, so that felt like a win.
But how on earth was I going to survive four days on a boat with a guy I was both attracted to and upset with, another guy who had a bag with throwing hatchets in it, and a girl who was my exact opposite?
I needed a new vacation. Oh, and a new life. What once seemed doable now seemed like a burden, like my friendship with Skye, if I could even call it a friendship. I was still upset about the night before, but that only seemed to fuel my determination to confront Nash. It was going to happen. It had to. Soon. Maybe today. I knew that much. I just didn’t know how.
Maybe I’d been too hard on Skye. I wasn’t sure how to process it all. Was there such a life as one without coincidence? If that were true, what did it mean that I was there, then, with Nash and the rest of our group? Don’t stories go in a straight line? And why would I think Skye was any different just because he’d been in that accident? He was still trying to be a player, just like always, just like everything I’d always heard about him.
I walked to the river and stared at the mountains sawing away at the sky. I listened to the chirps of the birds and the water moving and the trees rustling in the wind. It was like the canyon was having a conversation with itself. I didn’t want to butt in, so I headed to the campsite, where our makeshift table was covered in muffins, one can of orange juice, and two oatmeal packets with some hot water and bowls and spoons. Apparently Nash had recovered enough for a shareable breakfast.
After grabbing some eggs from the Dutch oven, I walked to the water again and saw Skye just beyond a giant boulder where the river bent. He was standing in the water up to his waist, casting into an eddy. The sun caught his line in the air and made it shine like a golden string snapping in a nothingness of blue. He was an artist with the rod, a conductor with his wand. I watched him hook a trout and let it run, then I hurried back to the camp before he looked my way.
Silly. Why did I care? I would be with him all week no matter what. And our talk had been so brief, so small—so why had it turned me so far, so fast?
I hadn’t noticed Shelby by the fire, looking clean and made-up as ever, as if she hadn’t even slept—hair perfect, as usual. She was reading a novel. Wyatt was still in his tent, snoring, even though it must have been seven or eight in the morning. I wasn’t sure without my phone.
“What are you reading?” I asked Shelby.
“You’ll just make fun of it. Skye already did, so don’t worry. I’m trying to get a bunch in before Wyatt wakes up.”
“Hey, no judgment here. Romance novels can be fun sometimes,” I said.
“Yeah?”
Shelby looked my way as if I’d just informed her that she could live the life she wanted to and not worry about it. I wondered why she was so tightly wound up about what other people thought of her, being as popular as she was. At the same time, maybe I was more like her than I cared to admit. She smiled and went back to her book.
“Although, I have to ask,” I said, spooning in some more eggs and sitting across the fire from Shelby, “what is it about those books that keeps you going back for more?”
“I guess I expect something grand at the finish. And even though I expect it, it still happens. Every time. You’d think that would make it boring, right?”
“No. It’s nice to go into something knowing where you’ll come out. I can’t say as much for these eggs. Or candy corn. Every time I pick them up, I expect a grand finish, but I know better by now. Or at least, I should.”
She smiled and went back to the pages as I walked to toss my empty breakfast plate. Wyatt finally shuffled into camp and poured himself some orange juice. I shuddered. Whenever I saw “made from concentrate” on a bottle, I wanted to throw up and place the bottle directly in the trash. Give me the real thing.
“How much time do I have?” said Wyatt.
“Nash said we have an hour or so before we get going,” said Shelby.
“Where is Nash?” I said.
Shelby pointed her book upstream to where the boat was sitting. Next to it, I saw Nash in a yoga pose, his ponytail dangling over his shoulder, one leg in the air and the other planted. Then he rotated, his face to the sun, his shoulders near his knees, his legs set in a deep squat. He was a slim man, what Grandpa might call, “Thin as wallpaper and taut as a fiddle string.”
“That guy . . .” I said.
“Yep,” said Shelby, before I could finish my sentence.
I was glad Shelby seemed to be on my side, even for something so little. It was odd thinking of myself as someone like Shelby, someone Skye would talk to and want to know. I couldn’t reconcile the idea with what I saw when I looked in a mirror and what I saw when I looked at how pretty Shelby was.
Nash changed his yoga pose, putting his body on the sand, facedown, and resting with his palms near his chest. Then, he rose and walked back to camp, brushing the sand from his tank top and swim trunks.
“Morning. Glad everybody is awake,” said Nash.
“Did you lose something near the boat?” said Wyatt.
> “I was partaking in my morning Hindu yogic chakras and Zen koans—riddles to keep the brain humming. I like to start the day with stimulation and balance. It helps keep my mind sharp.”
“Sounds interesting,” said Wyatt.
Nash went straight to packing up camp, and in less than an hour, we were all lined up next to the boat wearing our PFDs, or “personal flotation devices.” We all looked like giant marshmallows, just with water-wicking jackets on. Nash wore one as well. His face looked weary in the stark morning light. My mind was awash with half-words and partial phrases to describe his look, but it all funneled back to that one word: weary.
“Okay, folks,” he said, standing on the raft and looking down at us. “We put in yesterday, but it was a slow and steady hump to this campsite, and we had just about zero rapids, so I didn’t go over specifics.”
I felt a dark bloom in my stomach, knowing it was my anger that changed his plans.
“Probably should have even then, considering what happened to our muffins last night,” he said.
Shelby blanched, just as Wyatt spoke up. “Nice work, guys. Nash mentioned bear country, but you weren’t listening. Too busy on your phone or touching your robot leg.”
“Lay off, man,” said Skye.
Wyatt and Skye locked stares, but turned back to Nash when he started up again.
“My fault, not yours,” said Nash. “Food always stays on the boat. I just got lazy. Now, we don’t have cake mixes, salt and pepper, bread, granola bars, chips, and a lot of other stuff for meals. But we have enough to get by. Just don’t be angry about eating meat and cheese for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
“Anyway, listen up. The river gorge is over seven thousand feet in places. That’s about fifty Niagara Falls–worth of drop. It’s the deepest river gorge on the planet, not just in the US. Pay attention—this could be life or death—keep that PFD on at all times. It is your main safety device. Listen to me throughout the day, do everything I say. I am experienced and know how to read the water, but I still need you to tell me about obstacles you see coming our way. Now, two choices if you get thrown from the boat—”
“Excuse me,” said Shelby, raising her hand, “but I thought this was, like, a river float. I thought we would be in the raft the whole time.”
“That’s the goal,” said Nash. “But just in case you fall out, swim to the boat and we’ll pull you back in. If you’re far from the boat, you may have to swim through some rapids first. If that happens, float on your back and keep your feet downstream. Hold your breath as the waves break over you. Push off rocks and other obstacles with your feet. Don’t use your head.”
Wyatt laughed, the sound lodged deep in his throat. It was like an engine backfiring too—as soon as we heard it, everyone looked to see what was making that odd noise. I couldn’t judge Wyatt for it, as I had what Grandpa called a “four-alarm laugh.”
“Skye knows how to hit things with his head. The whole soccer team—that’s what they do. They even practice that crap.”
“Maybe you should try out for the team this year, Wyatt,” said Skye.
Wyatt went quiet, hugged his arms around his PFD, and stared at Nash with his chin up, without looking anywhere else.
“Pay attention,” Nash said, resuming his lecture. “You can also swim to an eddy or the shore if you can’t make it to the boat. In a rescue situation, leave the gear and save the people. You’d think I wouldn’t have to mention it, but people are attached to their belongings.”
Wyatt tilted his head at Shelby, who was scrolling on her phone. “You hear that?”
“Shut up,” she said.
Nash continued, “Don’t worry about things, focus on the people. Careful with the paddle as well. Everyone here, I assume, wants to keep their teeth. If you’re tossed from the boat, try to hold onto the paddle and use it to get back in. If you can’t hold on, don’t worry. It’s a thing, so ditch it and swim to the shore or the boat. There are extra paddles tied to the bottom of this rig. Just make sure you get back to us in one piece.”
He stopped to get a drink of water. Shelby looked panicked. Wyatt was as calm as the morning, like a soft breeze in the pines, and Skye shifted uncomfortably next to me, standing and resting his back against a boulder near the shore. He touched his leg and stared up into the sky, ignoring Nash.
“At all costs, avoid being swept under a log or strainer. If you find yourself on your way to one, flip over and swim like hell. If we encounter a strainer situation, I will toss this your way.”
He held up something that looked like a rucksack with a loop attached.
“Reach for this, kick hard, and try to get over the strainer so it can’t suck you under. If you go under, there is extreme danger and a likelihood that you will not get out. Ditch your life jacket. That sounds counterintuitive, but it may be what has you snagged. Sometimes you can pop out the other end. More often than not, though, you will get stuck below.”
Nash looked at me when he finished. I was feeling the clips on my life jacket and imagining what I would do if confronted with that situation. I’d rehearsed that death-trap scenario hundreds of times over the last two years, even though I never planned on rafting again in my life. Fishing, sure, but not rafting.
What was that in Nash’s eyes? Empathy? Repentance? Anger? I couldn’t tell. I just knew he’d meant that last part for me, to remind me that he knew what he was doing on the river, but that sometimes the river still wins. Nature always wins, right?
“If we hit a rock,” Nash continued, “I’ll yell ‘high side,’ and you’ll all need to jump to the side of the raft nearest the rock before water gathers on the upstream side or we will wrap around the obstacle. Remember, stay hydrated and put on sunscreen. Drink only properly treated water. All the first aid gear is right here.” He kicked a metal box in the raft next to his seat. “We’ll be traveling close to eighty miles a day. We need to refill water at a spring tomorrow, but we’re set until then. We’ll restock at camp three, where Thatcher and Sawyer will meet us with more food and more, well, everything.
“We’ll finish up Friday as the Snake connects to the Lower Salmon. This is an oar-rigged boat, so I’ll be rowing, and you’ll be enjoying this gorgeous canyon and the karma floating in the wind and the way the gods have seen fit to bless you with such a perfect day.”
None of us said anything, and an awkward silence fell. Nash cleared his throat. “Remember, if something wild happens, try to get to shore. I’m a professional, so it likely won’t. Any questions?”
Shelby’s face said Several, but she didn’t respond. She was too busy filming every word on her phone.
“That reminds me,” said Nash, smiling at Shelby. “No phones. Turn them off, and put them in the dry-bag. Here.”
“What if it’s waterproof to a certain extent?” said Shelby.
“What kind of extent?” said Skye.
“Five feet. For over thirty minutes.”
“Well, this is North America’s deepest river, but if you don’t care about losing your phone, go ahead and hang onto it,” said Nash.
Shelby gave Nash a contemptuous look. “It’s annoying not to have it, is all.”
“This will be good for you guys,” said Nash. “Enjoy the real thing. Live, in action.”
“Right,” said Shelby. “So good.”
“Ah, Shelby, you’re growing up so much, and it’s only our second day!” said Wyatt, holding his hands together in a mocking prayer gesture. “I’m so proud of you.”
“I hope you get thrown from the boat,” she said.
“Would you rescue me?” asked Wyatt.
“No.”
“What if Skye falls out?”
“Still no.”
“Hear that, Skye?” said Wyatt. “She’s not that into you. Looks like you should have gone with the horseback-riding group to find a girlfriend.”
> “Bet you wanted to go with that group too. Would have given you a chance to wear your tight Wranglers in front of everyone,” said Skye.
“Don’t say that,” said Wyatt.
“Why? Is denim your soft spot, cowboy? Can’t ride the rodeo circuit without the right pair of jeans?”
“I said shut it, Skye.”
“Sure thing, pardner.”
Wyatt leaped from his position and drove his shoulder right into Skye’s stomach. He lifted Skye off the ground and tackled him into the sand, and then pushed Skye’s face under the water. He leaned back to avoid Skye’s thrashing hands.
Nash yanked Wyatt off Skye, while Shelby and I stood back, holding tightly to our PFDs, unsure of what to do or say or think.
“What is wrong with you two?” said Nash.
Skye blew water from his nose and rubbed his eyes, coughing. “Maniac was trying to drown me!”
“A few inches of water, man. You’ll be okay,” said Wyatt, smirking.
Nash shook him by his PFD. “Wyatt? What was that?”
“What’s the matter, Skye? Can’t stand on your own two feet anymore?”
Skye cursed and lunged for Wyatt, his hands curled into fists.
Nash directed the two to separate spots on the raft. He then tossed a yellow bag to Shelby, and Shelby put her phone in. Everybody else must have left their phone packed back in the van like I had.
We hopped into the boat, and Nash talked to us about keeping our feet covered at all times and how to avoid getting our shoes tangled in any rope or rescue bags. That made me think of Skye and his leg. I turned to watch him readjust his prosthetic.
“Not gonna take it off for the ride?” said Shelby.
“I need the balance. Besides, these things are sturdy.”
“I could tell,” said Wyatt. “Really helps with your center of gravity.”