by Spencer Hyde
“I don’t remember that in the papers.”
“Because they only ever print part of the story. The whole story is always bigger. I don’t like to remember it either,” he said.
“So, she was doing something you wouldn’t—or couldn’t?”
“I just hesitated, is all. A kid fell out and your mother saw the strainer and tossed the bag first. And then she was unlucky. That’s all it was. She fell out and followed that kid to the strainer. We were only able to save the kid because she was able to shift his line and keep him back. Just by a second, but that was enough. For him. She couldn’t change her own path at that point.
“She was always better at reading a line than me. She’d already set her boat up to get out clean, so they did. Just not her. But those are not excuses, Indie,” said Nash. “I should’ve thrown the bag out to the kid first. And to her. But I hesitated, and when I reached for it—and her—she was already under.”
“Okay,” I said, after what felt like an entire week of silence.
“Okay?”
“Okay. That sounds like her,” I said, feeling the weight of forgiveness I’d kept coiled inside. “She’d throw that thing without hesitation, every time. No matter what. And yeah, I would have hesitated as well. But you shouldn’t have. That was your job. Your line—your client. But, okay.”
He seemed surprised by my response and how I walked with him back to the pile, how I let the moment go, how I offered some hope of a release on some hold I never thought I had. I wasn’t trying to release him—and I didn’t—but I was trying to allow myself to unclench my fists around the forgiveness I knew I needed to give. And in that moment, I remembered Grandpa talking to me about catch and release, and I understood what he meant. But I wasn’t ready to crush the barb and let it go. I couldn’t.
I leaned against an outcropping, stepping out of the heat and hot beams overhead, and considered that I’d built a wall between me and the whole truth, the whole story, and that I’d forced the blame on another. I’d rested in the shadows of that wall for two years and let my life move on without considering that Nash was on the other side of that wall with the rest of the story, and he’d been bearing it alone. He had his own weight to carry without adding my heaviness to it.
But I wasn’t ready to give forgiveness. Not fully. Not in that moment, though that monument did a lot in teaching me not just what Nash wanted to do to remember, but the weight of what he was holding onto. All those stones. My stone on his.
As I walked around to the pile where the others waited with him, he gave me a half-smile.
Shelby was there with her rock, looking sheepish. It’s not like in the movies where two actors can step away from another character and speak as loud as they want and the audience knows the other character won’t hear it or isn’t supposed to. This was real life, and I knew they’d all heard our conversation. I felt the heat in my neck and face as I saw them with their stones in hand.
“I bring everyone here to remind them of the power of the river right behind you,” said Nash. “It won’t take any thought for a life, so don’t give it a reason to. It’s bigger than all of us, and it moves with more power than you know.”
I guess I was expecting some overdone stage production, something shot through with far too much sentimentality, but Nash just said Mom’s name as he placed his stone. I placed my rock on the pile, and the rest followed. Did I hate Nash for not saving Mom, for not throwing first, or myself for not agreeing to go? Maybe I could have saved her. Or maybe I would’ve been in the seat of the person who slipped and knocked Mom overboard.
Their stones on my stone.
I walked to the raft before Nash could ask me anything else, or say something that might spark some form of relief or absolution. That wasn’t mine to give, at least not that afternoon. As I sat near the raft waiting for the others, something my mother always said, something Grandpa had mentioned to me the day I left, filled my mind: “Everything and everyone deserves to be sought after and known.” I guess Nash was part of everyone, right? But what happens when everybody hoards secrets? How is it possible to get to know them, truly?
I rolled the red sand through my fingers, watching it sparkle as it rained down on my tanned legs and worked its way into my sandals. Shelby came around the corner and looked hesitant, but continued my way. The others followed, and Skye said Nash was busy cleaning up lunch. I felt self-conscious around Shelby, particularly after my earlier comment. I meant it, but I could have said it better. Isn’t that always the case?
Nobody spoke, and I felt I had to fill the silence. I always felt that way, though, like I needed to act as a bridge from one thing to the next so things didn’t quiet down to the point that I’d be left with the screaming in my head. I liked to keep myself preoccupied with, well, anything but my own thoughts and who I was, who I wanted to be, who I might turn out as. The works.
“Mars has finer dust and sand than anything on Earth,” I said. “That’s what my mom told me. That’s why they have to be careful about what they send up there. Oh, and did you know NASA lost a $125-million rover because they did the math wrong?”
“Sounds about right,” said Wyatt. “Math is the worst.”
“It’s actually pretty cool,” I said. I immediately felt heat enter my cheeks, and I tried to take the comment back. “I mean, it’s alright sometimes to learn about stuff, if you’re bored. Hey, my mom was a teacher, so I kind of had to learn about it, right?”
“Why do you do that?” asked Skye.
“Do what?” I said.
“Pretend like you’re not smart. Or get embarrassed about knowing things. Or say you only know something because of your mother. Why do you pretend you’re not clever?”
“Because I’m not,” I said.
“Yes, you are,” said Wyatt.
“Yep,” said Shelby.
“Did you read Wixom’s packet?” asked Skye.
“Yeah. And I read articles by all the people she mentioned. It was fascinating.”
“Good. Own it,” said Skye.
I was sure my face was the color of the sand at our feet.
“I’m already made fun of for other stuff, though. Why add to the list?” I said.
“It won’t make it worse,” said Wyatt. “It will shut those people down. Show them you’re smarter. Not to hurt them, but to—I don’t know—make yourself seen.”
“So I can be just like them?” I said.
“What? What do you mean?” asked Skye.
“Why do they bully in the first place? They probably have to pretend they’re not clever at home around their parents, who don’t really know them or appreciate them. Just like every teenager.” I looked at Skye before finishing. “Or they pretend around their friends for the same reason.”
“Get back to the math part,” said Wyatt.
I held Skye’s gaze for a beat, then turned to Wyatt. “One lab used the metric system of millimeters and sent their data to another lab that used the English system of inches.”
“That’s an expensive mistake,” said Skye.
“We all do that, though,” I said. “Right? Math can account for almost everything, but we use the wrong equation and then we’re screwed. I mean, Mom used all those laws of physics in class and all that math she always talked about. And yet we don’t have math for a person.”
“Judgy math,” said Shelby. “We’ve got plenty of that.”
“Sounds right,” said Wyatt. “Right, Skye?”
Nash emerged around the corner, and we all climbed into the raft. I found myself watching the water, thinking about the math behind each wave, each ripple, each rock and its position in the river. I thought of Newton’s third law of motion and wondered if I’d made the right moves with this odd group—the right actions.
There was a buzzing everywhere. The afternoon hatch of bugs blanketed the water in the qui
eter stretches, adding music to that winding mosaic of blue. But I could only feel the buzzing in my chest as Nash stepped back into the raft and took the oars in hand.
SIX
Four-letter word for a “spike in adrenaline”? Rush. That was the word bobbing in my mind when we hit our last set of rapids that first day. We swayed to every move in the water like it was a waltz, but we had no control, no lead, no idea if it would end nicely or turn into some maniacal samba or demented foxtrot before leaving us to spin a solo pirouette at center stage.
Good thing Nash knew what he was doing. Well, at least up to that point. Because when I say that point, I mean the moment it all went sideways. Or at least two people went sideways.
We had just entered the Lower Bernard Creek Rapids. The water was crimped in the late afternoon light, throwing spangled lines against the canyon walls. I don’t remember any breeze or seeing anything but the light on the bottom of the raft that made it look like it was covered in blue-and-black oil slicks.
I don’t remember Nash yelling “High side!” but Wyatt said later that Nash yelled it three times. I must have responded without realizing it, and so did Wyatt. Shelby always had to be the first one in the boat, so it was perhaps fitting that she was the first one out. Skye came right after her into the shifting tide, the raging white-water spin cycle.
When Skye emerged from the water, Nash had us positioned to pull him back in. My sunglasses and hat had gone overboard, leaving me half-blinded by the sunlight off the water. I saw Skye half-inhaling water soup for a second lunch, and I saw the raft bumping off a boulder right before another swell caught Shelby and threw her back under the water. This happened so many times, I worried she might be stuck in a whirlpool of some sort.
Then, just like that, the river switched from “spin cycle” to “all done.” The waters calmed, and Skye emerged, still coughing up the river.
“Come on in,” he sputtered. “The water’s fine.”
Shelby floated behind the raft, and Nash leaned over and checked to make sure she was okay. I couldn’t see her from where I was sitting, but we asked Nash if we could join Skye in the calm water, and he said that would be fine, since we would be pulling out there anyway.
We were all soaked already, so it seemed like a good idea. Wyatt and I jumped in. Cool relief sank into my chest as I breathed in, my back to the water, my face to the sky, letting the life vest carry me slowly away from the whipped tops of the rapids. I felt the heat on my face and sat up, trying not to fall too far forward. With the PFD on, I was like a human buoy set adrift.
I saw Wyatt paddling his way to the shore. Skye was already there. Nash guided the boat in and pulled it onto the sand. The way Nash had handled those rapids made me feel more confident in his abilities. He’d been aware of everybody at every moment. Even now, he was laughing with Skye about the spill and making sure he was okay.
I still couldn’t read Nash. And that’s why I still couldn’t offer him any escape from his guilt. No big deal, because I also couldn’t offer myself any escape from my own guilt.
Then Shelby emerged from the water ten feet from me. She’d been holding onto the other side of the raft on the far side of the river, staying between the boat and the shore until we pulled into the sandbar. I saw her bobbing up and down, her hands white from her death grip on the neckline of her PFD as she released the guideline on the raft.
I could never figure out why we grab the rope for safety when we feel fear while climbing or hold onto the life vest when we fear drowning. Better to simply grab onto the wall or start swimming. It would be like holding a bag of flour in our hands when hungry, hoping it will turn into food.
But when I saw Shelby, I blinked in shock and surprise. Shelby was completely bald. Bald. Four-letter word for “not needing a comb,” for “tires with no tread left,” for “(blank)-faced lie.” The crossword clues shot through my brain as I rubbed water from my eyes. I squinted against the reflecting sun to make sure I was seeing things correctly. I was.
The sun was not just reflecting off the water, but off Shelby’s head. She was hairless, smooth, stark, unadorned. “Undisguised” was the word stuck in my mind as I saw water wick from her head.
I collapsed onto the sand next to Shelby, my shoulder against hers as we stared into the sky, both of us still attempting to fully catch our breath. I didn’t know what to say about her baldness, so I said nothing.
Wyatt and Skye were on either side of us, resting on their backs.
Nash waded into the water, his ponytail like a silver snake hanging off his shoulder, dripping water onto his twisted and waterlogged tank top as he dunked himself in and then re-emerged. He joined us on the sand with a grin.
“Congratulations on your first dip, guys. Next time we’ll be quicker about getting to the high side, right?” he said, eyeing Skye and Shelby. “Nice work on keeping those feet downriver and making your way to the shore, though. Did you notice that, Wyatt and Indie? That was really great work.”
Nash grabbed some small towels and threw them to us, then rolled his ponytail in his hands like it was a piece of dough. “You guys dry off, and I’ll start setting up camp for the evening.” He headed down the sand, humming to himself.
Shelby sighed loudly. “Say it.”
“Say what?” I asked. “That I’m glad you and Skye are alive? Because I am. Or that I’m sorry about earlier? Because I am. I shouldn’t have said what I said.”
“I’m bald.”
“Didn’t even notice,” said Skye.
“Right,” said Shelby.
“I noticed,” said Wyatt. “But I have to say, you pull it off.”
Shelby rolled her eyes. “You have to say that because of social conventions.”
“Or because I mean it,” said Wyatt. “I can mean things, too, you know.”
“Can you?” said Skye.
“Yes. I can,” said Wyatt, laughing.
Skye shook his head. “Shut up, man.”
“It’s just hilarious, is all,” said Wyatt. “And kind of annoying.”
“What is?” I said.
“Here’s a woman on her high horse—sorry, dressage horse—beloved by all Teton High for her looks, and it’s not even true.”
“Shut up, Wyatt,” said Skye.
“No, I mean it’s not true that her looks are a lie. That’s why I said it was also annoying. Because she still looks beautiful without the wig.”
“Oh. Yeah. Well, that’s true,” said Skye.
Shelby closed her eyes. I wasn’t sure if the water coming off the side of her face was salty tears or simply river water.
We all waited for her to say something. For a moment, the only sound was the distant rapids. I felt a shell of ice on my body as a cool breeze whipped past us. I wanted to nestle into the warm sand, away from my soaked position, or maybe change clothes and start a fire to get truly warm and dry. I sat up just as Shelby began to speak.
“It’s called alopecia totalis. It’s an autoimmune disorder.”
“Autoimmune?” said Skye.
“When I was five, I started losing my hair. That’s why I didn’t want to come on this stupid trip. I hate water.”
“I think you’re a freaking savage,” I said.
“Because I hate water?”
“Because you deal with this and you keep going,” I said.
“I’m sure you all deal with stuff.”
“Just canning peaches at the right time of year,” said Wyatt.
“Can you ever be serious, man? Just once?”
I spoke up. “I would probably hide in some corner of my trailer, waiting for hair to grow. I’m not that hard-core.”
“Already tried that,” she said with a half-smile. “My hair is never going to grow back.” She shook her head. “I thought the adhesive was waterproof. I triple-checked. Maybe it was, and the force of the water
just took it. Ugh, that was a two-hundred-dollar mixed-color bob.”
“You paid two hundred bucks for that?” said Wyatt.
“My parents did,” she said. “Surprised you didn’t assume that to begin with.”
It was quiet for a beat.
“Okay. My secret is out. So, fess up, everybody. Tell us something we don’t know. Something nobody else knows about you. Mine is already out in the open. With water on it. And the sun. And bugs,” she said, smacking her head.
It was quiet. This time for many beats.
“C’mon, guys. Help me out a little here,” she said.
“Okay,” said Skye, quietly.
“Okay?” said Shelby.
Silence fell again. For a lot longer.
Then Skye said, “I was driving.”
“What?” said Wyatt.
“I was driving the car the night we crashed. Lewis was asleep. Not me.”
“Seems like a weird thing to lie about,” said Wyatt. “I mean, you were the one who got hurt.”
“I know, right?” said Skye. “That’s not even the worst part.”
“Okay, what’s the worst part?” said Shelby.
“I told the police that I started nodding off because we were exhausted. I told Lewis that. I told my parents that.”
“And the truth?” I said.
“Truth is, I was checking my phone.”
Shelby exhaled hard through her nose and said, “I thought I was the one with the phone issues.”
“What was so important that it couldn’t wait?” said Wyatt.
“That’s the dumb thing,” said Skye. “I’d emailed the manager at Teton Valley Lodge about applying to guide fly-fishing tours. I thought he was responding. Either that, or it was an angry text from my dad.”
“But isn’t that what your dad does?” said Wyatt. “Lead fly-fishing tours?”
“Yeah. That’s why I was worried about it. I figured the manager asked my dad about it, and my dad was texting me to ask what the hell I was thinking, putting fishing before my scholarships.”