44 Book Four Read online

  He hung back, and never caught up or passed us. In a little while, I saw the roof of Ty’s truck up ahead.

  “Bummer I have to work tonight,” Ty said, grabbing my hand again.

  “Yeah,” I said. “So how is your schedule going to be when we start back on the river?”

  He shrugged.

  “I’ve told them I have to start back at the end of May and I’ll have to cut down on my hours, but they still want to give me 30. It might be too many, especially when we’re in high season. What about you? Have you told Mike yet?”

  I shook my head.

  “No,” I said. “Not yet.”

  I had planned to tell him, but somehow the time never quite seemed right. I was glad that I was asked to come back and didn’t want to say, oh, and by the way, I can’t work too much in the summer. Summer was a busy time for all the businesses downtown and I was worried he would let me go and hire someone else.

  “I better do that soon,” I said. “But I don’t start guiding for a few months still. Rebecca said she won’t need me until the middle of June so I have some time.”

  Since I was the last hire, I was scheduled to start late, when the season was in full gear and the kids were out of school.

  “Did you sign your contract yet?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I went in last week.”

  I hadn’t told Kate yet. No point in starting with all that again so soon.

  “You?”

  “No, not yet. I want to bring Brad along when I sign so he can meet everybody. See if I can talk him up a little before the try out. He was a great river guide back home. I’m hoping they’ll just hire him on the spot.”

  We put the old cans in the back of the truck.

  “I guess I’ll just pick up my can when I see you,” I said, smiling.

  “Uh-huh, I see how it is,” Ty said and then leaned down to kiss me again. His lips were tangy, like he had been walking next to the sea. I was hoping the lurking kid wasn’t around watching.

  “That was nice,” I whispered.

  “Right back at you. Okay, I’ll follow you out. Drive safe. Hey, we’re still on for a movie tomorrow night, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “You pick it. It’s the least I can do after that elephant fiasco.”

  “I’ll try not to make it a revenge thing,” he said. “But I can’t make any promises.”

  We pulled out of the parking lot and out onto the highway, my heart thumping fast and wild.

  But in a good way.

  CHAPTER 7

  I struggled in the black water. I held my breath, fighting to reach the surface. But I couldn’t hold on. Desperate for air, I opened my mouth, the water stinging as it washed through my lungs.

  I woke up gasping.

  “I’m home,” I said to myself.

  I forced myself out of bed, woozy and half asleep, and went to check on the backyard.

  No water.

  No waves or swells or docks.

  I wasn’t on an island, in a strange house. I was home, in my room.

  The moon was large, not quite full but luminous, lighting up the cloudless dark sky and everything else. I could see the new bird fountain over by the pine trees and the rake and hoe that Kate had left outside, leaning against the side of the house.

  I glanced back at the clock, angry that it was only a little past two. I had just fallen asleep half an hour ago. Soft music that I had programmed to play for an hour was still coming from my iPod.

  I stared into the night. I was groggy and my stomach felt like I was standing on a lake in the middle of a storm.

  I couldn’t get those images out of my mind. That large mansion surrounded by water, the secluded island, the motor boat coming after me. The drowning pool he had tried to kill me in. The moments when he strapped me onto the stretcher and lowered it down into the water. The handful of scientists standing around in white lab coats taking notes on the experiment, which was supposed to involve killing me and then bringing me back to life. The glint of the sharp needle he held out as he waited for me to die.

  I felt the horror pulsate through me body just like I was there again, and I suddenly jerked away from the window and ran over to the bathroom, the vomit, warm and bitter, barely making it into the toilet bowl.

  Everything had come up. The pizza I had with Ty earlier, the soda and popcorn I ate during the movie. The ice cream. Everything.

  I wasn’t going to cry though. There had been enough tears. Too many and I wasn’t going to do that anymore. I was a survivor and it was time to move on. I sat shaking on the bathroom floor for a moment before pulling myself up and soaking my face in the sink. I toweled off and flushed the remains of my fear away, catching my reflection in the mirror.

  Kate was right. I wasn’t looking so good. Too pale, my face thin, too thin even with all those pastries, with those dark circles under swollen eyes.

  I looked like an experiment. I looked like something Nathaniel Mortimer had created in his lab. Not fully alive, and not fully dead.

  Maybe Messi didn’t need to rest, pouting whenever his coach even thought about giving him a game off, but I did. I wasn’t going to make it if I didn’t start sleeping soon.

  I shuffled back to bed and put on my robe tightly, scanning the backyard one more time before heading out to the living room to make the rounds. I walked softly, creeping past Kate’s door. It was dark in her room and I was glad she wasn’t up.

  First I checked the security system. It was on, the bright light glowing out into the black living room. I sat on the cold leather sofa and listened to the sounds that are amplified by darkness. It was windy out, and I watched the moving shadows of the pine trees in front of the house through the curtains, heard their long branches brushing up against the windows. The house creaked in the gusts.

  After a few minutes, I got up and checked the front door. It was locked, like we had left it before we went to bed. The sliding glass door in the kitchen was still locked, too. So were all the windows.

  I had made Kate take my window off the security system. I needed to be able to open it, to be able to feel the dry air on my skin. She had argued, but I was adamant about it. I had to be able to get to it in those lonely, dark hours, especially after a nightmare.

  I promised her I would keep the window locked though, that I would be careful to never leave it open. Sometimes I heard her creep into my room, checking it.

  I wandered back over to Kate’s door. It was closed, but I now saw a light bleeding out from the cracks. I put my ear up to it, but it was quiet.

  I headed back over to the sofa and sat down, my feet cold on the floor, listening to the noises of the night.

  CHAPTER 8

  “He was such an ass,” David said, talking about his old boss at a restaurant that had closed last month. “You just can’t treat people like that.”

  I emptied the tip jar and put it in a plastic pouch under the change holder in the register. A woman walked in and ordered a decaf mocha and before I even mentioned it, I heard David slapping out the old coffee grounds and starting her drink.

  It was Monday night and it had been busy for hours at Back Street, with people coming in and out all evening and a book club in the corner by the gas fireplace talking in librarian voices but then occasionally breaking out in loud laughter. The group came in every week and we were getting to know them and for the most part they were friendly. Mike liked them because he said it gave the place an intellectual vibe. Plus, he said, they ordered a lot of coffee.

  I didn’t read books too often, hardly ever really, but was impressed by how much passion they all had as they discussed their opinions about the different characters and plots. I couldn’t even imagine being excited about reading like they were. When I thought of books, I flashed back to high school and those long, old, boring classics that Mrs. Willows assigned to us in English. I never thought that reading could actually be fun.

  I walked by the group and wiped down the nearby tables. They were arguing abo
ut the next selection. One of the younger women wanted the group to read a new bestseller about gray shades or something, but some of the others said it was pornographic and refused to even buy it.

  It had been a pretty fun time with David. It was just the two of us for most of the night and he talked nonstop about all his old jobs and old bosses, before starting a rant about his old boyfriends. Then he told me about his dreams, about how he had been taking acting lessons since he was a kid.

  “So, what, you want to star in musicals?” I said.

  “Child, please,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not a total cliché, you know. Strictly serious acting, Abby. No singing and no dancing.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, hoping I hadn’t offended him. “And I’m glad. I hate musicals.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. I mean, shoot me now.”

  He told me he was going to try out for a part at 2nd Street Theater, going after the lead role, and then started reciting lines. He was pretty good. I promised him I’d go to opening night if he got the part.

  The place started clearing out at about 8:30 and I was hopeful that we could get out on time. I started cleaning, sweeping the floor and pulling the scattered chairs back over to their tables.

  “So where did you meet this Ty guy?” David asked, wiping down the countertops.

  “On the river last summer,” I said.

  “The river?” he said. “What were you two doing on the river?”

  I told him. I guess he hadn’t expected it, me being a river guide. Although we had had a lot of conversations, David was the one who did most of the talking, which was okay by me. Pretty much the only things he knew about me were that I had a sister who worked at the newspaper and a boyfriend with light hair. Not much more.

  “River guides?” he said.

  “Yeah. You know. Taking groups down the rapids on the Deschutes.”

  Still, he looked blank and I shook my head.

  Sometimes I wondered if David ever went outside. Whenever I talked about hiking or biking or skiing, that same empty expression crawled across his perpetually pale never-been-in-the-sun face. I had the feeling that he never stepped outside except to walk to and from his car. He kind of lived like a vampire, partying in the clubs all night and sleeping it off most of the day.

  “Come on, now,” I said, a little too sarcastically. “River guides.”

  “Abby Craig, don’t be snide,” he said. “I’m just trying to figure out where the heck the rapids even are on the river, that’s all. I’ve only seen it calm and gentle.”

  I had forgotten that David had moved here just a year or so ago and that maybe he had lived in a city back home. He probably had only noticed the river gliding by at Drake Park, near downtown.

  “There’s plenty of whitewater on the Deschutes,” I said. “We launch upriver, about ten miles from town.”

  He nodded and smiled and I was glad I hadn’t hurt his feelings.

  “Hey, you should come with us on a run this summer.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair and considered it for half a second, at most.

  “Rapids? Me?” he said. “Thank you very much, but no. Can’t take those kinds of chances. Plus I bet you’d make me don those dreadful bright puffy orange vests that make you look fat. No. Not for me.”

  Soft, jazzy music played in the background. It was always so different working nights with David compared to Mo. Calmer. And more fun.

  I heard the bells on the door and saw that an older man who wore a plaid hat had walked in. David helped him, taking his money and then moving quickly to the machines and pulling a shot of espresso. The old guy threw it back in one gulp and left.

  “So does that mean you’re quitting here?” David asked.

  I cringed. Mentioning the river guide job had been a mistake. I had forgotten that David loved to gossip and it would only be a matter of time now before Mike would find out about my plans.

  “No, I don’t want to quit. I like it here,” I said. “A lot. I’m hoping I can do both, but I’ll have to see what Mike says. I just haven’t told him yet.”

  “Hmm,” David said, stacking dirty mugs on a tray and taking them to the dishwasher in the back.

  There was no point in getting him to promise not to say anything. I knew that even if he did, the news would slip out anyway. David’s friendly, chatty nature was one of the things I really liked about him. But what was good was also bad. It was my own doing. As long as I was in such a talkative mood, I should tell Mike. Maybe during my next shift or I could even send him an email.

  At exactly nine, I turned over the sign hanging off the door and by 9:10 the last of the book club members left. I called Kate and left a message while David took the money out of the register, counted it, and took it back to the safe. I then took the broom, dustpan, and a stack of napkins to the closet and quickly checked the week’s schedule. David wasn’t working for two days and I was hoping that maybe he would forget about my summer plans by then.

  “Well,” he said as I waited by the door for him to lock up. He put on his coat, the keys jiggling in his hand.

  “I guess I won’t see you until the weekend, River Guide Abby Craig.”

  I would write to Mike later, when I got home.

  CHAPTER 9

  I decided to head out to Big Sky, even if I didn’t have a full hour. I wanted to practice my shooting and there was nothing like shooting into real goals.

  I strolled out to the grass and inhaled the cool air, dropping my keys and mace in my pocket and pushing the ball out in front of me. I was wishing I had a little more time, wishing I hadn’t picked up when Mike had called and asked if I could come in early. But 45 minutes of practice was better than nothing and I started picking up my speed, keeping my eyes focused out in front of me and not on the ball.

  Except for a few people over at the dog park, I had the place to myself. It was strange seeing all six fields empty, the only sound a crow cawing as it circled above me overhead.

  I started taking some shots, making most of them, sprinting in after them in case there was a rebound. One shot missed the net, rattling hard off the crossbar and ricocheting back over in my general direction. I jumped up and put it back in off my forehead.

  I took off again downfield and started working on my conditioning.

  I was following a fitness program that I had found online a few months ago. My speed was faster than ever before. Even before the accident. As I ran I gave thanks for being able to play again, this game I loved so much. It was hard to believe that there was a time not so long ago when I felt I would never be out here again. But now it all seemed possible. The 2015 World Cup. The 2016 Olympics. Why not? Me and Alex Morgan leading the team in scoring. Why not?

  Driven by the boundless possibilities, or the lack of oxygen to my brain, I pushed myself even harder.

  I could hear the barking of a dog in the distance, his howl carried by the wind, past the junipers, past the goal posts and fields, and into the surrounding desert.

  After a few minutes, I fell back into an easy trot and looked around again. There were a few women with dogs in the distance and an older man now juggling one field over. A park maintenance employee was next to the bathrooms, emptying trashcans.

  Out here in the fresh air, the long, sleepless night almost seemed to be part of someone else’s life. But then I caught myself yawning. I had to try something new. Whatever I was doing wasn’t working.

  I did a few more field-length sprints, focusing on taking quality shots as I closed in on goal. Then I worked on free kicks and penalties. I had read that the hardest place for a goalkeeper to make a save on PKs was high in the corners. I aimed for the spot just below where the post met the crossbar. Of course, some players aimed right for the goalie, knowing that chances were good that he would lunge in one direction or the other. Most experienced keepers don’t want to just stand there, hoping that the ball will come right at them. They want to earn their keep, so they try to read the shooter
’s mind and guess right. Or left. I practiced some shots straight down the middle.

  On one of these attempts, I missed badly, kicking the ball off the side of my instep, sending it spiraling high and wide, flying perfectly in the left top shelf corner.

  At one point a middle-aged man came by with his crazy Labrador, cutting across the field. He didn’t have it on a leash and it started chasing after me.

  “Sorry,” the guy said, whistling and then yelling and then whistling again. The dog ignored him, and ran off and disappeared into the brush.

  I checked my watch and saw I only had a few minutes left, so I ran downfield full speed to the opposite goal line and turned around and sprinted back for one more shot. For all the marbles. But as I looked up toward the goal, I saw that someone was in it, pretending to be a keeper.

  I picked up the gauntlet and kept coming. If somebody wanted to try and stop me from scoring, good luck to them. I crossed midfield and thought about where I would put my shot.

  As I got closer, I saw that it was a kid between the posts, not quite a teenager. He must have been with the man and the crazy dog, but had stayed behind to play a little soccer. I was glad. I could use the practice with a live goalkeeper and started visualizing how bad I wanted to burn him.

  He was light on his feet, bouncing gingerly, taking a few steps away from the line and holding out his hands, palms facing toward me. He seemed to know what he was doing. At first he hung back, but then he came out to close the angle. Smart, I thought.

  I’ll just fake left and go right around him, I thought. Or fake right and go left. Okay, left. And then… Sure, why not?

  I decided to do neither. Instead I would chip the ball over him. That would show him.

  I closed in, noticing he wasn’t smiling or even looking up at me. He kept his focus razor sharp on my feet and the ball. I thought about how much force to use, not too hard and not too soft, and how far under the ball to get.