Dead River - By Cyn Balog Page 0,18
he’s dressed teenage girls in neoprene a million times before. “You wearing long underwear?”
The curtain swings back, effectively shielding me from Justin’s I told you so expression. I nod, stripping off my North Face jacket. I’m actually wearing two layers of water-resistant skin and two pairs of extra-thick wool socks that go up to my knees because I know I’ll be freezing. Justin is wearing long underwear, and if he, the Snowman himself, the man who is known to traipse around in the dead of winter in nothing but gym shorts, is wearing long underwear on this trip, I know we’re talking about some serious cold. I stare at the suit as Spiffy holds it out to me. “How do I get it on?” I laugh nervously. “I’ve never—”
“Here,” he says, leaning over and helping me step into it. I nearly fall over a few times before zipping it up over my long underwear. As I’m leaning over to fasten the booties, feeling as flexible as a sausage in its casing, I realize the suit smells like feet. Feet with a thin Febreze mask.
I swallow as I look at myself in a floor-to-ceiling mirror. I’m pretty thin, but that doesn’t matter: I look like a sausage, or rather like a plastic bag of potatoes, lumpy and round. “Um, so,” I say, trying to take the focus off my foxy wet-suit-clad body, “your dad started the Outfitters?”
He nods. “My dad and his twin brother.”
“Twin? I was looking at the picture in the lobby. They don’t look very alike.”
“They aren’t. They lead completely different lives. My uncle is really into rafting and convinced my dad to invest in the Outfitters. My dad isn’t into that stuff at all, but he has a lot of capital.” He smiles. “My dad kind of hates this place now. He goes where the money is, and this is pretty much a money suck. I think that picture out front is the only one I have of the two of them together.” He holds out a plate of assorted breakfast goodies. “Pastry?”
I pluck a blueberry muffin off the plate. “Don’t they like each other?”
He shrugs. “Not even close. They may be twins, but Uncle Robert is so different. A free spirit. He was never around much, even after the Outfitters was started. Then he left two years ago to hike the Appalachian Trail and we haven’t heard from him since. But the guy always does things like that. Crazy things. My dad doesn’t know the first thing about rafting, so I pretty much run this place. I’ve been down the Dead a thousand times. Your boyfriend is one of my best customers. And your cousin. They talk about you all the time.”
“They do?” I blurt, almost spitting out a bit of my muffin. I can’t imagine what they would say, other than She’s not exactly an outdoorsy girl.
He checks a clock on the wall and says, “We’d better get you out there. Bus leaves in five.”
“Okay. Are you going to be on our raft?” I ask. Maybe having The Guy Who Knows Everything About the Dead on my raft would stop my stomach from clenching like it is.
He shakes his head. “There’s a group of novices going out, and they’ll need my help more than you. With Justin and Angela, you’re in good hands. Your guide is Michael. He’s a good guy. Been with us a couple years.”
“Oh,” I say, unable to hide my disappointment. “Is it really wild out there?”
I’m hoping he’ll tell me that no, it’s calm, for some reason they just can’t understand. You can see your reflection in the water. Babies can bathe in it. Instead, he says, “Oh yeah. Wildest of the year is right now. Over seven thousand see-eff-esses.”
“See what?”
“Cubic feet per second. Great time to come up. Great time.”
I gulp. Oh yeah. Great time.
I feel all stiff in this getup; bending my limbs is nearly impossible. When I walk, I’m sure I look like I just peed my pants. We step out to the front and I see through the picture window that a bunch of the rafters are already boarding the white school bus that’s going to take us to put-in.
We’re all alone in the building, so when I hear someone behind me breathe What the devil is that? I turn back to Spiffy and try to figure out what he’s talking about. But he’s just looking at me blankly.
“What the devil is what?” I ask, confused.
He stares at