In the Heart of the Canyon - By Elisabeth Hyde Page 0,31
wandered back to the patch of sand where she and Amy had dumped their gear. Their site tonight was disturbingly close to the groover, but by the time she’d gotten off the boat and shaken out the leg cramps and collected her things, all the other flat places were taken. Evelyn, she noticed, always managed to get one of the good spots; tonight, for instance, she’d pretty much dashed across the beach to claim a large flat area with a view, a space that would have been better suited to Jill and Mark and their two boys. Susan glanced over to the spot now; indeed, there was Evelyn, seated cross-legged on her white mat, reading her guidebook, drinking her cranberry juice.
Evelyn noticed Susan and promptly buried her nose in her book again. Susan knew that Evelyn suffered from shyness; she also knew that the nice thing to do would be to go over and offer her some wine. But she simply couldn’t bring herself to take the initiative with Evelyn, not right now. Evelyn was so stern, so serious; no doubt she would offer up her critical judgment on something that had happened that day—like how the boys had tried to destroy the lacy spiderwebs on the rock ceiling in the back of the cavern at Redwall. It wasn’t a very respectful thing to do; Susan wasn’t really defending them—but come on, they were kids.
And besides, Evelyn probably didn’t drink, or she would have brought something other than cranberry juice.
Upriver, there was a little cove where people were bathing. Susan saw Amy trudging in that direction, carrying the quilted floral bag that Susan had bought her for the trip. Let her be, she thought, and she headed downstream, away from the busyness of the camp. The wet sand was studded with round pink rocks, and she found it hypnotic to look no farther than a foot or two ahead; she became so focused on this small task that she was startled to look up and see that she had walked right into Jill’s private meditation space.
“Sorry,” she whispered. She wanted to give this busy mother a little time to herself, but Jill glanced up with a serene smile. She sighed and stretched her legs out and wiggled her toes.
“Oh, you’re not disturbing me,” Jill replied. “The only people who could disturb me right now are the boys. Sit. Please.”
Susan sat down. The shoreline waters lapped softly at her feet; birds chirped and called from one cliff to the next.
“I was going to have some wine,” Susan said. “Do you want some?”
“No, thank you,” said Jill, which made Susan feel like an alcoholic. She should hang out more with the guides, who drank their fair share.
“You know what’s so great about this trip?” Jill said, after a while.
“What?”
“Not having to make any decisions. The kids say, ‘Can we jump off the boat?’ and I say, ‘I don’t know; ask the guides.’ They say, ‘Can we stand up during this rapid?’ and I say, ‘I don’t know; ask the guides.’ What a wonderful place to be,” Jill said, with the awe and gratitude of one who has been given very little in life.
“You know what I like?” Susan said.
“What?”
“Not cooking!”
“That too,” Jill agreed.
“And not going to the grocery store! My goal when I get home is to go once a week, and if we run out, dammit, we run out.”
Jill snorted. “The way my life goes, I’ll say I’m going to do that, but then the boys will have some project at school that requires jelly beans or marshmallows, and there I am, driving out to Costco.”
“Are you sure you don’t want some of this wine?”
Jill seemed to think about it for a moment. “All right,” she said.
Susan handed her the mug.
“Mark doesn’t drink,” said Jill, “so I try not to. But every now and then I like a little something.”
“With two boys like that, I’d be an alcoholic,” Susan declared. Instantly she regretted it.
“Mark’s Mormon,” Jill continued. “I’m not. I grew up Catholic. My father drank beer and my mother drank whiskey. When Mark and I got married, we had champagne at the reception but no open bar, and Mark and his parents were like, ‘Oh, everybody’s having just as good a time as they would if there was an open bar,’ and I’m like, ‘Lady, are you blind? My entire family’s out in the parking lot with their brown bags.’ What kind of wine is this?”