In the Heart of the Canyon - By Elisabeth Hyde Page 0,32

said Jill. “You know what I think is funny?”

“What?”

“Watching Mitchell with the dog.”

They caught each other’s eye and laughed, like naughty girls.

“Isn’t he a piece of work,” Jill said.

“Poor Lena.”

“Poor JT, you mean! One of these days he’s going to haul off and slug the guy” Jill drained the mug and handed it back to Susan, who refilled it.

“So is Amy your only?” Jill asked.

“She is.”

There was a silence, during which the Mother Bitch rustled her leaves in the bushes. What she really wants to ask is how come Amy’s so fat, when you’re so thin.

“How nice, to have a girl,” Jill said wistfully. “I always wanted a girl. One of each. I love my boys, of course,” she added hastily.

“Would you have any more children?”

Jill hooted. “Not possible. When Sam was born, I had my tubes tied. I’m lying there all cut open, and the doctor’s head pops up between my legs and he goes, ‘Tubes?’ and I go, ‘Yes, please!’ Easiest decision I ever made. Mark doesn’t know,” she added.

For some reason, this did not shock Susan.

“He assumes I’m on the Pill,” Jill went on. “I’m saving a fortune on birth control. This is very good wine, you know! I think I’m kind of feeling it.”

Susan was feeling it too. She thought that Jill had revealed an awful lot of herself in the last ten minutes and that she, Susan, ought to reveal equivalent intimacies. But she didn’t know where to start. It suddenly occurred to her that maybe it wasn’t just Amy who was responsible for keeping them so distant from one another.

Right then Evelyn passed behind them on her way downriver.

“Evelyn,” Susan called over her shoulder, “do you want some wine?”

Evelyn smiled cheerfully. “No thanks! Off for a little walk right now!” She kept heading downstream. When she found a rock that was large enough to hide behind, she squatted.

“She’s an odd duck,” remarked Jill.

They both watched as Evelyn hitched up her shorts, moved downstream, and squatted again.

“Think she’s a virgin?” asked Jill.

Susan turned to stare directly at this upstanding citizen of the suburbs of Salt Lake City. Then she burst out laughing. “Give her credit,” she said. “I heard her mention some man back in Boston. But they broke up.”

“That explains it. She needs to get laid.”

I need to get laid, thought Susan. Amy needs to get laid. We all need to get laid.

“Speaking of which,” said Jill, “who do you think’s hotter—JT or Abo?”

Susan didn’t have to think about it. “Abo. Something about that bleachy-tipped hair.”

“I’d say Abo too, except he’s got a beer gut. Look at his belly when he’s bending over.”

“So JT, is that what you’re saying?”

Jill didn’t answer. She lay back on the sand and closed her eyes. “I wish I were twenty-one,” she said. “I’d live on the river and fuck a lot of river guides.”

Susan chuckled.

“Do not repeat that,” said Jill.

17

Day Three

Mile 47

It took Evelyn three squats, three separate boulders, and three hundred feet of shoreline before she could finally pee.

The first rock sheltered her from view of the camp but not from Jill and Susan. Unable to relax, Evelyn pulled up her shorts and hiked farther downstream to the next big rock, where she squatted again—only to glance up and notice that Peter had set up his campsite in a cluster of bushes that put her directly in his line of view. Evelyn traipsed on and finally came upon a slab of rock that offered full protection. And there in its shadow, up to her ankles in the icy water, she dropped her shorts and squatted and finally released the liter of water that she’d been holding since lunchtime.

Exhausted from the discomfort, she remained in squat position, staring numbly ahead. She hadn’t expected to have this problem—who would?—but it had descended upon her the first day, when they pulled onto shore for a quick pit stop. “Skirts up, pants down,” Dixie had joked, indicating that the women were to go upstream from the boat, while the men were to go downstream. The problem was, there was no upstream; it was blocked off by a steep wall of rock, leaving only a tiny cove beside the boat for the three women. Dixie and Ruth quickly went, but Evelyn couldn’t. Maybe it was the lack of privacy; maybe it was the time pressure. She tried focusing on the sound of the river (that old trick!), but it didn’t work. Finally, convinced that she was delaying the group, she climbed back