In the Heart of the Canyon - By Elisabeth Hyde Page 0,34
the kitchen every night? This was their third night, and she’d already detected a pattern: Jill would go off to do yoga; Lloyd and Ruth would lie down on their mats (although they were to be excused, given their age and Ruth’s injured leg); Mitchell and Lena would unfold their padded camp chairs and bring out a large bottle of gin. (“Say,” she heard Mitchell ask each night, as if the thought had just occurred to him, “got any extra limes?”)
Evelyn thought poorly of people who didn’t pitch in. From an early age, she’d been taught to look around and see what needed to be done.
“What else are we having for dinner?” she asked now.
“Ravioli,” said Abo. “Meat and/or cheese, with or without sauce, your choice. Never let it be said that we don’t offer you people a lot of options.”
“Can you believe I thought we’d be eating hot dogs and hamburgers this whole trip?” Amy said, scraping seeds out of a red pepper.
“Over my dead body,” declared Abo. “Get out of there,” he said to the dog, who was sniffing the garbage bucket.
“Speaking of dead bodies,” Peter said. “How many times have you flipped? Be honest.”
Abo tipped his head back and roared with laughter, then suddenly went solemn. “Three.”
“Dixie?”
Dixie, tending the battered fire pan, sat back on her heels, which were gray and leathery and riddled with cracks. “There are two types of river guides, Peter,” she said. “Those who’ve flipped, and those who will.”
“Which are you?”
“You’ll have to figure that out yourself,” she said. “Evelyn, you ready with the batter?”
Evelyn knelt beside Dixie and tilted the mixing bowl so Dixie could scrape the cake batter into the great iron Dutch oven.
“I’d like to flip, just to see what everyone’s talking about,” Amy said.
“Ride with Abo,” said Dixie with a grunt as she hoisted the Dutch oven over the bed of coals. Evelyn offered to wash the bowl.
“Leave it for Abo,” said Dixie.
“Leave it for JT, you mean,” said Abo.
Who at that moment came over lugging a full jug of water.
“I’m taking a survey,” Peter said. “How many times have you flipped?”
JT set the jug on the drink table. The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Why’re you asking?”
“I’m trying to figure out the safest boat to ride in.”
“Not mine,” said Dixie.
“Or mine,” said Abo.
“Definitely not mine,” said JT.
They were all joking, and Evelyn knew that, but joking was one thing she had never been very good at. She wished right now that she could say something that would make them all laugh, and admire her, and want to ride with her tomorrow.
“How do you tell when ravioli is done?” Abo said, poking a long spoon into the pot.
“When they float,” said Amy.
“Oh,” said Abo. “Okay. DINNER!”
Amy scraped the pile of red peppers into Peter’s salad. They faced one another, beaming, and high-fived.
“WASH YOUR HANDS!” Abo yelled.
Evelyn stood in line and hugged a plate to her chest.
“My oh my,” said Lloyd, peering into the pot.
“Get in line, Lloyd,” said Ruth.
“Where have you been?” Mark asked Jill, who had rejoined the group.
“Talking with Susan.”
“You look very rested,” said Mark.
“I am,” said Jill. “Oh Evelyn, I’m sorry, were you in line?”
Evelyn didn’t understand how it could appear that she might not be in line. She told Jill to go ahead, but Jill insisted Evelyn go first, so Evelyn picked up a plate and made her way through the food line. Her shoulders ached from paddling, and as she carried her plate across the sand, she thought of Julian, who kept a set of weights in front of his television set. She should buy a set of weights.
Suddenly famished, she sat down in a central spot and waited for others to join her.
That evening the bats came out. One minute there was nothing; the next minute they swarmed down from the cliffs, fluttering in jerky loops. The air seemed hotter than it had during the day, a phenomenon that Mitchell claimed made no sense but which JT knew could easily happen on a midsummer evening.
Already he could sense the water levels rising for the night; even though the surge from the dam wouldn’t come until after eleven or so, the waves seemed to lap more hungrily at the shoreline. They were camped right below Saddle Canyon, at River Mile 47, and before turning in for the night, he enlisted the help of Abo and Dixie to move the kitchen back a few feet, just to be safe.