In the Heart of the Canyon - By Elisabeth Hyde Page 0,6
to speak of, what with her shirt buttoned up to her chin.
“And you are?”
“Evelyn.”
“Ain’t gonna lie, Evelyn. It gets pretty darn hot. And this trip’ll be no exception. One fourteen at Phantom yesterday, I heard. But there’s always the river for cooling off. Know what I say about the heat?”
The group waited.
JT raised an eyebrow. “If you’re hot, you’re stupid.”
“What are the water levels running at, if I may ask?” said Mitchell.
“Lows are twelve, thirteen,” said JT. “And for those of you unfamiliar with Bureau of Reclamation measurements, that means twelve thousand cubic feet of water are running past you every second. Highs are eighteen to twenty.”
“Why the variance?” Mark asked, and JT explained that the operators of the Glen Canyon Dam released more water at certain times to satisfy the power demands of Phoenix.
“Kind of like tides,” he said. “Not a big deal.”
“How’s the food?” Peter asked.
“Let me put it this way,” JT said. “This isn’t a weight-loss trip. We’ll feed you well. Speaking of which, I want to get in a few miles before lunch, so let’s get moving.”
He tucked the map into its waterproof sleeve and told the group to make sure their water bottles were full, their hats secured. In response to his directions, the group filed out of the shade into the hot, bright desert sun. Last in the group was the teenage girl. She’d been standing in the back, and he got another look at her and realized she wasn’t just big; she was huge. She was wearing an oversized green T-shirt from Jamba Juice, with gray athletic shorts that hung to the top of vast, dimpled knees. Her dark hair was parted in the middle and pulled back in a low, unflattering ponytail.
She hesitated, and JT noticed that her life jacket didn’t buckle at the bottom.
“Let me adjust that for you,” he said cheerfully.
Shyly she held her arms out and glanced to the side as JT tugged at the straps to free up a few more inches. Still the bottom buckle wouldn’t clip. He checked to make sure the jacket was a size large. It was. He worked at the straps some more, and by squeezing tightly, he finally managed to clip the buckle shut. The girl winced.
“Too tight?” he asked, glancing up.
She wrinkled her nose.
JT frowned. “Well, you really need to have it buckled,” he said. “Park regs. Put your arms down and lets see.”
She lowered her arms. As soon as she inhaled, the buckle popped open. Instantly tears filled her eyes.
JT scratched the back of his neck. Regulations were regulations. If anything happened to her, it would be his fault. “What’s your name?”
“Amy.”
“Hey, Amy. Some of these life jackets have a little more give to them. We’ll find you another one.” He led her back to the pile, and they picked through the life jackets until they found one that buckled. Her arms stuck out cartoonishly, like penguin wings.
“I think a lot of it’s just water weight,” she offered. “My mother says it’s from the altitude. My ankles are swollen too.”
JT nodded, though he doubted her diagnosis. “Let’s find you a good spot on one of the boats. Want to ride with me?”
“Okay,” she said timidly.
“Come on, then,” said JT, heading toward the boats. “You like the front or the back?”
“What’s the difference?”
“Well, in the front, you might get splashed a little more.”
Amy smiled. “Front, then.”
He immediately realized that with her weight, the front of the boat was just where she shouldn’t be. But he wasn’t about to spoil the mood right now.
“Front it is,” he said. “Come on. Mine’s the boat with the flag. Where are you from, Amy? Wisconsin, isn’t it? My gramma grew up in Wisconsin. You want some gum?”
“Thanks,” said Amy.
“Welcome to the ditch,” said JT.
4
Day One
Lee’s Ferry
As the bus rocked its way down the gravel road to Lee’s Ferry, Peter Kramer finished off the last of the watermelon he’d swiped from the breakfast buffet that morning. Peter had read in his sister’s Cosmo that watermelon made your sperm taste better. He didn’t know if he was going to get any blow jobs on this trip, but figured a quick adjustment to his own personal sugar levels wouldn’t hurt.
Not that he had many hopes, after meeting his fellow passengers at the orientation session last night. There was a nuclear family with a clean-cut dad and weary-looking mom and two squabbling boys. A boxy, middle-aged woman, obsessing over whether she should bring her rain pants. A geriatric couple