back in Salt Lake City.
Was that really too much to ask for?
After some time she saw JT heading toward her. Everybody else was in the boats. This is just too rich, she thought.
“I’m fine,” she told him.
“Sam can paddle Lava, if he wants,” he said.
“I littered.”
“Huh?”
“The nail clipper. I threw it in the river.”
“Oh. Well, it’s not a huge deal.”
“I can go look for it. I can find it.”
“Actually, you probably can’t. Don’t worry about it.”
“Where’s Sam?”
“Dixie’s boat.”
“I’m really, really sorry you had to witness this,” she said.
“Oh,” said JT, “I’ve seen worse.”
He probably had. But it didn’t make her feel any better.
30
Day Seven
The Big Ones Miles 93–98
It was fun; there was no doubt about it: for all his chatter about appreciating the smaller moments on a river trip, JT couldn’t deny that sometimes a thirty-second thrill in big water could trump everything else.
Pushing off above Granite Rapid, he hoisted himself into his boat, took his seat, and wiggled into place. The air was spiced with honey, and the sun was working its way down the cliffs. He shoved a stick of gum into his mouth, pulled a few strokes, then pivoted around to face downstream. He had Ruth and Lloyd safe in the back, with Amy up front gripping the dog.
Once his boat was out in the current, he stood to get a better view. Strong lateral waves boiled toward a steep wall on the opposite side, rebounding back on themselves. Farther down to the left, a smooth, dark hump of water bulged above an explosion of silvery backwash—the hole he wanted to avoid. His goal was to ride the laterals across, just far enough to avoid the hole but not so far as to slam up against the black wall on the other side. To this end, he picked out a focal point to aim for, and just before they dipped toward that first lateral, he dropped to his seat and grabbed his oars to steady his entry and whoosh, they scooted up and caught the surf, which seemed to hold them in one place, moving but not moving, except that anyone could see they were plowing toward the wall; and now he had to heave with his right arm, muscling everything from the core to turn the boat downstream—there was the hole on his left, fine, they were going to miss it, but the wall came looming forward and he shouted to Amy to keep her hands in the boat and he pulled and pushed on his oars, and they cruised on by the wall with only a couple of inches to spare.
And as they swirled downstream, Amy twisted around to mouth the words “Oh my god.” JT managed to steady his boat, and they watched Abo and his paddlers narrowly skirt the hole, all six wooden paddles jabbing randomly in the froth, and then Dixie ran it exactly as he had, coming a little too close to the wall, but everyone made it through safely, and JT allowed himself the thought that they were going to have good, safe, fun runs all day long today; luck was on their side, the sun was hot, and the water was fine, and he could already hear Dixie playing her guitar under the starry sky tonight, when it was all behind them.
Amy knew it was the wuss boat, with Ruth and Lloyd in the back and herself up front. She told herself it didn’t really matter. And she was able to believe that, until she looked over at the paddle boat after they ran Granite and saw that Abo had handed out whimsical hats, colorful foam visors in the forms of ducks, frogs, and birds; at which point she could no longer deny that they’d been chosen as an exclusive little club, and she wasn’t in it. She’d been allocated like a meat cooler.
Amy stroked the dog’s ears. She told herself not to dwell on it. And she reminded herself that even if she’d been chosen for the paddle boat, she might have had to decline, for her stomach was still bothering her. She started to open up her day bag for the Tums, but JT warned that they were coming up on Hermit. Was Hermit the one with the wave train? What exactly was a wave train? She looked downriver to see a long chevron of white water. She hugged the dog tightly, ready for what lay ahead. She wanted the ride of a lifetime.
But instead of heading