Chapter Eight
Derek
I’ve learned some important things since pushing off the shore at the put-in site:
Changing Donovan’s mind about me would be easier if she were open to conversation, but so far she’s left me to my thoughts, which keep wandering to places my mind shouldn’t go, like the most recent text from my mom.
Despite my complete lack of response since my mom found my number last fall, she invited me to visit her in Palm Springs.
California, not Florida.
She lives just a few hours from me, something I didn’t know until this morning. It makes her feel closer than words on a screen ever could, and that’s a problem.
Forcing thoughts of my mom away before I get stuck in the past, I focus on my surroundings instead.
The muddy green river stretches ahead, with rock cliffs on either side and not a cloud in the sky.
If not for the danger of being left to my thoughts in the quiet that comes from being in the wilderness, it would all be rather peaceful.
That’s what I assume, anyway. I don’t think my life has ever actually been peaceful.
I shift in my seat on the nose of the boat, the cream-colored neoprene of the boat squeaking beneath me, and I tug the front of my life jacket down to keep it from rising up over my neck.
This thing is unnecessarily bulky, especially given the calm water around us.
I have one hand on the top strap at the side of the jacket, ready to loosen it, when Donovan speaks.
“Touch that strap and see what happens, Riley.”
Twisting to look at her, I clench my jaw when I see the amusement in her eyes. “I can barely breathe.”
“Good. That means you’re wearing it right.”
If it hadn’t been Thiago who helped me adjust my jacket to fit, I would think it was this tight as a way for Donovan to subtly torture me.
I turn so my back is to the river, bending one leg and stretching the other over the net holding the bags in place.
“You know you’re supposed to be teaching me, right?
” I nod toward the oar handles gripped in her fingers.
I’ve already written down the basic mechanics of the oars, but that part is easy.
Her lips press together, her eyes full of defiance. “What are you going to do if I don’t? Take back the money your assistant is supposedly sending to Red Earth?” She lifts an eyebrow as if daring me to confirm her guess. “Make the other guests pay their way again?”
As much as I want to accuse her of making unfounded assumptions, I ignore her question and ask one of my own. “How did you get into whitewater?”
Apparently that was the wrong question, and her more playful scowl turns into a full glare. “Just focus on the river, Hollywood. The best way to learn is by paying attention to what’s around you.”
What’s around me is nothing but flat water, since we won’t hit any rapids until day three. Frustration builds in my chest, leaving me restless. “What happened to our truce?” I thought we’d reached a point where she didn’t completely hate me, but I guess I was wrong.
Clenching her jaw, she looks at the oars in her hands and sighs. “Fine. Let’s start with the basic rules of the river.”
I tilt my head. “The ones you told everyone before we started? I already know those.” They’re written in my notebook along with the rest of my limited research.
“Clearly not, if you were about to take off your life jacket.”
“I wasn’t…” I cut myself off when her eyes flash with irritation.
“Do you think I wasn’t listening to the rules?
” When she shrugs, I list them off on my fingers.
“Keep the life jacket on at all times. Keep my feet in front of me if I’m in the water.
If the boat runs into a rock, move to the opposite side of the boat from the rock. ”
“Wrong.” She accompanies the word with a jerk of the oar, splashing shockingly cold water all over me.
I gasp as the water trickles into my life jacket and down my chest. The temperature is supposed to be somewhere in the eighties today, not cold but not very hot either, and I was not prepared to discover the temperature of the river.
Good thing I stashed my notebook in my waterproof bag an hour ago; that book is my life.
Donovan fights a smile. “If I say ‘high side’, which means we’ve washed into a rock, you’re supposed to go to the rock.” She tucks the oar handles beneath her knees, then makes a fist with her hand. “This is a rock,” she says in a slow and clear tone, like she’s talking to a child.
“It looks very nice,” I grumble.
Ignoring me, she holds her other palm out face down and touches it to her fist. “If you move to the side of the boat that’s farthest from the rock, the weight is going to pull the boat that way while the current keeps pushing the boat into the rock, making it wrap around like this.
” Her palm wraps around her fist. “And with this high of a water level, we’re not getting that boat back. ”
It’s hard to imagine a boat this big—it has to be around sixteen feet long—getting stuck by a bit of water, but I’m not going to pretend I know better than someone who’s been doing this for half her life.
My stomach twists in a knot as I imagine what she’s describing and how a wrong move could lead to disaster. My wrong move.
I was wrong. I was wrong. I was—
“If you go to the side with the rock,” Donovan says, moving her hand back to a flat position and then tilting her palm away from her fist, “the current will work to our advantage and pull us away from the rock and back to a safe place.”
“Have you ever had to do that?” My voice wavers, and I clear my throat. Pretending there was something stuck there other than rising nerves and spiraling thoughts.
Donovan’s grin is wide as she frees the oars and resumes her methodic rowing. “In Lava Falls.”
The knot in my stomach doubles. I’ve spent far too much of my limited free time watching what people have dubbed “carnage videos” of that rapid on the Grand Canyon. That rapid is known as the biggest in the US, and just thinking about it makes me nervous.
“The look on your face worries me,” I admit.
Donovan’s laugh is clear and bright as she uses her oars to wiggle the boat back and forth, nearly knocking me off balance. “Would you relax, Riley? I made it out alive. You wanted to learn, so I’m teaching you.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “What happened?”
“Lava Falls drops almost forty feet in less than three hundred yards, so it’s steep, fast, and brutal.
” I really don’t think she should be grinning that way as she tells me this, but I’m not going to complain.
She’s talking. “My grandpa was rowing, and he had everything lined up perfectly, skirting around the ledge hole just right.”
That’s the hole where boats tend to flip, if I remember right. I watched one video where the boat rotated fifteen times before the river finally spit it out, like it was in a washing machine.
“That first wave we hit was a doozy,” Donovan continues.
“I was up front with Spencer, and for a second all I could see was the river because there was as much water inside the boat as there was outside. Couldn’t even see what I was sitting on.
It was wave after wave, coming from all directions, but I thought we were doing okay until we reached The Cheese Grater.
” Those last three words come out low and gravelly.
I roll my eyes, unable to stop myself from smiling. “You’re being a bit dramatic, Donovan.”
She exaggerates a gasp. “Me? Dramatic? Just listen to the story, Riley. We’re getting to the good part.”
“By all means, continue.”
Biting her lip, she studies me for a second, and I wonder what she sees. “We were almost at the bottom when Pops—my grandpa—yelled ‘high side,’ and since I paid attention to the rules, I knew to get to the rock.”
I narrow my eyes at her but say nothing. Because she’s right. And I was wrong. When we get to shore, I’m going to write down the rules a few more times so they stick. I can’t afford to get any of this wrong.
“So,” she says, “I jumped over to Spencer’s side of the boat.
Right to The Cheese Grater, which is an aptly named boulder of rough lava rock.
The boat sank in that direction just enough for the current to catch the bottom of the boat and pull us out instead of trapping us and our gear, and we made it through mostly unscathed.
“Moral of the story, you need to take the rules to heart. You’re not going to have time to consult your notes when you’re face-to-face with whitewater.”
I ignore her jab about my notebook and focus on where this conversation started. “The last rule is to breathe when I see daylight.”
She snickers. “There are plenty more rules, but those are the important ones.”
“Breathe when I see daylight,” I repeat. “That one sounds pretty obvious. Not many people try to breathe underwater.”
“You’d be surprised,” she argues. “Most people panic if they fall into a rapid, and since their life jacket floats, they expect to float up and over the waves. But that’s not how that works.”
While I can’t say I’ve been on a river before, I’m not too worried about this rule. “I surf all the time and know better than to expect a wave to cooperate.”
Donovan wrinkles her nose. “Ocean,” she says with a shudder. “You’re nuts for that one, Riley.”
“How is a river any different? One could argue it’s worse, with all the rocks and holes and boulders named after kitchen utensils.”
“At least I know what to expect with a river. I know what’s at the bottom and can read the waves. They’re constant. And don’t have giant creatures waiting inside them to eat me.”
Chuckling, I shake my head. This woman is something else, and if I didn’t think she would shut me down again, I would try to learn more about her. “So you have at least one fear. Good to know.”
She lifts an eyebrow and doesn’t seem to know whether to scowl or smile this time around. “Cataloging all my flaws?”
“Or I’m taking mental notes about what makes a river guide tick.”
“Because you’re playing one in a movie.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Is it an adventure movie? Some kind of thriller like that dumb one with Meryl Streep? Or maybe a romance?” She makes a kissy face at me.
To my horror, a spark of attraction ignites in my belly. That’s a bad idea, and I don’t need a repeat of my idiocy inside the souvenir shop the other day. I need to keep talking before I start wondering if she kisses with the same fire that’s in her personality. “Why was the Meryl movie dumb?”
Donovan scoffs. “So many reasons, but did you really just call Meryl Streep by her first name?”
I shrug. “What else would I call her?”
“Meryl Streep. Like everyone else. Oh, but I forgot. You’re not like everyone else.
She’s probably your godmother or something, isn’t she?
” Gripping the oars, she pulls one and pushes the other, spinning the boat with impressive speed and stopping the motion when we’re facing the opposite direction.
“And don’t answer that question. I don’t want to know.
The movie is dumb not because of the acting but because Meryl’s character supposedly hasn’t been rafting in years and manages to navigate some extremely complicated whitewater with impractical or non-existent techniques.
And then you expect me to believe Kevin Bacon could get through even a small rapid without any idea what he’s doing?
Please.” She exhales heavily and pulls on the oars, her eyes drifting to the shoreline on her right.
But then she looks at me and freezes, some of the color draining from her face. “Anyway… Like I said, if you want to learn about being a guide, just sit back and watch. All four of us, I mean.”
She’s deflecting, which doesn’t surprise me given the way she’s acted toward me so far.
But what does surprise me is the passion she exhibited when she talked about the river movie.
It could have been because she’s passionate about rivers in general, but my gut is telling me it was as much about the movie part of things as it was the subject matter.
She was more open to conversation when we talked about my movies earlier as well.
I’m not going to push, as much as I want to avoid falling back into silence, but at least now I have something to distract me from thinking about things I can’t control, like my mom or Hot Scoop or being the ninth wheel among my friends.
Donovan’s hiding from something. Something that scares her enough to lash out at me if I get too close.
And I’m going to fix it.