Chapter 27 The River Rushes By #2
They held eye contact for a long time, and Otis would remember this moment with Camden above all others for always.
They were on the river an hour later, both in waders and vests loaded with gear.
Cam told Otis the river was higher than usual, a result of recent heavy rains, so the fish might be a little harder to find.
Though he only fished with Cam, Otis had improved over the years. He had a hell of a good teacher.
The Blue River rushed with tremendous force past the boulders poking out of it.
The air was much cooler than Red Mountain, seventy-one or seventy-two.
There were no signs of humans. This place must have looked exactly the same as it had thousands of years ago.
Hills rose straight up from the water and worked their way toward taller mountains in the distance.
Spruce and pines reached up toward the clouds.
An eagle circled over its nest in the tallest of trees.
There was a summer hatch of bugs, so they both were using dry flies, casting upriver and watching the flies drift down with the current.
Cam stood about fifty yards upriver from Otis, and Otis watched his son.
Cam made his line dance in a way Otis had never seen elsewhere.
Three casts in, he reeled in his first fish, capturing it in his net.
A bright grin on his face, he held up the trout for Otis to see, then lowered it down into the water, letting it go with a splash.
Otis worked his section of river as best as he could. Cam had a way of knowing where the fish were. Otis could only guess. He found a solid place to stand, maybe twenty feet into the river. It was a lovely feeling, the cool water rushing by his legs.
It took him a while to get the hang of things. Cam had reminded him once again to let the line finish its path behind him before he brought it forward again. “Patience, Dad. Patience.” Over and over, Otis set the fly in the same place and watched it drift down.
Twenty minutes in, a trout shot out of the water and nabbed his fly. Seeing that trout hit his fly was something magical.
“Look at that, Cam!” Otis yelled, tugging on his fish and reeling him in.
Cam raised his hands up in the air, a victory indeed.
Otis brought in the fish and was careful not to harm him. Cam had taught him exactly how to extract the barbless hook and get the fish back into the water so it could go on living.
It didn’t take him long to hook a tree that hung out over the water. Cam noticed and climbed out and walked down to help. “I think that’s the longest you’ve ever made it without getting snagged.” He took over and followed the line into the leaves with his hand.
“I’m a fish in. Did you see that trout?” Otis asked.
“I did.”
“How many have you caught?”
“A few.”
“Good for you.”
Cam had to break the line; then he went about tying on a new leader and fly.
Otis held the reel in his hand and watched his son.
Camden truly was content. Somehow he hadn’t been burdened like Otis with a desperate need to prove himself.
It was as if he’d already achieved all his goals, and now he was along for the ride.
His son lived like a sailor who had caught the perfect wind, soaring by, unaffected by all the troubles out there.
“Okay,” Cam said, looking over at Otis after finishing up the knot, “you’re all set. Go get ’em, Dad.”
Those were the last words Camden ever spoke.
Go get ’em, Dad.
He flashed a smile and then was gone, going back to what he enjoyed more than anything else on earth.
A while later, Otis looked upriver in time to see a fish tear into Cam’s fly, the silver flapping out of the water. His son set the hook like a master, fully present. He stepped up onto a rock to bring it the rest of the way in, and as the fish surfaced again, Cam slipped.
In an instant, his feet flew above his head, and he came down hard on a neighboring rock, headfirst.
Otis’s chest tightened. “Cam, you okay?”
Cam’s body folded into itself and began to drift down the river, his fishing pole still in the water, tugged by the fish.
Otis dropped his rod and reel. Heart roaring, he started upriver, but it would take him forever wading through the water, so he cut a hard right straight to the shore. He slipped a few times as he fought the current, but he finally reached a flat path and raced out of the water.
On shore, dripping wet and slowed by the waders and boots, he ran as fast as he could, peeling off his vest, keeping one eye on Camden, who still hadn’t raised his head out of the water. The rod and reel floated by.
Otis called Camden’s name, but he was out of breath and terrified, so it barely came out. He navigated the rocky shore, climbed over several tree trunks, and once he was close enough, he splashed back into the river.
Blood rushed from a gap in Cam’s head and swirled in the water. Otis wrapped his arms around his son’s trunk and dragged him to a large flat rock.
Otis wasn’t trained in CPR, and later, it would be one of the million things that would eat him up. How had he not been prepared?
He didn’t know what to do; he didn’t fucking know!
Following his instincts, he knelt and pressed his clasped hands against Cam’s chest and pushed. He pushed again, not knowing whether it was the right spot, but there had to be water in his lungs, and he had to get it out.
“Cam, tell me what to do,” he pleaded.
The gash spread blood all over the rock; the water was red.
Otis kept pushing down on his son’s chest, waiting for water to come rushing out of his mouth, but nothing happened. He looked around, utterly lost. They were a long way from the car, a thirty-minute walk. He’d glanced at his phone before shoving it into the glove compartment; he had no service.
He was Cam’s only hope.
He pulled Cam up onto his lap and continued to try to get the water out of him. When it didn’t come, he laid his son back down and tried CPR, in and out, pushing his breath into him.
Tears washed over Otis’s face as the reality of the situation became clear.
His son was dead.
Cam was dead.
“Don’t take him from me,” Otis begged.
He put his hand on Cam’s chest; there was no heartbeat. He felt for a pulse. Nothing. He wept and begged for someone to help as he held his fingers over Cam’s mouth, hoping for breath.
Nothing.
Finally, he decided he had to get him out of the water. He tore the vest off; a hook from a fly clinging to a patch of wool embedded itself in Otis’s hand. He ripped it from his skin, ignoring the searing pain.
Grabbing hold of Cam under the arms, he dragged him through the water, past the rocks, and up onto the shore. He placed him in the grass and turned him to his side again. He hit his back, wondering what else he could do.
“Help!” he screamed.
Otis couldn’t leave him, but he was out of options. He tried CPR again, and Cam’s chest rose with Otis’s breath, but he wouldn’t come back to life. He tried again and again, but nothing.
Nothing.
“Help!” he screamed, pushing up from his knees and looking toward the trail. “Help!”
Nothing came back, only the silence of a forest and the rush of a river that carried on like nothing had happened.
It would take him an hour or more to get help, getting back to the car and then either driving to a place with cell service or finding an establishment with a landline.
He had to keep trying. He performed the Heimlich maneuver harder and harder, and he heard one of Cam’s ribs crack.
Still, his son didn’t come back to him. Otis fell to the ground and tried CPR again, watching Cam’s chest rise and fall, up and down.
Nothing.
It had been ten minutes. Camden wasn’t coming back.
Otis pulled the body onto his lap and wept, his tears falling onto Cam’s face. He brushed back his boy’s hair. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know what to do.”
The boy who’d grown into a man, the man who had inspired Otis in countless ways. He was dead and gone.
Otis didn’t want to leave him, yet he had to. But what about the animals? They’d go after the body.
He thought of dragging him back out to a rock on the river, but he might wash away. Instead, Otis dragged Cam to the highest boulder along the shore. He kissed his cheeks and forehead and promised him he’d be right back.
With one last look at his son, he tore off toward the trail and ran at a dead sprint back to the car, his entire life running away from him.
In Cam’s vehicle, Otis sped along Highway 9 toward Breckenridge with his cell phone in his hand, waiting to get reception.
Finally, he came upon a whitewater rafting shop situated on the banks of the river.
He slid into the parking lot next to several stacks of kayaks and inflatable boats.
He was out before the SUV had stopped, and he raced into the entrance of the simply built wooden building.
Fishing gear lined the walls. Bluegrass played from the speakers.
“Help!” Otis called, racing toward the counter in the back.
A man in his seventies sitting in a chair with his feet propped up next to the cash register slowly lowered his book. “Can I ...?” He clearly saw Otis’s distress and moved quicker, standing up. “What’s going on?”
“My son ...” Otis was still out of breath. “My son ... he’s ...” He pointed back from where he’d come. “He’s dead.” His voice cracked as his knees grew wobbly. Tears spilled from his eyes.
The old man rounded the counter and put a hand on Otis’s shoulder. “Should I call the police? What happened?”
Otis could barely speak. Maybe there was a chance, maybe there was still a chance. “My son fell in the river. He’s out there. A few miles back. I’m not getting any service. Please ... please call an ambulance.”
As the man raced toward his phone, Otis fell to his knees. Loss washed over him, stripping away all the good in the world.
“Oh, God, no,” he said, crying into his hands. How could he tell Rebecca? It would crush her.
The man on the other side of the counter had reached the 911 operator and was filling them in. Otis summoned enough strength to stand again. “Tell them to come here, and then I’ll lead them. They have to hurry. He might still have a chance, but he’s not breathing.”
The man relayed the message as Otis stared at him, watching his lips move, hearing the words that were impossible to believe leaving his mouth.
Camden’s body rested cold and still in a hospital morgue in Frisco, about twenty minutes from where he’d died. Otis sat in the office of a kind man who had offered him privacy to call Rebecca. Dried tears stained his face. The digital clock on the wall read 2:32 p.m.
Otis held his cell phone in his hand, his fingers poised over the buttons, but he couldn’t bring himself to call, to break the news to Rebecca that their son was dead.
In an instant, he would destroy her life, and he wanted to let her keep on living this innocent existence for a little while longer.
He couldn’t bear the idea of her being alone when she learned what had happened.
He thought of calling Michael in Seattle, but Otis didn’t want Mike to know either.
He wanted to keep them in a cocoon of safety, where the ones you loved didn’t die.
Where a young man who burst with life hadn’t had it extinguished doing the thing he loved most. A high river, a wrong step, and the whole world shattered.
He set down the phone and fell back into the chair, letting his eyes rise to the ceiling. The hollowness in his chest echoed with loss. The last images of his son on the river, that gorgeous smile, that beautiful cast, slid by in his mind.
“How could you take him away?” Otis whispered, time moving so desperately slow.
After a while, he sat back up and reached for the phone. He would call Chaco and have him collect their friends to be there for her. Then Otis would break the news.
“Hola, boss,” Chaco said.
Otis started to speak, but no words left his mouth. He pulled the phone from his ear and stared at it, then ended the call. His hands shook as he set the phone back down.
Standing, Otis found the nice man who had lent him his office. “I need help. Can you help me book a flight to the Tri-Cities? My brain’s not working, my fingers. I’ll drive to Denver, can be there in a ...”
“It’s about a two-hour drive. Yes, let me help you.”
Determined to break the news to Rebecca face-to-face, Otis said, “If I can’t get to the Tri-Cities, get me to Seattle.” He fumbled for his wallet and slid out a credit card. “Thank you.”
It was midnight when he reached Red Mountain. The stars shimmered in the clear black sky. A cool breeze slipped through the desert landscape. A tumbleweed rolled by him as Otis drove along Sunset Road toward his house.
She’d tried to call him several times, leaving messages that grew more desperate. “Everything okay? What’s going on, Otis? Please call me.”
He had to be there when she found out. He had to hold her in his arms.
The truck bumped along the driveway, ticking down the clock to Bec’s devastation. She was a strong woman, but could any mother handle such loss? The lights came on as his boots hit the gravel. The clasp unlatched, and Rebecca pulled open the door in her nightgown.
Otis bit back more tears as he walked toward her. She clutched her chest and began to melt. “No,” she said. “No.”
Not a word from Otis, and she knew. Her cry filled the night with agony. Otis cried, too, as he pulled her in, and they slid down onto the welcome mat.
Nothing would ever be the same.