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Authors: G. M. Ford
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in this thing every morning.”
The slap of little feet pulled my attention up the ramp. It was a
race. Giggling madly, both children ran down the slope, nearly out of
control, rushing headlong toward their father. J.D. met them halfway,
scooping one up in each arm, swinging them around his head as they
squealed with delight. He carried them the rest of the way to the top
on his shoulders while they laughed and struggled to escape. At the
top, he set the kids back on their feet. Rebecca was wearing her
coat, twirling her keys. The little boy ran to Claudia’s side.
Tugged on her dress. She scooped him up, resting him on her hip. He
whispered in her ear.
“Adam needs to use the potty,” she announced proudly. Adam
swallowed his fist and kicked his feet. “Let me take him inside,
then we can say goodbye.” She turned and started for the house. The
little girl ran over and grabbed Rebecca by the hand.
“Come on, Aunt Rebecca; let’s go watch.”
Rebecca left in tow. She looked back over her shoulder. Look
number forty-two. Hang in there, baby. This won’t take long. We be
gone.
J.D. and I wandered up toward the cars. The cleared area at the
far end was the helipad. Let ’em keep the darn bridge. Said he was
only about twenty hours short of his commercial chopper license. He
explained how he was going to fly customers directly from Seattle.
Groups of four. Wine ’em, dine’em, limit ’em out for a few
days, back to the city for a new group. Eventually hire another
guide, get both boats working. Eight cabins at a grand a day. Do the
math. The newly bulldozed edge of the forest seemed embarrassed by
its silver nakedness. Several of the trunks showed the brown gouge of
the blade. Halfway up the hill, the frail tops of the hemlock
shivered in the breeze. J.D. pointed toward the back of the clearing.
A new aluminum shed, maybe thirty by forty. A couple of big black
storage tanks. A white U stenciled on one. A white D on the other. A
dusty Honda ATV. Big grassy traffic circle in the center of the area.
Big enough that boats on trailers could easily be backed up next to
the fuel tanks. Some sort of crude stone marker adorned the center of
the circle.
“See that pile of rocks?” J.D. asked.
“Yep.”
“Chappy,” he said. “I promised Ben we’d work around him.”
We rode in silence. All the way back to the working bridge, back
through Stevens Falls. Took the right fork over toward the coast,
instead of the left toward J.D.’s and the end of the road before
she broke the spell.
“Sorry,” was what she said.
“Nothing to be sorry about. You had no way of knowing.”
She made a rueful face. “Not exactly what I had in mind for
cheering you up.”
No argument there. The Olympics filled the windshield. Looming
slate gray against a cantaloupe sky. Two miles later, she gave me the
rundown from Claudia. How this whole thing with the business seemed
to have driven a wedge between them. How Claudia felt they were
slipping apart and didn’t know what to do about it.
“You and J.D. talk?”
“A little.”
“And?”
And I ruminated for a moment on how Claudia spoke exclusively of
relationships, while J.D. had confined his talk to the business. Why
wasn’t I surprised?
Then I gave her the rundown. Conspiracy Theory 1.
“What was your take on it?” she asked when I’d finished. All
I knew was that the more I thought about it, the more unlikely it
seemed. Sure…I could see a few redneck fisherman getting real upset
about losing their boat ramp to some tree hugger. And Lord knows
there’s no telling what a crazed cracker will do behind half a
gallon of Jim Beam. Yeah, I could see good old boys ripping out a
fence and pushing a car in the river. No problem there. But town
government? County government? They’re all conspiring? Over a
fishing hole? Please.
“That’s quite an operation they’re trying to put together
there,” I said finally. “I think it’s most likely they just
plain bit off more
The slap of little feet pulled my attention up the ramp. It was a
race. Giggling madly, both children ran down the slope, nearly out of
control, rushing headlong toward their father. J.D. met them halfway,
scooping one up in each arm, swinging them around his head as they
squealed with delight. He carried them the rest of the way to the top
on his shoulders while they laughed and struggled to escape. At the
top, he set the kids back on their feet. Rebecca was wearing her
coat, twirling her keys. The little boy ran to Claudia’s side.
Tugged on her dress. She scooped him up, resting him on her hip. He
whispered in her ear.
“Adam needs to use the potty,” she announced proudly. Adam
swallowed his fist and kicked his feet. “Let me take him inside,
then we can say goodbye.” She turned and started for the house. The
little girl ran over and grabbed Rebecca by the hand.
“Come on, Aunt Rebecca; let’s go watch.”
Rebecca left in tow. She looked back over her shoulder. Look
number forty-two. Hang in there, baby. This won’t take long. We be
gone.
J.D. and I wandered up toward the cars. The cleared area at the
far end was the helipad. Let ’em keep the darn bridge. Said he was
only about twenty hours short of his commercial chopper license. He
explained how he was going to fly customers directly from Seattle.
Groups of four. Wine ’em, dine’em, limit ’em out for a few
days, back to the city for a new group. Eventually hire another
guide, get both boats working. Eight cabins at a grand a day. Do the
math. The newly bulldozed edge of the forest seemed embarrassed by
its silver nakedness. Several of the trunks showed the brown gouge of
the blade. Halfway up the hill, the frail tops of the hemlock
shivered in the breeze. J.D. pointed toward the back of the clearing.
A new aluminum shed, maybe thirty by forty. A couple of big black
storage tanks. A white U stenciled on one. A white D on the other. A
dusty Honda ATV. Big grassy traffic circle in the center of the area.
Big enough that boats on trailers could easily be backed up next to
the fuel tanks. Some sort of crude stone marker adorned the center of
the circle.
“See that pile of rocks?” J.D. asked.
“Yep.”
“Chappy,” he said. “I promised Ben we’d work around him.”
We rode in silence. All the way back to the working bridge, back
through Stevens Falls. Took the right fork over toward the coast,
instead of the left toward J.D.’s and the end of the road before
she broke the spell.
“Sorry,” was what she said.
“Nothing to be sorry about. You had no way of knowing.”
She made a rueful face. “Not exactly what I had in mind for
cheering you up.”
No argument there. The Olympics filled the windshield. Looming
slate gray against a cantaloupe sky. Two miles later, she gave me the
rundown from Claudia. How this whole thing with the business seemed
to have driven a wedge between them. How Claudia felt they were
slipping apart and didn’t know what to do about it.
“You and J.D. talk?”
“A little.”
“And?”
And I ruminated for a moment on how Claudia spoke exclusively of
relationships, while J.D. had confined his talk to the business. Why
wasn’t I surprised?
Then I gave her the rundown. Conspiracy Theory 1.
“What was your take on it?” she asked when I’d finished. All
I knew was that the more I thought about it, the more unlikely it
seemed. Sure…I could see a few redneck fisherman getting real upset
about losing their boat ramp to some tree hugger. And Lord knows
there’s no telling what a crazed cracker will do behind half a
gallon of Jim Beam. Yeah, I could see good old boys ripping out a
fence and pushing a car in the river. No problem there. But town
government? County government? They’re all conspiring? Over a
fishing hole? Please.
“That’s quite an operation they’re trying to put together
there,” I said finally. “I think it’s most likely they just
plain bit off more
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