Read Online The River by Mary Jane Beaufrand - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary Jane Beaufrand
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and then you run . Do you understand? I know you can run.”
I just nodded dumbly, but she wasn’t done with her lecture. “I mean it. Be careful out there. You think this is just a nice little town where people help each other. There’s an undercurrent here, Ronnie. You don’t know what goes on.”
I shivered where I sat. I thought I heard the river wail monster monster monster ….
“What’s happening?” I said, more to myself than Sheriff McGarry.
She sighed, adjusted her polyester pants, and stood up. “I wish I knew,” she said. “Now I have to face that poor family. Jesus.” I watched as she adjusted her face. All the weariness slid out, and she was once again perfectly poised and composed. She had a job to do.
She walked away and paused at the door. Then, without looking back at me, she said, “For what it’s worth, keep an eye on your friend Gretchen. She’s on the brink of something, but maybe she can still be pulled back.”
I thought of Gretchen passed out on my bed upstairs, scratching in her sleep. What was Sheriff McGarry worried about? Allergies? Overwork?
I wanted to ask her. I wanted to do anything to keep her here with me, because she seemed the only adult who could help me thread my way through this new and nightmarish wilderness.
Instead I let her walk away. She had more important things to do, and the only way I could help was, as usual, letting go and not making a fuss.
I leaned on the door and watched her leave. She stood straight and refused a) crostini, b) crab cakes, and c) gigantic squares of warm corn bread oozing sweet, tart huckleberry preserves. I thought: so much for the cop/donut stereotype. No comfort food for her.
And watching the back of her, stately, responsible, was what finally pulled me out of myself.
Maybe, I thought, the job wasn’t damaging her. Maybe it was what was keeping her upright. While the rest of us stood back and offered each other baked goods and flowers and hair advice because we didn’t know how to help in any other way, she actually had the ability to do something.
I got up off my butt and threw open the door of the sun porch.
I didn’t know if Karen’s accident had happened up here or somewhere else. I didn’t know if it had been “straightforward,” or something I still didn’t want to face. But for Karen I would face it. Look , Ronnie . Just look .
The rain hadn’t stopped. Baguette-size patches of snow remained along the yard on the way to the water. Once there, I stood at the top of the embankment, our embankment, which was tamer than the spot I’d found Karen. There were seven smooth river stones forming a stair down to the current. At the foot of them, more stones had been re-arranged to create a gentle pool apart from the rapids. An ancient cedar leaned out, its branches practically begging for a rope swing.
Too gentle , said the voice in my head. Even though I hated everything about the inn, including this yard, it still felt safe.
At Patchworks, a monster was just a big cookie.
I looked across the river, up the river. There were miles and miles of trees that held miles and miles of secrets. The idea of what they might hide scared the bejesus out of me.
Slowly, for Karen’s sake, still wearing my white apron and button-down shirt, I turned upstream and began to walk.
The river is slightly higher now. It rained hard for the first time last night, and I’m trying not to think of that as a harbinger. Besides, today is glorious. Hard to believe frost will ever come. It will be summer here forever.
Karen walks ahead of me and volunteers what I wasn’t brave enough to ask her before.
She slips off her flip-flops. Come on, Ronnie, let’s go see what’s on the other side. She puts one foot into the water. It looks cool and accommodating, the way the current flows around her ankles.
I don’t know, I say. The rocks look slick.
It’s no big deal, Karen says. I’ve done this lots of times.
The river changes, I say. At
I just nodded dumbly, but she wasn’t done with her lecture. “I mean it. Be careful out there. You think this is just a nice little town where people help each other. There’s an undercurrent here, Ronnie. You don’t know what goes on.”
I shivered where I sat. I thought I heard the river wail monster monster monster ….
“What’s happening?” I said, more to myself than Sheriff McGarry.
She sighed, adjusted her polyester pants, and stood up. “I wish I knew,” she said. “Now I have to face that poor family. Jesus.” I watched as she adjusted her face. All the weariness slid out, and she was once again perfectly poised and composed. She had a job to do.
She walked away and paused at the door. Then, without looking back at me, she said, “For what it’s worth, keep an eye on your friend Gretchen. She’s on the brink of something, but maybe she can still be pulled back.”
I thought of Gretchen passed out on my bed upstairs, scratching in her sleep. What was Sheriff McGarry worried about? Allergies? Overwork?
I wanted to ask her. I wanted to do anything to keep her here with me, because she seemed the only adult who could help me thread my way through this new and nightmarish wilderness.
Instead I let her walk away. She had more important things to do, and the only way I could help was, as usual, letting go and not making a fuss.
I leaned on the door and watched her leave. She stood straight and refused a) crostini, b) crab cakes, and c) gigantic squares of warm corn bread oozing sweet, tart huckleberry preserves. I thought: so much for the cop/donut stereotype. No comfort food for her.
And watching the back of her, stately, responsible, was what finally pulled me out of myself.
Maybe, I thought, the job wasn’t damaging her. Maybe it was what was keeping her upright. While the rest of us stood back and offered each other baked goods and flowers and hair advice because we didn’t know how to help in any other way, she actually had the ability to do something.
I got up off my butt and threw open the door of the sun porch.
I didn’t know if Karen’s accident had happened up here or somewhere else. I didn’t know if it had been “straightforward,” or something I still didn’t want to face. But for Karen I would face it. Look , Ronnie . Just look .
The rain hadn’t stopped. Baguette-size patches of snow remained along the yard on the way to the water. Once there, I stood at the top of the embankment, our embankment, which was tamer than the spot I’d found Karen. There were seven smooth river stones forming a stair down to the current. At the foot of them, more stones had been re-arranged to create a gentle pool apart from the rapids. An ancient cedar leaned out, its branches practically begging for a rope swing.
Too gentle , said the voice in my head. Even though I hated everything about the inn, including this yard, it still felt safe.
At Patchworks, a monster was just a big cookie.
I looked across the river, up the river. There were miles and miles of trees that held miles and miles of secrets. The idea of what they might hide scared the bejesus out of me.
Slowly, for Karen’s sake, still wearing my white apron and button-down shirt, I turned upstream and began to walk.
The river is slightly higher now. It rained hard for the first time last night, and I’m trying not to think of that as a harbinger. Besides, today is glorious. Hard to believe frost will ever come. It will be summer here forever.
Karen walks ahead of me and volunteers what I wasn’t brave enough to ask her before.
She slips off her flip-flops. Come on, Ronnie, let’s go see what’s on the other side. She puts one foot into the water. It looks cool and accommodating, the way the current flows around her ankles.
I don’t know, I say. The rocks look slick.
It’s no big deal, Karen says. I’ve done this lots of times.
The river changes, I say. At
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