The Banks of Certain Rivers (19 page)

“Like your father. A teacher. I have a great respect for what
he does. And for his intellect. It’s good that you’ve
taken after him.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I followed without speaking. We
worked our way up through the just-blossoming cherry trees to the
cedar woods, and silently went on through the low green scrub until
we reached a sandy bank of the Little Jib River, broad and murky with
spring runoff.

“My brothers and I played here,” Dick said, nodding. I
wasn’t sure if he was looking for a reply, so I said nothing.
“Right here.” He nudged some dead leaves and earth with
his toe and they splattered into the water. “Once when I was
little…oh boy, I was tagging along behind Charlie and Ed, my
big brothers, just being a pest, really. They were trying to get me
to go home, and I was hiding from them, right here where we are now.
And what do you know, I slipped off this bank and fell into the river
when they weren’t looking. It was springtime, like now, the
water was running just as big. Maybe even bigger. I tumbled in and
went right down to the bottom of this eddy.” He pointed to a
spot in the water. “I couldn’t swim, you know. I was just
a little guy. I remember going under and looking up, I remember water
going over me, branches floating over and the way the light came
through it all…I wasn’t scared, not at that moment. It
seemed peaceful, the way I recall it.” He adjusted the gun on
his shoulder and gazed into the creek. “Well, who knows how
long it took them to figure out what was going on, but after what
seemed like a long while Ed hopped in and grabbed me, it wasn’t
so deep for him, he yanked me up by the collar so I could get myself
some air. Charlie bent down—right here—and pulled us both
out. It sure did scare me then, Neil. After they got me out, it
scared the daylights out of me. Charlie was white as a ghost. I guess I
didn’t realize how close I was to being a goner. He knelt down
and shook me, I was all wet and he shook me by the shoulders ‘til
I started to cry, and he said ‘good lord, Dickie, don’t
you ever pull a dumb shit thing like that again. And whatever you do,
don’t tell Mom or Pop!’”

Dick shook his head and smiled a half-smile, saying nothing else. I
kept quiet. He resumed walking along the riverbank, along through the
brush and with the current toward the lake, and I followed. He spoke
again, more softly now, almost impossible to hear over the rumbling
spring current and the twigs snapping under our feet. “It sure
did stick with me, Neil,” he said. “But I never said a
thing about it to my parents, and my brothers and I never did discuss
it again.” He lifted a fallen branch from the ground and tossed
it underhand into the water, and we watched it float away. “Later
on, I never, ever let Wendy come up here if I could help it. Even
when she was old enough to handle herself, I still worried. I know it
was awfully silly of me. All the things she did, all the ways she
could have ended up in trouble, just driving in a car, you know, or a
thousand times in that little boat of hers. But this place, this
river, it scares the hell out of me. I know it’s foolish, but
it’s my own fear, and I put it on to her. What would you do if
your own child drowned, Neil? How could you live with yourself if you
could have done something to help it?”

We turned south and pushed our way through the brush beneath the
cedars until the growth opened up into a rising dune. We climbed up
and looked back east over rows of blossoming fruit trees toward the
field, and beyond that, rising over the newly leafing treetops, the
roof of the farmhouse. Behind us, Lake Michigan spread blue-green to
the horizon.

“If you can get a job in Port Manitou, if you can save up some
money, you and Wendy could build a house here on the property.”

“That’s very generous, Mr. Olsson. But I don’t
really know anything about how to build a house.”

“I’ll give you a hand with it.” He looked at me.
“You’ll always watch out for my daughter? You’ll
take care of her, and your baby, no matter what?”

I nodded. “I will. I swear I will.”

“I think you mean what you say.” He turned back to the
orchard and put a hand on my shoulder. “That’s good
enough for me.”

I don’t really have
the patience or disposition to be playing Mega-Putt right now, but
Alan gently urges me on, calmly giving me a guided tour of his
project.

“Hole number three, Lighthouse at Alexandria. Tallest man-made
thing in the world for centuries. Anyway, what are you going to do?
About this thing with you and Lauren.”

“I don’t know. I really don’t.” Putter
gripped in trembling hands, I tap the ball, and miss widely. “She
took the test, she broke down crying and she drove away. We didn’t
even talk about anything. I’m hoping she comes back. Before
Chris comes home. He won’t be done with his stuff until later
tonight—”

“Hang on a minute,” Alan says, leaning his club against
some concrete statuary to draw his cell from his pocket. “Give
me just a second.” He punches his finger on the pad, and holds
the phone to his ear. “Kristin? Hey, sweetie, listen….”
He turns away from me and walks circles in the grass while he talks.
I take deep breaths while I watch him. He swings back in front of me
and stops.

“Uh huh,” he says, nodding. “Yes. Okay. Talk to you
soon.”

“What’s up?” I ask him.

“Kristin is going to give Lauren a call, then she’ll call
us back.”

I take another deep breath. On my next turn putting, I miss again.

“But I’m serious here, Neil. What are you going to do? Do
you love Lauren?”

“Of course I do, you know that.”

“Does she know that?”

“Yes.”

“Do you tell her?”

“I think I….” I look off across his yard to the
orchard. “I kind of suggested we get married when we were
walking home from your place.”

Alan nods. “You two were a happy pair that night. Did you mean
it when you asked her?”

“I think so,” I say, and Alan raises his eyebrows. “No,
I really did.”

“Next question then. Are you ready to raise a child with her?”
He nudges my ball into the cup with his own club. “That was
close. I’ll give you that one.”

“The thought of a child is so….” I clench my fists
around the handle of the putter. “
Another
child. It’s
not….”

“It’s here, Neil. This is happening.” He places the
ball at the next tee. “The Mayan pyramid at Chichen Itza.
Obviously Herodotus would never have known about it when he was
compiling his list of wonders, but it was certainly magnificent. Go
ahead.”

“Fuck me,” I hiss. I stand at the ball and give it a
quick angry swat, and it jumps across a wooden barrier into another
vignette. Alan nods.

“You weren’t supposed to go for the Colossus of Rhodes.”

“Fuck the Colossus, Al! Jesus fucking Christ!” I throw
the putter with a sidearm toss so forceful it flies through the air
with a helicopter sound, reaches the highway and bounces across into
the opposite ditch. “Are you missing what’s going on
here?”

“My trying to help you out is what’s going on here.”

I shake my head, let out a guttural cry of “
Augh!
”
and run to the road and south toward the orchard. When I come to the
trees, the sheltering regular columns of trees, I turn into them and
sprint as hard as I can. It seems possible sometimes, if I press
myself with enough physical effort, to forget about everything. But
that mechanism in my running, or in my head, does not seem to be
working. Taking in air with great sucking gasps, remembering
everything
, I come through to the field and sprint for my
house. Alan rides up the drive on his bike as I get there.

“What the hell?” I shout, throwing up my hands. “Can
you give it a rest?” I can’t get away from anything, it
seems.

“I thought the mini golf would calm you down,” he says,
panting.

“No.” I stagger, and brace myself with a hand against my
house. “No. It did not have that effect.” I drop to a
seat on the steps to my side door and hold my head in my hands.

“Obviously. I bet throwing the putter felt pretty good though.”

I look up. “Alan?”

“You destroyed it. So, what about Wendy?”

“What do you mean, ‘what about Wendy?’”

“Are you ready to let go a little bit?”

“What are you talking about?”

Alan’s phone sings with a ringtone that sounds like a fugue,
and he holds up his hand. “Just a second. Hi, what’s up?”
He nods with the phone to his ear and says “uh huh” maybe
fifteen times. “Okay. Okay. We’re at Neil’s house
now.” He gives me a paternal sort of smile. “Kristin
tracked down Lauren. She’s going to Lauren’s place, and
they’re going to talk.”

“Okay,” I say, feeling relief wash over me like a cool
running river. “Thank you.”

“She’s upset, but I think she’ll get over it. She’s
emotional. Give her some time.” I nod. “Now, Wendy.
There’s paperwork you’ll need to do.”

“I’ve looked into the paperwork.”

“Christopher has let go, Neil. He’s beyond it.”

“I don’t know if—”

“He has. Now it’s your turn. And one more thing. This is
not a question. It’s a command, and I’m stating this to
you in the most serious way.”

“Okay? What?”

“You need to tell Chris. Everything. You need to tell him
tonight.”

I nod, and return my head to my hands.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Sent: September 11, 4:18 pm

Subject: UPDATE

_____________________________

W-

Everything is fine here.

Really, everything is great.

-N

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Alan encourages me to clean
myself up, and
he stays at my house while I go back to my room
to shower and change into some regular clothes. Just this
transformation is an improvement; I feel already like I’m
better equipped to deal with things. When I come back out, I find
Alan has made coffee and cleaned up my kitchen.

“Thank you,” I say, and he holds out his hands in a
supplicant’s pose.

“It’s nothing. You’re old phone rang a bunch while
you were in the shower. They didn’t leave any messages, though”

“I get that sometimes. Beginning of the school year. Kids
playing pranks. Little shits.” I take a seat at the kitchen
table. “Were your kids planned?” I ask. Alan offers me a
cup of coffee, and I shake my head to decline. I’m wired enough
as it is.

“As planned as they could be, I suppose. We actually had a
pretty hard time getting pregnant. Both times. You’d think it
would have been easier, for the amount of practice we
got—”

“Stop it. Really.”

“You need to lighten up,” he says. “So how will it
start? The talk, I mean. With Christopher.”

I tap my fingers on the tabletop. “I’m going to try to be
as direct as I can be. I mean, I do this with kids all the time at
school. I just need to think of it that way. I’m actually
pretty good at this stuff, you know?” This is good. If I can
view the whole situation with some sort of professional detachment,
maybe I can cope with it.

“I know you are,” Alan says. He pulls his phone from his
pocket to check the time. “When does he get home?”

“He’s usually home by now,” I say. “But he’s
got this leadership thing this week after school. Student Council—”
I’m interrupted by a ringtone, and Alan lifts his hand to stop
me talking.

“Hold on. It’s Kristin.” He steps into the dining
room, and I hold my breath. “Hey,” I hear him say. “Uh
huh. Yep. Okay. See you in a bit.”

“Are they coming over?” I ask as he returns to the
kitchen.

“No. Lauren is staying home for now.”

“But what—”

“She’s calling you in a little bit. She’s okay.
She’s calmed down. You guys are going to be okay.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, thank Kristin.” Alan peers out the
window over my sink, leaning forward so he can see down my drive. “Do
you want me to hang around?”

“You don’t need to. Thank you, though.”

Alan takes his jacket from the back of the chair where it’s
been hanging. “It’s nothing. You’d do the same for
me. Of course, I wouldn’t be in a mess like this in the first
place.”

“Jesus, shut up. Don’t you ever take a break?”

Alan shrugs. “You know I’m just messing with you. To
lighten your mood.” I throw up my hands, and he points at me.
“Look, it’s working!” I shake my head. “Call
me after you tell Chris. I want to know how it goes.” Alan
exits through the kitchen door, and I hear his bike bell as he rides
off. I take my own phone from my pocket and check the display in the
event I’ve somehow missed Lauren’s call already; there’s
nothing. The battery shows just a hair more than half a charge, so I
plug it into its charger by the answering machine and pace through
the house, passing by to check the phone maybe every thirty seconds
or so. After who knows how long—maybe just five minutes, maybe
a lifetime—I’m too worried I’ll miss the call, so I
take a seat in the living room recliner and stare at the phone on the
shelf. My body will not remain still, though. I get back up, unplug
the phone, and pace some more. Ten more minutes pass before vibrate
mode shocks my hand. It’s Lauren, and I nearly drop the phone
to the floor pawing at the screen trying to accept her call.

“Maybe you should come over,” she says. “Right
now.”

I rarely speed while
driving, but for this trip, I do. Many of the children of Port
Manitou’s police forces have been students of mine, and I’ve
been teaching long enough now that some of the cops themselves passed
through my classroom when they were younger. If I get stopped, I
figure, I’ve got enough pull that I’ll be able to talk my
way out of it. Pull is not necessary, though; I tear through town and
over the spillway bridge unmolested, and park behind Lauren’s
open garage door. I bound up the stairs two at a time, and Lauren
rises—red-faced and grasping a handful of tissues—from
her futon couch as I enter. We come together and I close my arms
around her, and we stand that way quietly for a long time before
Lauren sighs deeply.