Drinking Life (Keeper of the Water Book 1) (15 page)

He shakes his head again. “She is
nothing
like you.”

“But she’s beautiful and popular,” I say. Why can’t I stop myself from making a case for
her
?

“Maybe,” he says, clearly unimpressed. “But you are not only just as beautiful, you are also strong and graceful and tough and skilled. You are unlike anyone I’ve ever met and I’ve known a
lot
of people over the years.”

My mind runs a hundred miles an hour but I can’t focus on any one thought long enough to answer him. Finally, I blurt out the awkward truth.

“I can’t stop thinking about you either.”

He smiles and leans into me, close enough so I smell a combination of river water, fish guts and his natural musk. I might be the only girl in the world exhilarated by the smell but it helps that he leans toward me again. As much as I want to kiss him, there’s one thing that stops me.

“We can’t do this,” I say weakly. I’m not sure which of us believes this less. “What about Cassie?”

“Every woman I’ve ever been with has been needy like her—
exactly
like her,” he says. “But you are not like them. I’ve been many places over many years but I know you were different and extraordinary from the moment I first saw you on the field hockey field.”

I’m about to give in to my urges when something clicks in my mind.

“Don’t you mean
lacrosse
field?” I ask.

John backs away. I can’t tell if he looks concerned or confused but either way I’ve ruined the moment.

“Yes, of course you are right,” he says, suddenly smiling. But I’m getting to know him well enough to recognize when his smiles are fake. “I get confused by your American games. Where I grew up, we only had soccer.”

“Wouldn’t you call it futbal?” I ask.

“Nothing gets by you,” he says.

This time, his grin is genuine. I don’t know why I’ve let Celeste’s paranoia for John transfer to me but I push those thoughts from my mind. If I ever want a chance with John, I can’t waste this opportunity to show him how I feel.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted,” I whisper. Boldly, I lean toward him in a rare moment of bravery, at least bravery when it comes to romance. My heart pounds. As he leans in to finally kiss me, I ignore everything in the world around us, even the approaching footsteps…

“I think that’s
plenty
of sticks,” Celeste says as John’s lips were just inches from mine.

Embarrassed, we turn away from each other. Celeste stands there and stares at us with her arms folded. I want to explain that nothing happened but I don’t want to lie. Besides, she’s no fool. This situation is best served with avoidance. I scoop up the pile of sticks I just dropped and rush away, my legs still weak. Celeste follows right behind me; I don’t even want to see what kind of look she gives John.

Dad and Celeste cook the fish and we eat in silence. I avoid John’s gaze, he avoids mine, we both avoid Celeste. The only one who doesn’t stay quiet is Cassie—what a shock! When she’s not whining about how much her ankle hurts, she complains about the smell of fish. She only eats the snack food we brought along—the way she crunches on potato chips is just as loud as her voice.

Once our river-side lunch is over, we pack up the gear and Celeste takes care of putting out the fire. She tosses a small bucket to Cassie.

“Could you fill that with water from the river?” she asks her daughter. “We need to make sure the fire and embers are out completely before we leave.”

Cassie catches the bucket but looks at it in disgust. I can tell she’s about to complain but stops herself.

“Can’t Nia do it?” she asks sweetly. “I don’t think I should because of, you know, my ankle and all.”

“It still really hurts?” Celeste asks.

Cassie nods. “Yeah, it’s killing me. I hope there’s no permanent damage.”

She tosses the bucket to me. I look down at her ankle, which isn’t even swollen. I’m sure if Celeste recommended a romantic stroll with John, Cassie wouldn’t have a problem walking. But I don’t argue with her since her whiny voice is the last thing I want to hear. Besides, a part of me feels guilty for what almost happened in the woods…

I grab the water and douse the small fire pit. Dad stows the gear and drags the raft and canoe back onto the edge of the river. Cassie ‘hobbles’ back toward the raft with John in tow.

“Cassie, I want you in the canoe with me,” Celeste says.

“But – ”

“Your ankle is killing you, remember?” Celeste asks. “And I’m much better with first-aid than Perry.”

“It’s true,” Dad agrees with her. “She’s the sensitive one.”

Cassie looks distraught. I wouldn’t be surprised if she just admitted how much she was acting about the injury. But she huffs and grabs John by the hand.

“Fine, the canoe, whatever,” she says. “Come on, John.”

But they don’t even take a step when Celeste holds up a hand.

“Sorry, the canoe only holds two safely,” Celeste says.

“But you wanted me to come with you and Nia earlier and I’ve seen more than – ”

“It’s okay,” John interrupts her, carefully extracting his hand from her grip. “Your mother is right. I wouldn’t want anything else to happen to you.”

Cassie’s mouth opens in shocked silence but her eyes glower in my direction. Still, Celeste takes her by the elbow and carefully leads her into the canoe. As Celeste pushes off and heads down river, I don’t need to even look at the canoe to know that Cassie is turned around, staring at us. To avoid gloating—and because I’m still embarrassed about our almost-kiss—I sit on the opposite end of the big raft than John.

Despite John’s constant offers, I row with Dad for the next few hours. John is our customer after all and should be enjoying himself, not working. I don’t remember Cassie ever rowing a moment in her life so John already spent the first part of the trip working up a sweat. Besides, concentrating on the river helps me avoid noticing the daggers Cassie shoots at me with her eyes.

Barely an hour passes when Cassie starts arguing with her mother. Unfortunately, sound carries so well over the water that we can hear everything being said.

“See, my ankle is moving fine,” Cassie whines. “
Now
can we pull over so I can get on the raft?”

“We have a timetable, we can’t just pull over whenever we feel like it,” Celeste says. “But if you’re feeling so well, you can help me row now.”

I steal a glance toward the canoe just long enough to see Cassie snatch an oar from her mother’s hand. John also looks back at the unlikely sight of Cassie doing something productive. Well, something that
should be
productive. Her oar barely touches the water when she complains about water splashing her. It’s less than a minute before the canoe slows down and starts to list to Celeste’s side. My eyes meet John’s and he smiles; I don’t know if he smiles because of me or Cassie’s struggles.

Either way, seeing Cassie lag behind energizes me and I row harder than before. Dad keeps up for a few minutes but soon breathes heavier. Sometimes I forget that nobody else has the same stamina level I do. But I can’t force myself to slow down as Cassie’s whines fade farther behind us.

“Whoa, what’s gotten into you?” Dad finally asks. “Your old man can’t keep up.”

Indeed we are starting to list to one side, too.

“Sorry, John mentioned to me during lunch that he always wanted to go whitewater rafting. The Lehigh isn’t so fast so I wanted to move a little quicker for him,” I lie.

The excuse is terrible but when Dad looks to John, he nods his head in agreement.

“It’s true,” John says. “I enjoy the beautiful scenery but would like to travel faster. Please, I have much energy from lunch—let me take a turn rowing.”

Dad is usually a control freak on the water but he also likes to keep our customers happy. Besides, I think I’ve tired him out. John maneuvers to the middle of the raft, where he takes Dad’s oar and sits next to me. I feel a tingle of excitement. He’s not the only one with a sudden surge of energy.

“Make sure you keep up,” I tease.

“Do your worst,” he taunts.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I start to row even harder but John keeps up, digging his oar through the water in perfect unison with mine. I expect him to fade after several minutes but he barely breaks a sweat. Still, I can feel warmth radiating off his body. It envelops me like a warm blanket. I want nothing more than to fall into him.

“Are you two training for the Olympics?” Dad finally asks.

I’ve been so focused on rowing and being close to John that I paid no attention to anything else. I look over at Dad, who holds on for dear life to the side of the raft. I glance toward the tree line at the side of the river; the scenery passes in a blur. The raft moves much faster than an un-motorized vehicle should. We might as well be traveling on raging rapids. It’s also no surprise that Cassie’s canoe is nothing but a dot in the distance behind us, far enough away so her voice can’t overtake the sound of rushing water and singing birds.

“This has been fun but we should at least let them catch up a
little
,” Dad says. I can tell he wants to hear Cassie as much as we do. But in the end, I’m sure we’ll save a lot of grief if we wait long enough to let them see us.

John and I stop rowing. He should be panting like a dog in heat but he barely broke a sweat. The raft still moves quicker than usual down the river but we soon glide back to a normal speed while waiting for the canoe. Dad returns to tour-guide mode, begins teaching about the nature around us—where smaller rivers intersect, how old the Lehigh is, how it was likely formed thousands of years earlier, what kinds of animals and vegetation are nearby. His love of the outdoors comes through in the way he talks about our surroundings.

John looks at me and smiles, undoubtedly understands better where my excitement comes from when I talk about these tours. Dad and I are so much alike. I can’t help being a bit embarrassed by the way my father rambles but if John is bored he gives no indication. In fact, he asks several questions that spur Dad to keep talking. At first I assume he does this for my benefit but he and Dad have an easy time talking, yet another trait that makes him hard for me to resist.

John’s phone starts to buzz and he sighs. He pushes a button to silence it.

“I really hate these things,” John says.

“Me, too,” Dad agrees. “That’s why I’ve never had one and never will. Who needs all this technology stuff when there’s this much beauty in the world?”

“I know,” John says. “Most kids would rather see a picture of a river on their computer than take a raft trip down a real one.”

Dad snorts. “Don’t I know it. The more advanced computers have become, the worse business has gotten for me.”

I can’t stop from chuckling when I listen to them.

“What’s so funny?” John asks.

“You two sound like a couple old men talking,” I tease.

In reality, I don’t disagree with them. For someone living in the age of cell phones and Facebook and Google, I’m barely literate when it comes to most of the things that define my generation. I suppose that hasn’t made it too easy for me to make friends. But neither John nor Dad find my joke very amusing. They both wear fake grins and look away from me.

“I better check in with my uncles again,” John says, fiddling with his fancy phone. He must notice my look of doubt. “They’re not so much worried about me; it’s more like they want to keep tabs on me. Let’s just say there have been a few occasions in the past when I’ve run away from them.”

Cassie and Celeste eventually catch up but we stay well ahead of them for the rest of the day. John and I have an unspoken pact to speed up each time Cassie’s voice got too loud. I catch Cassie glaring in my direction several times but don’t know if she’s mad at me or just mad in general—probably a little of both. I have a great time with John but we’re sure not to make that too obvious to Cassie. The day passes in a blur and the sun begins to dip behind the mountains.

“We’re a little ways from where I planned to set up camp,” Dad says. He looks back at the canoe and whispers the next part. “
Taking a little longer waiting for Cassie to row.
We can either find a spot nearby or float on into the night.”

“Let’s keep going,” John suggests. “There must be a great view of the stars from here.”

“The best,” I interject, unable to contain my excitement. The first time John ‘joked’ about taking a tour, floating under the stars had been the exact scenario I imagined. Of course that dream didn’t include Dad in the raft or Cassie staring at us nearby but I can’t complain too much, especially since
I
could be the one watching from the canoe right now.

The sky turns a beautiful swirl of pinks and oranges before becoming deep purple and eventually black. This part of the wilderness turns very dark, very quick, and there’s soon no more light than that of the moon and the stars. Some people might find this troublesome but I’m no more nervous than if I was strolling through a crowded mall.

“Don’t worry,” I tell John. “I know it’s dark but Dad knows exactly where he’s going.”

“I’m not nervous,” he says. His head is tilted back as he looks into the night sky. Just enough moonlight shines to illuminate the side of his face, I
really
wish my father wasn’t here with us now. John points up to the sky. “Besides, I can tell exactly where we’re going.”

“Oh you can?” I ask. I figure he’s joking but it’s becoming harder to tell with him. He points up at the sky.

“Sure, that’s the North Star right there, part of the Little Dipper. Obviously, that’s due north,” he says before turning around. He points in the exact opposite direction. “And that set of stars is called the Southern Cross. I’ll give you one guess which direction that indicates.”

“He’s right,” Dad says, clearly impressed. “Explorers and sailors used the stars as guides for hundreds of years. I’m starting to think that
you
should be leading
us
on the tour.”

My day with John on the river finally comes to an end when Dad spots the area to set up camp. We unload the gear and start to set up the two tents.

“Nia, take the flashlight and wait by the river for Cassie and Celeste,” Dad says. “We wouldn’t want them to float by… at least not Celeste.”

I only wait near the water for a few minutes before I hear the distant sound of Cassie’s complaining. Her voice echoes across the water and it causes me to shiver—I did
not
miss that the last few hours. I shine the flashlight’s beam toward them and Celeste holds up a hand to signal that she sees me. As I wait for them to arrive, I can’t stifle a yawn. I didn’t realize until now how tired I am, but that’s what a day of hard work in the sun will do to a person.

I close my eyes for a second and see a flash of the old woman from my dreams. I don’t know what makes me think of her so see her so clearly in my mind. I open my eyes and shine the light around this area of land. It’s distinctly different from the rest of the forest along the river, as there’s a small inlet next to a big gnarled tree, its branches hanging over the water. In the dark, the branches resemble the clawed hands of a monster waiting to pluck any rafters who get too close. If I was the type to be frightened of the dark, this might not be the best place for me to stand.

My eyes close again but this time I see this exact area of land… only somehow different. Everything looks fresher, brighter, the tree is shaped the same but isn’t so gnarled with age. Strangely enough, my body experiences the same pulling sensation I felt that day is John’s backyard. And the other women from my dreams also mill about, though I remain most focused on the old leader.