The River (16 page)

20

It was a long dark drive back to Hoodoo. Dad was silent. Tomás was stretched out in the backseat, his arm in a sling to keep the collarbone steady. Occasionally he would stir and Gloria would hush him down again with songs about frogs and baby ducks.

Up in the shotgun seat I watched the timber run past and thought about landscapes. I thought about the landscape of Tomás’ face, the scratchiness of his chin, the smoothness of his cheek, the softness of his eyes. I thought of how good it felt kissing him, the feeling of his fingers tracing butterflies on my skin. He was more than just a good guy—he was a discovery. He was
my
discovery. I felt like, after a long journey, I had finally found the Pacific Ocean.

Then I thought about the landscape of Gretchen’s mind, and the plans she’d had to be a graphic artist and how the whole thing was flooded by her addiction. I liked to think there was something of the original Gretchen underneath, a ghost town of personality from before. My guess was that was long gone, and she’d now have to build something entirely new.

And then I thought of the landscape around me, the one out there in the dark, the one that whispered and wailed and gorged itself on secrets.

Finally, I thought about blue lupine.

When we made it home and Tomás was safely tucked in, I went down the hall to my room, where Esperanza and Petunia were stretched out asleep. Petunia lifted her head when I came in. “Shhh…
ya gordita
,” I said softly, and watched her eyes slowly close. Then, as quietly as I could, I turned on my computer and Googled lupine.

Karen was right—it shouldn’t be here at all. It was a meadow plant, and there weren’t a ton of meadows along the Santiam. Plus it was March now, February when they had turned up in Karen’s last mud pies, the beginnings of the fat purple wands I’d seen last fall. Lupine was only supposed to bloom in May and June, which led me to believe that Karen must’ve found a spot with a lot of sun.

I stared at the screen, memorizing the blossoms, the mandala shape of the leaves, until I was confident I would be able to identify them if I found them again.

But where to start looking? How did a person even begin to look for a meadow?

It turns out I knew that, too.

Careful not to wake Esperanza, I slipped on my running gear, clipped my phone to the waistband of my sweatpants, and wound my way downstairs. Petunia trotted behind me, refusing to be hushed a second time. That was all right. After all, Petunia had to come from somewhere, too. Somewhere she was kept on a short chain with no ID. I didn’t know that she could help me find my way, but I didn’t mind having her along.

I flicked on the light in the sunroom and reached for my raincoat. There, in the pocket, was the crushed packet of Jakartas I’d found that evening with Tomás, when I knew something was wrong but still didn’t want to believe it. Keith had defeated me that day. I’d turned back because of him. No more. It was up to me to finish.
Don’t worry
,
Karen, you can rest now. I’ll bring us home
.

Outside it was cold and raining, the sky still dark. Holding the flashlight in one hand, I picked my way upstream for what I hoped was one final time, my heart bounding in my chest, my legs so jittery they were ready to sprint.

Race day had begun.

21

Even though it wasn’t yet dawn, and the raindrops were so huge they made the whole landscape look unfamiliar and drowned, I had no trouble picking my way back to the spot where I’d found Keith’s cigarette pack. It was as though the memory was stored in my legs. I shone the flashlight on the briar barricade. It was just as bad as before—a solid wall of brambles there was no skirting around—and they hung so far over into the water that you’d practically need waders to get around them.

I didn’t hesitate. I hopped in.

Yee-ouch! The current was so cold it was painful. This wasn’t water: this was liquid ice, and if I didn’t get out of it soon it was going to kill and preserve me, like some woolly mammoth.
Runnerus domesticus
.
She tried but didn’t get very far
.

I willed my legs to move. One foot upstream, then another. I was amazed I could even keep my footing.

When I finally rounded the bushes the current became gentle. I was in an eddy. I shone the light to the shore beyond. There, tied to the trunk of a cedar, was a rowboat.

I dragged myself to the shore with Petunia dog-paddling behind. I fiddled with the ropes but it took awhile. My hands were shaking with cold or fear or probably both. But finally I was able to pull it free and hop in. Petunia launched herself in after me, practically upsetting the whole craft, but after a few anxious moments we got our balance and I began rowing.

It felt good to work my muscles. I was able to replace my fear with something else. Movement. Reason. Maybe what I was doing wasn’t so dangerous. After all, if the rowboat was on this side, then hopefully no one was opposite? I could just case the joint, row back, and lead Brad straight to it. No one even had to know I was there.

The sky was turning purple by the time Petunia and I reached the opposite bank and I pulled the boat onto a rocky shore, tying it to a metal hoop that had been placed there just for that purpose.

I looked up. It was light enough that I could make out the shapes of trees. Lots of them. There wouldn’t be enough sunlight for lupine to grow here. I shone my flashlight on the ground.
Splunk
. The rain was coming down so thick it was like being pelted with dodge balls. But still, they hadn’t completely washed away the prints in the mud, huge prints from someone’s square-toed boots. They led straight up a narrow path that seemed to disappear in the clouds. That was one difference on this side of the river: this side was a lot steeper.

“This is it,” I said to Petunia, and the two of us began picking our way along.

There were places where there was nothing of the path but a mudslide, and others where we had to scramble over boulders. But I was guided by Petunia, who was not only surprisingly agile, but seemed to be familiar with the route. She trotted ahead of me and then looked back to make sure I was still there. Part mastiff; part mountain goat.

After the sun came up and I didn’t need the flashlight anymore, I began smelling something, something industrial like bleach or ammonia. What needed cleaning way out here?

And the higher we got, the lighter the rain and the thinner the trees, until the rain stopped and there was an anemic Northwest sun. We were at the edge of a clearing with a straight view to the top of a snowcapped peak. Don’t ask me which one. There were tons of peaks around here. This one was probably too short even to merit a name.

Ahead of me, there was still snow on the ground, large fields of stuff so thick in spots it was blue. But in between were patches of brown, and from the brown poked up very small, very fragile-looking plants with mandala-shaped leaves. I went up to one and leaned over. There, in its middle, was the stubby beginning of a purple bud.

I heard a click and froze where I was crouched. Then there was familiar voice saying, “Here you are, Rocky! I was wondering where you’d run off to!”

I slowly turned my head. There, sitting right under the timberline, so subtle I hadn’t even seen it, was a mobile home painted in brown and green camouflage. And sitting on its back steps was Keith Spady. My faithful hound Petunia was delicately crawling into his lap.

Had he seen me? I didn’t know. I was out in the open, only a few feet from the timberline, trapped in plain sight. But he hadn’t looked up. I stayed in that crouch with my heart hammering my chest until I was satisfied he didn’t know I was there. Then, slowly, I scuttled crablike to the cover of the trees. I’d have to leave Petunia. Maybe she’d find her way back without me. But maybe, just maybe, while she was in Keith’s lap, she could buy me the time I needed to get away.

“Where’ve you been, girl, huh?” Keith puckered his lips and made kissy noises at her. “Looks like someone’s been taking care of you.”

I was three steps away from the cover of the trees.

I watched as Keith found her collar and reached around.

Oh no. I knew exactly what he would find. Only two more steps.

He had found her tags.
Petunia. Veronica Severance. 555–3636
.

His head shot up and he looked around. His eyes were big red plums, and his nose had a butterfly bandage over it. He looked like a ghoul. A big, bloody, broken-nosed ghoul.

He was looking around for me but it didn’t matter. I was in the tree cover now, I could easily slip away.

And that was the exact moment my cell phone rang.

Shit shit shit. Oh no. I plucked it out of my belt and lobbed it into the bushes away from me, where it sat, still ringing. But I was too late. I had looked at Keith and he had locked my gaze.

I turned around and ran.
The river. I’ve got to make it to the river
. It was downhill so I had gravity working for me. But so did he. I sprang like a deer and was so close I could almost hear the rushing water, when he tackled me from behind, sending the both of us sprawling down in an avalanche of rocks and pebbles. The two of us came to a stop when we collided with the base of a Douglas fir. I kicked and scratched but he rammed himself up against me, pinning my arms to either side of my head. I tried to head-butt him but he jerked his face out of my reach. It was no good. He had me.

We stood there heaving, trying to catch our breath. I had to get away from this guy, but not now. He was just too strong. I would have to try something else. I willed my heart to slow down. This wasn’t going to be a short sprint after all—this was going to be about endurance. Fortunately over the past few months, I’d gotten good at enduring.

“I’ve decided to take you up on your offer to make me feel good.”

He didn’t buy it. He smiled his ghoulish smile that had nothing appealing about it at all.

“A bit late for that, Ronnie, don’t you think?”