The Singing River (6 page)

Chapter 9

Haven

“It’s too damn early to be up,” Mom grumbled.

I threw a Ziploc bag containing a bar of soap and a bottle of shampoo into a Walmart bag full of clothes. It wasn’t much stuff, but I didn’t need much.

Grinning at Mom, I tapped her chipped, black coffee mug. “Then go back to bed.”

She peered at me over the steaming cup, her droopy eyes just above the annoyed visage of Grumpy from Disney’s Snow White. I’d given her the cup when I was ten, having used all of my allowance to buy it for Mother’s Day. It was the same year my father left. The mug hadn’t endured a fortunate life, having been dropped on several occasions. The handle broke off a year ago, but Mom refused to throw it away. I still found her supergluing it on occasion, cradling it as if it were a newborn.
 

“I’m seeing you off,” Mom insisted.

I walked to the door, the bag dangling from my fingertips, Mom on my heels.

“Really, Mom, I can walk. It’s not far to the fork.”

Thanks to Mom’s tendency to reveal information in pieces rather than as a whole, I’d recently discovered the man I was traveling with was a blue blood. While I had nothing against old wealth, it made me wary.

Mom grabbed her car keys. “I’ll drive you.”

I clung to the doorknob. “No, really Mom ...”

Mom’s green eyes narrowed behind her glasses. “Haven Ambrose, are you ashamed of me?”

My cheeks burned, my gaze traveling over her poofed, dyed blonde hair, her outdated clothes, and open-toed sandals. I was as outdated as she was. It wasn’t her.

“I’m not ashamed of you, I’m ashamed of the car,” I muttered.

Mom laughed and pushed me out the door, her keys rattling.
 
“She’s part of the family.”

I shuddered. “No, she’s a temperamental, evil stepsister you have forced into my life.”

Mangy Beast met us on the porch and snuffled at my Walmart bag.

“She adds character,” Mom insisted.

I chuckled, pushing the dog out of the way as I hopped down the stairs. “Says the woman who was cursing at her just two days ago. I think your eye doctor prescribed rose-colored glasses.”

“Better rose-colored than black,” Mom pointed out.

She ushered me into the passenger seat, my legs sticking to the cracked green leather even at seven o’clock in the morning. I had a love/hate relationship with Spot the Cadillac. It started when I was twelve and Mom bought the car for five hundred dollars out of someone’s front yard. Even as ugly as it was, it was the nicest thing Mom had ever owned, and the first time she’d ever owned a car with electric windows. I had been excited, sticking my head out to watch as she drove it through the neighborhood. Mom had been playing with all of the new buttons and somehow managed to close my head in the window. A little crying—and maybe a little laughter—later, Mom had gotten the window back down. At church the following Thanksgiving Sunday, when the preacher asked if anyone had anything to be thankful for, I’d stood—to my mother’s horror—and shouted, “I sure am thankful my mama got my head outta that car window.” It would forever remain a joke between us.

“It’ll make me feel better to see you off,” Mom said, her voice breaking through my thoughts.

I looked over at her, at the way the early morning light danced on her glasses as she drove, highlighting the deepening wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. Mom had been thirty before she ever had children, and she’d lived a hard life, even harder than ours. It had aged her.

I patted her free hand where it lay on the seat between us. “I’m excited.”

Mom grinned. “Good! That’s what I was hoping.” She glanced at me as she pulled over at the fork. “
But
if you happen to decide you don’t want to go—”

“Keep an eye on Mr. Nelson while I’m gone,” I interrupted.

Mom sighed. “It’s just till Wednesday.”

“I know, but he gets lonely with only his plants to talk to.”

Mom threw me a look. “You’re a strange kid, Haven. Shouldn’t you have young friends?”

I grinned. “Peculiarity runs in the family.”

The sound of an engine caught our attention, and we looked up, our eyes meeting a gleaming pick-up truck coming down the right fork. Black and new, the Dodge Ram 1500 looked like it had been bought simply for a trip to the river. A canoe was tied to a rack on the top, and I eyed it.

“That’d be him,” Mom said. “It’s the truck from the office.”

“Wonder if he’ll trade it when we get back?” I muttered.

Mom bumped me with her knee. “Hush, Haven.”

Opening her car door, Mom nodded at the canoe. “I hope they have life jackets.”

Now it was my turn to hiss, “Hush, Mom!”

I stepped out of the car just as the truck pulled to a stop.

An older man with salt and pepper hair climbed out of the passenger side, his face strained but excited. “Ho, there!” he waved. “Susan Ambrose?” His eyes studied me as we approached the vehicle.

Mom’s arm went around my shoulder. “
I’m
Susan. This is Haven.”

“Oh, right, right. I remember now.” He shook Mom’s hand, and then turned toward me. “Hello, I’m Marley Brayden. Ready for a trip to the river?”

Peering around him into the truck, my eyes widened when I caught sight of the driver.

Marley’s gaze followed mine, and he winced. “My nephews will be joining us,” he explained. “The driver is River, and the young man in the back seat is Roman.”

I glanced at River’s brother, my gaze taking in his angry expression before traveling down his arm.

I coughed. “Um, is he handcuffed?”

Mom’s hand tightened on my shoulder, and she fought to see around me. “
What
?” Her squeak was loud in the still morning.

Marley sputtered.

River, who’d seemed as surprised to see me as I had to see him, grinned. “It’s a forced family vacation. He didn’t want to go. We’re making him,” he said.

Mom peeked into the backseat, her mouth near my ear. “They’re insane.”

“And here you called
me
peculiar,” I whispered.

Marley retreated, pulling open the back door before motioning at me, his expression full of apology.

“Boys,” he muttered.

Mom’s eyes were full of uncertainty when she looked at me.

“I’m not sure ...” she began.

I waved her off. “It’ll be fine, Mom.”

Hugging her quickly before she had a chance to change her mind, I climbed into the front seat, ignoring the back door.

“I’m not sitting next to the criminal.”

River laughed even as Marley huffed. “She has a point, Uncle. You shouldn’t have bought a truck you weren’t willing to drive.”

Marley climbed in next to Roman. “I’m beginning to think this story isn’t worth it,” he grumbled.

Mom gestured at the truck, her face troubled as River rolled my window down. Mr. Nelson was right. Mom often made rash decisions and regretted them later. I wasn’t particularly comfortable leaving for a trip on the river with strangers, but there was something about this trip that felt right.
Scary
, but right.

“It’s going to be fine,” I told her.

Mom’s eyes narrowed, her voice rising as her gaze traveled over the men in the truck. “She knows karate.”

I groaned, “God, Mom!”

River leaned over my lap, giving my mother a hundred watt smile, the kind designed to build trust on a show of teeth. “She’ll be fine. Scout’s honor,” he promised.

Mom retreated, wringing her hands as the truck window slid up. One of her palms went to her leg as her gaze locked with mine. I blew her a kiss, my eyes following her as she moved back to our car. I didn’t have to hear it to know the door squeaked when she opened it.

“This is a bunch of bullshit,” Roman muttered.

River ignored him, glancing at me before pulling into the road. Something about his dark eyes and strong face made me feel funny, and I clutched my Walmart bag.

“So, Uncle Marley says you know a lot about this legend he’s studying? That you’re coming along as a sort of research assistant?” River inquired.

The older man in question leaned forward, his tone surly when he spoke. “I gather you’ll be a much better assistant than my nephews.”

Again, River ignored the occupants in the backseat, his gaze sliding to my face. “Other than Frieda’s, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in town ...”

Roman groaned. “You saw that car, right? Wrong side of town from us.”

My cheeks burned. “I live down the street, not the other side of town.”

Roman huffed, “Same difference.”

River glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “And you’re one to talk?” he asked. A silent message passed between them.

I turned, giving the boys my back as I glanced at Marley. The older man’s eyes moved helplessly between his nephews, his lips pressed together.

I tapped the seat. “Mom said you’re an amateur historian?”

Marley looked up, pushed at his glasses, and grinned. “A writer with an interest in history.” He held up his hand as if it were full of documents. “I’ve written a lot of memoirs and brochure pieces, but I’ve become senile in my old age. Memoirs don’t interest me anymore.”

I returned his smile. “Because now you find yourself interested in myth?”

“Something like that,” he said, “but more that I’m interested in mystery. You know the river tale?”

I nodded.

“Bullshit, all of it,” Roman mumbled, pulling on his wrist where it was handcuffed against the door. He had a butterfly bandage across his nose, the area around it swollen and purple.

“It’s a haunting story,” I offered.

Roman looked at me. “It’s bullshit.” Something about his eyes caught my attention, brought back old memories.

I faced forward, my gaze going to the road, my hands gripping my bag.

“We’re only an hour out from the river,” River warned, his voice low, his eyes fighting a silent battle with Roman in the mirror.

A hush fell over the truck, the low whir of the air conditioner the only sound. In the quiet, I found myself glancing at River. At his strong profile, the way his jaw tensed, and the way his dark brown hair fell over his forehead. He wore a pair of older blue jeans, and a black T-shirt with Harvard University along the front. Even the rich knew when to dress down in the South.

He caught me looking at him, his gaze meeting mine a moment before I glanced away, my eyes going to the passenger side window.

The road sped by beneath us, the sky blue, the sun bright and blinding as it climbed. I pulled a pair of cheap sunglasses out of my Walmart bag and slid them onto my nose. Forty minutes passed with no conversation.

We’d pulled off the highway onto back roads when River finally broke the silence.

“Are you interested in history?”