"Sure! They were going to look just like me."

Susan laughed in spite of herself, for the Compson boys didn't look anything like Jill, being pink-skinned and blond, as opposed to Jill with her olive complexion and dark, wavy hair.

"Well, I I envisioned a little girl with a Dutch cut and bangs," Susan declared. "She would be able to sing. We would harmonize on long car rides. She would want a horse too." envisioned a little girl with a Dutch cut and bangs," Susan declared. "She would be able to sing. We would harmonize on long car rides. She would want a horse too."

"I don't know about the singing, but I take it the horse didn't pan out?"

"Or dance, or team sports, or tennis." Susan wanted suddenly to tell Jill about Amy's SAT scores. But she was afraid it would sound braggy.

"Still, she's awfully nice," said Jill. "I noticed it the first night with the boys-teaching them card tricks and all. And she's smart. You can tell. She and Peter were talking about Virginia Woolf I was impressed. Does she know where she wants to go to college?"

"Possibly Duke," Susan said. "Maybe Yale."

"You see? You should be proud of her!"

"I am am. I just ..." Susan put her hands over her face. "n.o.body tells it like it is," she cried. "The doctor calls her heavy. Her father calls her large. Everyone tiptoes around the fact that she's just terribly, terribly overweight. And she never, ever talks to me!"

The water lapped gently against the side of the boat as they began to pick up speed. Jill leaned over and patted water on her arms. "When I was a teenager, I had acne," she said. "And my parents denied it. They said, Oh, it's just a pimple here and there. 'Dab a little makeup on your face; you're the only one who notices it.' Which was not true. I looked like I had the chicken pox. And it must be especially hard, with you being so trim and all."

"Sometimes I think that's what did it," sniffed Susan.

"Why?"

"Because I watch my weight. I like eating healthy. I like being thin. So maybe I made too big a deal over it, while Amy was growing up."

Jill snorted. "Matthew's sensitive-does that mean I mollycoddled him? And Sam's a clown-does that mean I didn't give him enough attention? We mothers certainly blame ourselves too much."

The boat dipped down into another rapid. Jill and Susan barely noticed. It was too noisy to talk while they were in it.

"So what happened with Mark the other day?" Susan asked, once they were through.

"Oh," said Jill, and she raised her face to the sun. "Too much togetherness, I guess."

Susan knew that wasn't the case.

"Fine," Jill said. "We bicker about the kids sometimes."

"He's Mormon, isn't he?"

"Right."

"And you're not."

"Right."

"So how do you deal with that?" And Susan, who usually bent over backward not to pry too much, was able to marvel at her boldness. How long, she asked herself, might it have taken her to ask Jill these things, if they hadn't been on the river together?

"You mean, am I the lost soul of the tribe? Mostly it's a problem for his parents," said Jill. "We get together at holidays, and they want to see my pantry, and I show them my pantry, and they say, 'That's not a pantry; we mean a ree-ul payantree,' ree-ul payantree,' and Mark steps in at that point and reminds them that we've had mice and don't really feel like storing a hundred pounds of rice in our bas.e.m.e.nt." and Mark steps in at that point and reminds them that we've had mice and don't really feel like storing a hundred pounds of rice in our bas.e.m.e.nt."

"That's nice, that he sticks up for you."

"I suppose. Although being the b.i.t.c.h that I am, I always focus on what he doesn't doesn't do for me, instead of what he do for me, instead of what he does does do." do."

Both women chuckled, in mutual recognition.

"Remind me again, where's Amy's father?" Jill asked.

"Boston," Susan replied. "Amy goes and visits him in August. He has a cottage on a lake. She babysits his kids." It suddenly seemed pathetic to her, that that was what her daughter did for the month of August at age seventeen.

"What's high school been like for her?" Jill asked. "I know when I was in high school, kids were pretty cruel. Is it still as bad?"

"It was worse in middle school," Susan said. "Now they just ignore her. Although I will admit that she's gone to a few parties this past year, like last Halloween. But then she didn't go out much after that. Not sure why."

"Well, its a start," said Jill. "Does she have a boyfriend?"

Susan wanted to throw her arms around Jill, simply for asking. None of her friends back in Mequon had ever thought to wonder.

"Be careful what you wish for," Jill declared. "From what my sister says, sometimes it's best that we don't know everything our kids do."

Just then, the boat b.u.mped against something solid, and they turned around to find themselves nudging up against a steep sh.o.r.eline alongside JT's boat. The sun was dipping toward the rim. A long, drawn-out canyon dusk would follow. Peter shipped his oars.

"You got us here?" Jill said. got us here?" Jill said.

"Available for hire," said Peter. "Anytime."

Dixie slid off the bow of the boat and stood in the water, grasping the rope and bracing them against the current as they unclipped their day bags.

"Let's continue this over wine," Susan said.

But Jill was already climbing over the ma.s.sive pile of gear. "I swear to G.o.d, if Evelyn takes the biggest campsite tonight, I am going to wring her thick little neck."

33.

Day Nine, Evening Mile 150 Upset Hotel, as their campsite was called, was a difficult one to access. The water was deep and swift here, and sharp chunks of limestone made pull-ins tricky. In addition, the camping area itself was situated up a steep embankment, a daunting climb even without all their gear.

But JT didn't want to chance going farther downriver. If the next two camps were already taken, there would be no place large enough for them before Havasu, and since no camping was allowed at Havasu, they'd have to continue on downriver.

JT didn't want to think think about the prospect of Mitch.e.l.l missing Havasu. about the prospect of Mitch.e.l.l missing Havasu.

So they tied up the boats at Upset and, in keeping with the spirit of the last two days, everyone rallied cheerfully, s.p.a.cing out the fire line and hauling up the tables and the stove and the Blaster and the groover and the kitchen supply boxes and the can smasher and the first aid box and the twenty-four large blue dry bags and the twelve smaller white ones, with everyone joking all along about how easy it would be to get the gear back down to the boats the next morning. Soon they had the kitchen set up, the steaks defrosting; and those who appreciated geology were able to take a moment and enjoy the view.

Mitch.e.l.l being among them. He'd dressed for dinner tonight in a bold turquoise Hawaiian shirt with a few lost b.u.t.tons that revealed a hairy belly when he moved about. "Things just keep getting more and more beautiful," he murmured, gazing downriver, where gray-green cliffs, furred with sage and cactus, tilted out of the river. With a few quick twists he set up his tripod. "Whoever would have thought I'd get so interested in rocks?"

"How many pictures have you taken, Mitch.e.l.l?" asked Peter.

"Twelve, maybe thirteen hundred."

"You could publish a book," said Amy.

"I intend to," said Mitch.e.l.l.

He fastened his camera to his tripod and concentrated on photographing the downstream landscape-although by changing the angle, he was also able to photograph the guides, who had remained down on the boats and seemed to be in no hurry to start dinner. People began to quip that the guides were on strike tonight, and for once they appreciated Mitch.e.l.l's efforts, because they would remember the scene fondly: the night the pa.s.sengers got dinner going while the guides had a little R & R on the boats.

But then Sam called the dog, and the mood changed. Evelyn especially looked anxious. "Maybe the tripods not a good idea," she said as the dog darted about.

Mitch.e.l.l glanced up with surprise, as though Evelyn had just solved the worlds oldest mystery. He pointed jauntily at her. "You know what? I think you're right, Evelyn," and he unscrewed his camera, dismantled the tripod, and slid it back into its sleeve. "I've probably got too many pictures of rocks, anyway. Hey, doggie," he said as Blender sniffed at his sandals. "What's the matter; do my feet smell?" He laughed loudly.

The dog wagged his tail, and Mitch.e.l.l stooped and deposited one tidy pat onto the dog's head. Evelyn, Susan, and Jill looked on nervously. Last night, when they were sitting around together, they'd taken turns sharing their fears, and Mitch.e.l.l had confessed to being afraid of dogs. "When I was a kid, I got bit," he'd told them. "Some yappy little thing. And I have to admit that's the real reason I didn't want this dog on the trip. I should have been straightforward with you all. I'm sorry," he said. "Maybe on this river trip, I can get over my fear."

So now they were all remembering Mitch.e.l.l's confession and worrying he might go overboard in an attempt to undo years of trauma. Blender had been keeping his distance from Mitch.e.l.l for most of the trip, of course; dogs can sense when someone is not inclined to offer a belly rub on short notice.

Sure enough, just as they feared, Mitch.e.l.l squatted and held out his hand. "Hey, doggie," he said. "Come here, puppy dog."

It quickly became clear that Mitch.e.l.l, like Evelyn, didn't really know how to play with a dog. In fact, he treated the dog like a cat, trailing a bit of rope through the sand in front of the dogs nose. Blender sat down.

"Go like this," said Sam, and he took the rope and tied a thick knot, then dangled it above Blender's head. Blender instantly latched onto the rope. Sam tugged. Blender growled and planted his feet and tugged back. Sam released his grip with a flourish; Blender fell back, recovered, and danced in front of Sam.

"Good dog. Now you try it," Sam told Mitch.e.l.l.

Mitch.e.l.l wiped his hands on his shorts, took the rope, and dangled it in front of the dog's nose. When the dog latched on, Mitch.e.l.l laughed and looked around at his audience before tugging lightly at the rope.

"Grrr," he said. "What a toughie. Who's your best friend, huh? Who's your best friend now?"

He played with the dog for a while, tugging and tossing and holding the rope aloft so Blender could jump for it. You could tell he thought he had invented the game.

"Be careful, Mitch.e.l.l," said Lena, watching.

Mitch.e.l.l ignored her. "I think this dog actually likes me," he observed with satisfaction. "This is a first. Maybe he's trying to tell me something. Come here, buster," he said, snapping his fingers. "Want to come home with me after the trip?"

Sam looked stung. Mitch.e.l.l got down on his hands and knees. He held the rope in front of his mouth and growled and pretended to bite the rope.

"Honey, not so close," Lena protested.

From down on the boats came whoops of laughter. "Who wants another beer?" Peter said.

Mitch.e.l.l stood up. "Hey, that's an idea. Okay, doggie, that's it for now," he said sternly. "Good doggie. All good things must come to an end. Time to go play by yourself. Time for Mitch.e.l.l's gin and tonic."

Blender barked.

"All yours, Sam," Mitch.e.l.l said. He held his hands up. "I don't have it, doggie! Look! Sam's got the rope!"

But the dog was not convinced. Nor was he about to be dumped so easily. He circled Mitch.e.l.l, barking, and Mitch.e.l.l backed up.

"Don't raise your hands like that," Sam told Mitch.e.l.l. "He thinks you've got something in them."

"Well, I don't! Look! Hands! Empty!" And he fluttered his fingers above his head.

"That excites him," said Sam. "Put your hands down."

But Sam's instructions didn't register with Mitch.e.l.l-either that, or it was simply too strong an instinct to hold one's hands up when a dog was barking. And from the dog's viewpoint, what was he to make of this large man with the half-grown beard and the dark gla.s.ses and the Hawaiian shirt, standing at the top of a steep riverbank, waving his hands above his head in some kind of primitive dance?

Blender sprang forward, knocking Mitch.e.l.l back, and the two of them went tumbling down the hillside, a ball of fur and gaudy fabric, here and there a well-tanned limb jutting out, pinballing against rocks and p.r.i.c.kly shrubs, only to be stopped, finally, by the rubble at the water's edge.

JT was sitting on his boat enjoying his second beer of the evening when this happened, and he was mellowed out enough that the descent seemed to occur in slow motion, during which time three things occurred to him: One, the dog was surely going for Mitch.e.l.l's jugular; Two, far be it that Mitch.e.l.l might be lucky enough to score a soft landing against the rafts; And three (this realization occurring just as Mitch.e.l.l collided headfirst with the rocks), they'd run out of gauze two days ago.

Ma.s.s confusion ensued as Lena raced down the hill and JT leapt out of the boat and Mitch.e.l.l struggled to right himself from the crotch of two boulders.

"Grab my hand!" Lena cried, extending one of her sparrow arms. Mitch.e.l.l bicycled his legs in the air, and Peter finally had to reach down and lend his arm so that Mitch.e.l.l could haul himself up.

At which point JT couldn't help but wince, for Mitch.e.l.ls forehead was covered with blood. He tried to stop Mitch.e.l.l from touching it, but it was too late. Mitch.e.l.l stared at his fingers.

"The dog bit me," he marveled.

By now almost everyone was crowding around to see how badly Mitch.e.l.l was injured. Even Ruth came hobbling down.

"He was teasing the dog," Sam reported.

"I wouldn't call it teasing," said Lena.

"Well, he was holding his hands up in the air, and the dog jumped," said Mark.

With all this chatter, JT felt like his head was going to burst, this at a time when he needed to stay calm. Was it him, or were they having more medical crises than usual on this trip? He was grateful when Dixie squatted beside him with the first aid box.

"Is he up-to-date on his teta.n.u.s?" Dixie asked Lena.

"I can hear every word you're saying and yes I'm up-to-date on my teta.n.u.s," said Mitch.e.l.l. "Now could someone please bring me a mirror?"

"You don't need a mirror, Mitch.e.l.l," said Dixie. "Let me look."

With great stoicism, Mitch.e.l.l raised his head. JT and Dixie and Lena all peered closely. There were many small abrasions on his forehead, but most of the blood was coming from a small split near his hairline. It did not look like a dog bite.

"I think you cut it on a rock," JT said, sitting back.

"Besides, Blender would never bite anyone," said Sam.

"He would me," said Mitch.e.l.l. "I told you, dogs have been biting me my whole life."

"Lie back, Mitch.e.l.l," said Dixie as she opened up the first aid box. "Hey. Where's all the gauze?"

"We're out," JT said. "Use paper towels." And Abo, as though having already read JT's mind, handed him a roll from behind.

"How can you be out of gauze?" Mitch.e.l.l demanded.