Day Eleven Below Lava Post-Lava Night was usually a time for celebration. The guides were glad to have made it safely through; the pa.s.sengers felt as though they'd been initiated into a new club; and everyone had an intense need to keep recounting the run-the V-wave, the whirlpools, the bailing and sloshing and screaming and slipping and lurching about in between. Often it was a time to dress up; Abo had packed an entire duffel bag of costumes, including a hula skirt and a horned Viking hat, and Dixie had a collection of nail polishes, which she'd planned on setting out for a toenail-painting contest. Oh, things could get jolly after Lava, with songs and skits and the presentation of goofy awards, and people stumbled off to bed feeling like true river runners.

But tonight, the Post-Lava party never materialized. JT had decided to camp there below Lava, since they'd already unloaded half their gear. The bucket of margaritas was well received (Mark declined, though he filled a mug for Jill); but mostly they were still too overwhelmed by the events of the afternoon to celebrate. At times, some of them wondered if they'd imagined the birth; but then they would look around, and Amy and Susan's absence would erase their doubts. Jill and Peter, who'd served as coaches, both agreed they felt a little cheated-they'd worked so hard alongside Amy that they felt personally vested in this new family, and now they had nothing to show for it.

"I just wanted to hold him a little more," said Jill wistfully. "He was so tiny!"

"I thought he was dead," Peter declared. "Are all babies that gray?"

Then, of course, there was the matter of the dog. Sam and Matthew refused to give up hope that he would come loping over the rocks, tail wagging, panting, in a scene straight out of a Disney movie. They were certain he'd survived the swim, and no one really wanted to convince them otherwise.

"They shouldn't get their hopes up, though," JT told Mark. "I think he would have shown up by now if he came ash.o.r.e in this area. My guess-my hope-is that he got carried farther downstream. He had his life jacket on good and tight. With some luck, we'll find him downstream tomorrow."

The fact that he hadn't seen the dog go overboard disturbed JT greatly. As an experienced guide, he prided himself on knowing where each and every member of his party was at all times-especially when they were on the water itself. But he'd been so focused on Amy going overboard and then getting his boat safely through Lava, that he hadn't even noticed the dog was gone until they'd pulled onto sh.o.r.e.

"What are the chances?" Jill asked. "Be honest."

"I don't know," he said.

Jill nodded somberly. "I just want to be prepared," she said. "I just want to know what we might be dealing with if he doesn't show up. The boys haven't had anyone or anything die on them before, and I want to be able to say the right thing."

Mark drew her close. "We don't need to cross that bridge."

Everyone just felt so off off. Mitch.e.l.l and Lena quarreled publicly over who had lost the eco-shampoo, and Ruth and Lloyd retired to their tent for a nap that went on for so long that JT eventually went and rustled the front flap. Oh dear G.o.d G.o.d, he thought, then realized he couldn't finish the thought. Fortunately, Ruth peeked out and groggily confessed that it was the margaritas, and JT, who usually didn't let himself worry too much about his guests' alcohol consumption, felt like scolding them as though they were Sam and Matthew. You're on medications! You're old and thin and fragile! What were you thinking? You're on medications! You're old and thin and fragile! What were you thinking?

For dinner there was Thai food, and Abo got a little slapdash with the recipe and added a big dollop of peanut b.u.t.ter to the green beans, which caused Lena's throat to start itching. JT was angry at Abo, not just for being careless, but because now he had to figure out whether they should give Lena the EpiPen; she was over there coughing, and the Benadryl didn't seem to be working, and Mitch.e.l.l was going to blow, just blow; but then Mitch.e.l.l came walking up, the light from his headlamp jittering in the dark.

"I gave her the EpiPen," he told them. "She threw up, and she's breathing better. She says her throat doesn't hurt anymore. I'll stay up with her tonight," he told JT. "She'll be fine."

"I'm really sorry this happened," Abo said.

Mitch.e.l.l shrugged. "We all make mistakes. I've certainly made my share."

JT was so surprised to hear this that he couldn't come up with a gracious response.

"I gotta say," Mitch.e.l.l went on, "I was so impressed this afternoon, watching you guys deal with Amy and all."

"We just called for help," said JT. "The paramedics did everything else."

"But the real hero is Amy, isn't she?" Mitch.e.l.l said. "I have to hand it to the girl. She really rose to the occasion. Not that she had a choice. But what a trooper. Seventeen years old. I just hope it doesn't get in the way of her college plans."

"Are you going to put this in your book, Mitch.e.l.l?" Dixie asked.

"No," said Mitch.e.l.l. "n.o.body would believe it. Well, I'm going to go sit with Lena. But I really think she's going to be okay."

JT watched Mitch.e.l.l walk off into the darkness. He thought to himself that if they'd given out awards that night, Mitch.e.l.l certainly would have earned the award for Most Changed Pa.s.senger. Because to go from someone who refused to follow directions and insisted on scaring the s.h.i.t out of everyone and threatened to sue the guides when things didn't go his way-to go from that to someone who could lift the iron chains off the Trip Leader's shoulders at the end of a really difficult day didn't count for nothing, down here in the ditch.

They quickly washed the dishes and stowed away the kitchen supplies. JT retired to his boat and laid out his sleeping bag. He didn't want to let himself think about the fact that the dog wasn't there at his feet, but he couldn't help it. Were the boys hoping for too much? Was he? Because he had to admit that a part of him expected to find the dog tomorrow, alive and well. He knew it was a p.i.s.s-a.s.s thought and hated himself for having it, but there it was.

He unclipped his sandals, dipped his washcloth into the water, and washed his feet. He got out the tube of cream and unscrewed the cap and squeezed out a dollop and rubbed it in between his toes. He could be thankful that he hadn't gotten the foot fungus on this trip, at least. He could be thankful that the stomach flu hadn't ripped through camp. He could be thankful that he'd had ten good days with a dog who came out of nowhere.

He had a lot of things to be thankful for, but none of them helped him go to sleep that night.

The next day JT took Mitch.e.l.l and the boys in his boat so they could all scour the sh.o.r.eline for signs of the dog-a flash of green, maybe, or a red bandanna in the bushes.

Sam and Matthew rode up front, sitting high on the tubes with their legs dangling over the side. The water was calm, and they did not need to hold on to anything. They weren't wearing their hats, and from the back they looked like twins, with their skinny arms poking out of their life jackets, their baggy swim trunks ballooning out below.

There were several false sightings, and the boys' hopes soared, then plummeted.

"We'll find him," said Mitch.e.l.l after the third time. "I'm sure we'll find him."

Sam whipped around to face JT and Mitch.e.l.l. "How do you know?" he demanded. "Why should I believe you? You're the one who let go of him."

"Sam," cautioned JT.

"You didn't like this dog from the start! You wanted to leave him on the beach where we found him! I heard you say that! You've been trying to get rid of him the whole trip!"

"Come on, Sam," JT warned.

"Sam's right, though," said Matthew, and something in his voice served as a further reminder that they were brothers; that despite the fact that they had been arguing since the day Sam was born, they were, fundamentally, on the same cosmic side of all the things that really mattered. And when it came to a dog and the possibility that some grown man might be responsible for its demise, they were going to stick together.

"Lava was a wild ride," JT reminded them. "I wouldn't go blaming Mitch.e.l.l for losing the dog."

"But the boys are right," said Mitch.e.l.l. "I did lose him. He was my responsibility, and I let go. But I didn't mean to. I really didn't mean to."

The boys turned to face downstream again, without answering.

"I really didn't," Mitch.e.l.l told JT.

"I know you didn't, Mitch.e.l.l."

"But I want them to believe me."

"They will at some point," said JT. "Maybe just not right now."

There were a few moments of silence as Mitch.e.l.l shuffled around in the back of the boat. When JT glanced back, Mitch.e.l.l was ruminating over his unopened journal.

"How'd you get to be so patient, JT?" he asked. "Were you born that way?"

"Hundred and twenty-five trips, I guess."

"How do you get to be a guide, anyway?"

"You interested?"

"Only when I'm feeling adventurous. But I wish I'd done this trip when I was a little younger, you know? Before the old body started breaking down."

"You're never too old to start something new," said JT.

"What about you? You going to keep on doing this the rest of your life?"

JT grinned. "Med school, I'm thinking. Obstetrics."

Both men were silent, remembering the strange events of the previous day.

"I gotta hand it to her," Mitch.e.l.l said. "She came through with flying colors."

JT didn't want to get into a man-to-man evaluation of Amy's labor and delivery. He glanced at Mitch.e.l.ls notebook. "What are you going to name this book, anyway?"

"Haven't a clue," said Mitch.e.l.l.

For the next half hour they floated. The boys kept an optimistic conversation going, convincing each other of the dogs safety. He was wearing his life jacket; he knew how to swim; he knew how to take care of himself in the desert. QED: he would show up at the campsite tonight.

JT didn't want to say anything, but he grew less and less hopeful as the morning wore on. Even with a life jacket, the dog would have been sucked down immediately and remained underwater for who knows how long. In any case, it wouldn't take much time for an animal that size to drown.

He felt it his duty to start preparing the boys, but they were busy concocting elaborate theories about the dog's tracking abilities. They factored in upstream and downstream winds, the need for shade and rest; Matthew, who was good at math, calculated that based on the speed of the water, and depending on where they set up camp, the dog should arrive sometime between five and six o'clock tonight.

"Dogs are so smart," Sam told Matthew.

"Should we keep his name?"

"We can probably come up with something better, if you want."

"I guess I like Blender."

"I like Blender too."

Matthew kicked at the water. "Mom'll never let him sleep in our bedroom, though."

"Nope."

"We'll have to sneak him in."

"Dad'll help, I bet," said Sam.

"When he's not in j.a.pan."

"He told Mom he's not going to spend so much time in j.a.pan," said Sam.

"That would be cool," said Matthew.

49.

Day Eleven, Night Flagstaff In a small, dimly lit room on the second floor of the Flagstaff hospital, Amy sat propped up in her bed and tried to read the pamphlet on breast-feeding. Beside her, the baby lay in his Plexiglas ba.s.sinet, swaddled in flannel. He had been sleeping for half an hour. The nurse had told her she should try and sleep when the baby slept, but she wasn't tired. Her mother had gone out to get them some food, so Amy was alone.

Be sure the baby has a good latch; otherwise you will develop sore nipples. See ill.u.s.tration.

Amy studied the tasteful drawing of the pretty mother's pink round breast, with the Gerber baby sucking away as they gazed lovingly at one another. Amy glanced down. Her b.o.o.bs were huge and white and veiny and dimpled. And her nipples were scary; scary; they'd turned into these big, brown pimply saucers, each with its central rubber k.n.o.b. If she were a baby, she would take one look and run. they'd turned into these big, brown pimply saucers, each with its central rubber k.n.o.b. If she were a baby, she would take one look and run.

She'd tried nursing him earlier; he'd clumsily batted his head and kissed and sucked, but she didn't know if it counted as a good latch. Whatever that was. Supposedly there would be a lactation consultant coming to visit in the morning. They told her to nurse him even if she didn't know if she was going to keep him or not. Amy wished the night nurse would come and tell her if she was doing it right, but the night nurse had three other mothers to take care of.

Tickle your baby's cheek to stimulate her sucking reflex.

She sat up and peeked into the ba.s.sinet. Her baby's head was elongated and pointy and, she wasn't going to lie, pretty ugly In a slot by his head was a blue card with her name and the name of her doctor; where the baby's name would have been, they had written simply "Baby Van Doren."

She thought it wise not to think of names.

Drink a full gla.s.s of water or juice each time you nurse.

They'd given her a large insulated mug decorated with the hospital's logo and kept it filled with ice water, which tasted good. The drinking water on the river was always warm, and she'd forgotten how good ice water was, and she drank and drank and drank. She'd been so thirsty in the helicopter! During the flight, she'd tried to get a view of the river, but she was trapped on her back, and all could she see were blue sky and a few wispy clouds. She'd never been in a helicopter before and was disappointed that she wasn't in a condition to appreciate the ride. When they landed at the hospital, she felt like she was in a television show, what with all those people running out to meet them. Before she could say anything, they whisked the baby away, and she panicked that she hadn't put some kind of a mark on him to prevent the kind of mix-ups you read about in National Enquirer National Enquirer What if they switched babies on her? Would she know the difference? Had she looked at her baby long enough to recognize a switch? What if they switched babies on her? Would she know the difference? Had she looked at her baby long enough to recognize a switch?

Spicy foods can affect the taste of your milk. If your baby seems fussy, consider eliminating these foods from your diet.

She'd been hoping her mother would bring back enchiladas; now she wondered if that was a good idea. On the other hand, she might as well test it out and see if it bothered the baby. Maybe he would like enchilada milk.

Soon she heard footsteps in the hallway, and Susan appeared with a bag from Subway. She was still dressed in her river clothes, but she'd taken off her hat; her hair was matted and darker than usual, and a white rim of skin banded her hairline.

"Turkey," she told Amy, handing her the bag. "You'll want to go easy at first."

Hungrily Amy unwrapped the sandwich and took a large bite. It tasted of refrigeration, but it still tasted good. Shreds of lettuce dropped on her chest, and she picked them off and ate them.

"Where's the nurse?" Susan asked, drawing up a chair.

"Busy," said Amy between bites.

"How long has the baby been sleeping?"

"Half an hour."

"Did you get any rest?"

"No," said Amy, "but I read about how much liquid I have to drink. Did you get me a c.o.ke?"

Susan handed her a large cup with a straw. Amy took a long drink, then glanced at her mother. "What about you?"

"I got a sandwich. I already ate it." Susan straightened the blankets on the bed, and Amy watched her slender fingers and recalled their touch earlier, in the helicopter. She could never have said this out loud, but she'd wished her mother would not only move the strands of hair off her forehead but run her fingers through her hair, starting at her temples, over and over, like she used to do when Amy was sick.

"How are you feeling?" Susan asked now.

"Okay."

"Sore?"