Sunday, 2:00 p.m.
Slaughter River Campground
CAMPBELL AND FRANCINE
Campbell paced on shore, pecking at his cell phone.
No sign of E.B. or Laura or their little red canoe. No cell phone service either. It was getting on toward the middle of the afternoon and time to make camp. Were they stuck somewhere? Lost their paddles? Had Laura fallen in? He threw a few items into his canoe and headed off to tell his daughter his plans.
He found her dozing under the shade of a cottonwood tree.
“Hey, kiddo, keep an eye on the others. I’ll be back in an hour—I’ve got to go back and find E.B. and Laura.”
“Suit yourself.”
“You hear me, Francine?”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it, Dad.” She turned over and closed her eyes.
Feeling a little uncomfortable leaving her in charge, Campbell threw his life jacket, his paddle, and a water bottle into the boat, stepped in, and went to push off. The canoe jammed on something. He shoved harder.
“You’re going to break my fingers doing that,” Francine said.
“What are you doing here? Stick around. Get some rest.”
“Climb into the bow. I’ll guide us from the stern. We can go faster together.” She yanked the canoe closer, then rolled up her pant legs. “I’m no babysitter.”
“What if they need something? Get in trouble?”
“These girls will be fine on their own.”
“You don’t understand. It’s my job. I can’t leave them unchaperoned.”
“They’re all older than I am.”
“But not as bright,” Campbell said, feeling clever.
“Compliments, eh? Do anything to make me stay? No dice.” She popped her gum.
“Don’t make this harder than it is.” She was getting so tall. “C’mon, you’ve got to understand. I can’t leave them stranded out there.”
“Special Dad-daughter trip. You promised.”
“We can do stuff later, as soon as I get back.” He’d never been good with her.
“Do whatever the hell you want. You always do.” She shoved him and the boat away from shore.
“Francine! Don’t say things like that! You know they’re not true.” How and when did their relationship become so strained? His plans for this special trip certainly hadn’t included hurting her.
The current pulled him twenty feet downriver, the wrong way, fast. Grabbing his paddle, he turned around and headed upriver toward E.B. and Laura. The going was surprisingly hard. The current wasn’t that strong, was it? Still, he could do this. He made up the distance with some effort, and then the canoe slowed down. What the hell? He’d never make it at this rate. He pulled harder and harder. Jason at the gym said he’d been doing great. Damn. He peered forward—and saw some fingers on the gunwale. Francine. In the water.
“What are you doing? Let go! I told you to stay on shore.”
“Hi, Dad,” she trilled, pulling the bow aside so he could see her grin. “Can’t go anywhere? What’s the problem?”
“This time, for a change, Francine, how ’bout just doin’ what I ask?”
“Not today, not now, and not without me.” She laughed, hung off the hull, hair plastered across her forehead, eyes bright.
The current pulled them into the middle of the river, past where the other canoeists were playing cards, past the point where she could still swim to shore.
“For Chrissakes, let me at least get you back on land. You’re a pain in the neck, Francine.”
“What else is new?” She kicked under the boat and eased them close to a mud bank. She climbed onto some rocks, balanced on both gunwales, water pouring off her, and climbed into the boat.
“Water’s warm,” she giggled, squeezing water out of her hair.
“Sit down. Sit and behave. Honestly, I don’t know what to do with you. We agreed, on the plane, on the trip over, that you’d try.”
“Try what? Be cool when you ignore me? That’s not part of the plan.”
“Francine.” He paddled carefully, keeping an eye on her. She used to be such an easygoing girl.
She stood up and walked toward the stern, balancing carefully.
“Sit down!” he shouted. “You’ll dump us.”
“My turn.”
“Get your butt down on that seat!”
“Quit bugging me!” She sat down, fuming. Dad didn’t know diddlysquat about canoeing—or poling—for that matter. They could go upriver twice as fast if they were poling, but he didn’t know how and he was not patient enough to learn. The current was pulling, maybe, two knots, and they were doing a hard three, one knot over the bottom. Shameful. Paddling alone, it would wipe him out in a hurry.
“We’re not getting anywhere fast,” Francine said a little too loudly. She always had a kind of loud voice, but liked it that way. People paid attention.
She had tied her hair in a rubber band, back at the neck, the way she liked it, neat, but there were always these stupid hairs floating around her forehead, dropping into her eyes. She used some spit to plaster them back in place. She squinted. A half-mile away and she could still hear the girls’ squeaky voices arguing about the cards. Fate worse than death, that. She could have been in the Pine Barrens, riding Midnight, instead of in a crappy canoe with Dad and a bunch of dweebs.
“Hey, Dad? Let me steer. My paddle’s got a much bigger blade. I’m stronger than you. I’m younger than you. We’ll get there tomorrow at this rate.”
“We are not changing places today.”
Francine could hear the struggle in his voice. “Tomorrow, you’ll forget.” He’d grown a puny little beard since the divorce. She agreed with Mom. It made him look like a dork.
“Get a grip. Work with me for a change. You might like it,” he said. “Besides, this could be our last trip together.”
“Promise?” At fourteen she was already way too old to go on a trip with him.
“You’re throwing too much water. C’mon, I’ll show you,” she said.
“Bunk.”
She couldn’t help it if she was competitive. She wasn’t the fastest girl at the Dalton School for nothing. She bit her lip. “Let’s change positions out here on the river.”
“Knock it off!” he shouted, ending the conversation. His irritating voice coming through the back of her head felt like an ice cream headache. A spider crawled across her knee. Letting it crawl along her arm, she thought about handing it to Dad, but set it on the gunwale instead. He’d probably freak, just like Mom did.
Beyond the canoe, she saw a scuzzy beach, a bunch of straggly trees full of dead limbs, a buff-colored landscape, and hills far in the distance. The sun was blinding.
“New Jersey is prettier than this. They don’t call it the Garden State for nothing. Why couldn’t I have stayed home? I never wanted to come in the first place.”
“We are not discussing this now.”
“What about Bolton? I could’ve stayed in Bolton with Grandpa.” She loved Grandpa. He taught her games, like Texas Hold ’Em, and how to bet. They’d spent summers together since she’d been ten. He never got bored or cranky like Dad did.
“Pay attention to the river, and stay up with me,” Campbell said. “Try paddling together.”
“He’s kind to me.”
“Not at your own speed, Francine. Try mine. Slow down, you’re killing me.”
“That’s the point.” Francine couldn’t believe he was so dense. “I’m way faster than you. Grandpa’s smart and interesting and fun and he’s a lot nicer than you.”
“Jesus Christ.” Campbell turned the canoe around and ran it into a mud bank with a thud.
“I could have stayed there with him and not come on this stupid trip.”
“Grandpa needs to be at Happy Acres,” Campbell said. “You know this, Francine. We are not talking about Grandpa, either.”
“He was happy in Bolton, just him and the horses and his watercolors. You made him go. Just like you forced me to come on this trip. He hates it there and I hate it here. I could bring him home, take care of him. It would be a lot better than this.”
“Hey. I didn’t do anything except ask you to go canoeing,” he replied. “You like canoeing. You said so yourself.”
“You haven’t done anything with me since I was eleven and you took me to see the stupid dioramas at the Museum of Natural History. And now, you’re trying to make up for it? I’m no fool. You’re too late, Dad.”
“Just to spend time with you is . . . kind of special.”
“As if. As soon as we get to Fort Benton, I’m hitching to Great Falls and flying home. I’m done with your charade.”