The James River, which winds its way from central North Dakota all the way to the southeastern corner of South Dakota, where it joins the Missouri River, is an unnavigable, uninspiring trickle. Even in the pioneer days, with water a precious commodity, few settlements clung to its banks. And most of them withered and died when the technology emerged to tap wells into the underground waterways formed by the vast Ogallala Aquifer that lies under the state.
Narrow and shallow, twisted by oxbows and sharp bends, the river's attraction lay in its tendency to freeze in the winter, providing the local snowmobilers a surface for their noisy sport without the danger of being decapitated by barbed-wire fences.
During the summer, the water levels often dropped enough to restrict the water flow entirely, creating stagnant pools that even sheep will not drink from. In the spring and occasionally in the fall, rains swell the river, sometimes to alarming proportions, carrying downstream pesticides and tons of silt washed from fields, along with the occasional farm implement or dead cow.
That said, the Jim River does have the kind of rustic appeal associated with the books of Laura Ingalls Wilder. Grassy banks slope from endless windswept prairies, the great bowl of the sky meets the horizon in a 360-degree view marred by nothing but power lines and what passes for hills in these parts.
A few tree species hardy enough to thrive without human assistance grow along the riverbanks—cottonwoods, willows, and chokecherries provide shade in the summer, a riot of gold and yellow leaves in the fall, and shelter for wildlife in the winter.
They also adequately screen the banks from the prying eyes of county deputies patrolling the back roads, which made the Jim a perfect place for teenagers to hold keggers.
Not that anyone gathered at the oxbow four miles east of Delphi would be mistaken for a teenager. If wrinkles, gray hair, and expanding waistlines were not enough to give our age away, the general reluctance to sit on the ground and drink sloe gin and Coke would.
"Did anybody bring blankets?" Gina Adler asked, squelching nervously in the mud. "I forgot it'd be so wet."
"I got a tarp in the back of my pickup, want me to get it?" Stu asked her.
"That'd be great." Gina grinned. She followed him over to the box of his truck, whispering over her shoulder, "He's sooo cute. Do you know how lucky you are?"
I didn't answer her. Stu had been unnervingly quiet on the drive to the river. As always, he was polite and charming, but I had no idea what he really thought. About anything. The realization that I did not know him in any way other than the biblical sense did not seem particularly lucky.
"Are we having fun yet?" Del said in my ear.
"Can't you tell?" I asked. "Nothing like a group of middle-aged midwesterners stumbling around in the dark, pretending they're still young enough to enjoy getting drunk outside in the cold, instead of in their own living rooms."
Six or eight vehicles, headlights on low, were parked in a semicircle around the outer perimeter of the area, though the lights did little to permeate the damp darkness. There were cars and trucks parked behind the front row, and, periodically, others pulled in. Someone plugged Mary-Chapin Carpenter into a cassette deck and punched the volume up.
"So where's the guest of honor?"
"I haven't seen her yet, but that doesn't mean anything," I said, remembering her patented Hollywood now-you-see-me-now-you-don't act.
"Suppose she'll stage a replay of the backseat action with Doug Fischbach?"
"I doubt it," I said with distaste. "One of the advantages of being grown up, not to mention rich and famous, is never having to have sex in car."
"Oh, I don't know." Del grinned. "Leather upholstery always makes my heart go pitter-pat."
"I can deal with leather," I said. "It's door handles and gearshift knobs that I object to."
"You just haven't had enough practice," said the expert.
"Are you planning to fine-tune your skills tonight?" I asked.
She arched an eyebrow in reply and took the arm of Hugh Kincaid, who'd stepped out from behind a clump of trees carrying a couple of paper cups, one which he handed to Del with a smile.
They walked off together toward the riverbank, out of sight. Though I made it a rule never to ask Del for details, the faintly Oedipal connotations of this pairing had me curious.
Everyone else was curious too—there were several pointed stares, and a couple of frowns, following the teacher and his former pupil.
"Disgusting," Junior muttered, helping Gina straighten out a blue tarp on the uneven ground.
"I think it's romantic." Gina giggled, settling herself cross-legged on the tarp. She picked up an open can of Bud and took a swig.
"It should be illegal," Junior said darkly. She lowered herself carefully to the ground. "Think of the example this sets for the schoolchildren." Junior was always ready to throw the power of the legislature behind her notion of correct behavior.
"There are no children here to influence one way or another," I said. "And Doug's behavior at the game set a much worse example for our impressionable youth than a couple on a date."
About fifteen feet away from us, Doug knelt on the wet ground, trying to assemble a bonfire. His face was set in an angry scowl lit by the feeble glow of a pocket lighter. Debbie stood behind him, arms crossed and tight-lipped. He turned and said something to her. Without changing expression, she nodded and she headed back toward the vehicles.
"Hey ladies, what's going on?" Ron Adler blinked jovially. He carried a nearly full six-pack by an empty plastic ring. He handed another Bud to Gina, and one to me. He popped his own can open and folded himself into place next to his wife.
"We were just talking about how romantic this place is," Gina said, leaning her head on Ron's shoulder. "I met Ronnie right here, you know," she announced to us.
"Yeah, I remember," I said.
Junior, who still claimed not to remember that night, remained silent.
"And you had your first date with Nick," Gina continued. "And Doug and Janelle disappeared from here together, which is kinda romantic too." She took another swallow of beer. "And the magic is still working. Delphine Bauer and Hugh Kincaid are right this very moment walking along the riverbank, enjoying their first date."
"Oh yeah?" Ron blinked darkly. "You sure about that?"
Gina looked to me for confirmation, a small gleam of triumph in her eye. Gina's mood had probably been boosted by the fact that Del was out of Ron's reach for yet another night.
"'Fraid so," I said. "Chalk one up for student-teacher intercourse."
Ron and Junior both glared at me.
"And lookee there." Gina pointed. "If that's not romance, I don't know what is." She took another beer from the six-pack and set it next to her.
Neil had pulled up in his convertible, the car he drove only for special occasions, like homecoming parades. Sitting in the front seat with him was Rhonda Saunders.
Gina waved frantically and Rhonda waved back. Neil grinned in our direction.
"I'm amazed he drove the '61 out into the country," I said, ignoring the knot I seemed to get whenever I saw Neil and Rhonda together. "He treats that car like it's his baby."
"Maybe he's celebrating something," Gina said.
"Yeah, maybe" I said glumly, and then, seeing that Neil and Rhonda were headed in our direction, stood up hastily. I brushed off my backside and said, "I suppose I should go and find Stu."
"He was standing by his pickup last time I saw him," Ron said.
Doug finally had the bonfire roaring. It threw sparks high in the air, and lit the area enough to allow the headlights to be turned off. James Taylor sang from someone's loudspeakers now. That voice could usually smooth the wrinkles in my forehead and ease the turmoil in my heart. But tonight, even "Sweet Baby James" didn't help.
In the dark I could barely make out Stu leaning against the pickup box. His hat was pushed back on his forehead, he had one hand in a pocket, and the other held a plastic glass. He stood, staring out at nothing.
"What's up?" I asked softly, taking position next him against the truck, keeping a small but careful distance between us.
"Nothing," he said, remembering to smile. "Just thinking."
"About what?" Though I wasn't sure I wanted to know.
"Old times," Stu said quietly. "And high school. You grow up, you go away, and you come back, nothing ever changes." He gazed at the sky. "Do you ever want to relive your past?"
"God no," I said hastily. Relive being the fat girl? Being married to Nick?
He stared into his empty glass for a moment, then grabbed a quart of Southern Comfort from the truck box behind him and refilled it. To the brim.
Stu was a moderate beer drinker. I'd never seen him hitting the hard stuff. He took a large swallow.
"Listen, Tory," he said slowly, not looking at me, "I gotta tell you something..."
I held my breath; my heart froze. James Taylor's voice filled the night air. He's going to break up with me, right in the middle of "Fire and Rain," I thought. He's going back to Renee. Or running away with Janelle.
Either option seemed equally possible, and equally terrible. I realized I was breathing again, in shallow gasps. I struggled to keep my face even, in case Gina was watching us for more evidence of the romantic powers of the James River.
Suddenly the fact that I hadn't known what Stu was thinking seemed like a good thing—a circumstance I had no desire to change. While JT mournfully thought that he'd see Suzanne one more time, I wished for a freak tornado, or a flash flood, or instant, irreversible deafness.
Anything to keep from hearing what Stu was going to say next.
"I know I should have..." he continued.
A rumble sounded in-the distance.
Stu paused and sent a quizzical glance skyward.
For a second I thought the noise was a harbinger of the tornado I'd been praying for.
But the rumble got progressively louder and closer. And lower to the ground.
Stu was looking toward the road now, and so was everyone else. Ron and Gina stared apprehensively into the distance. Doug, an expression of reptilian satisfaction on his face, said something to Debbie, and then laughed out loud. Even Junior lumbered to her feet and peered out into the darkness.
The rumble increased to a roar. People nodded and pointed as a pair of headlights swung into the gravel and headed to the front of the line of parked cars. A 1957 red and white Corvette convertible, engine gunning, spun in a half-circle before it came to a stop not too far from Stu's tarp.