Page 86 of The River We Remember

Scott saw her close her eyes, and he did the same, feeling the push of the river, his hands and feet cool in the drag of the water. He felt sleepy and happy and wished that the afternoon would never end. His bottom, which was cradled in the hole of the tube, scraped across a submerged tree limb, and he lifted himself slightly.

And then he heard Holly scream.

His eyes snapped open. Her tube was still there, just an arm’s reach away, but it was empty. He heard the splashing and flailing at his back. He turned in his own tube and saw Holly in the river, snagged somehow, struggling in the sweep of the current. As he watched she went under, then fought her way back to the surface. He had no idea what was happening, but even in the few seconds it took him to react, the current had carried him many yards downriver.

He rolled off his inner tube and began to swim, battling the sweep of the river, which seemed in the blink of an eye to have become something malevolent, a beast with an angry will. He was a good swimmer and he fought the river and tried to keep his eye on the place where she’d now disappeared. Stroke after stroke he crawled, yard by yard. He felt his heart, that damn faulty organ, hammering in his chest, and he was afraid it would give out before he could reach her.

Then his fingers touched the unseen snag, and he grabbed it and pulled himself into a web of branches lurking beneath the surface. He went under, groped blindly, and found her arm. He grasped it and felt his way to her wrist. His hand curled around the charm bracelet she wore, which had become caught on a fork of one of the submerged branches. He tugged, but it was no good. His lungs were burning by then, but he wouldn’t give up. With all the strength he could summon, he pulled her whole body against the shove of that great river and was able at last to slide the bracelet up the length of the fork until it was free and Holly with it.

But the monster the river had become was not finished.

The current swept them downstream, Holly heavy in his grip, a deadweight pulling him under. He kicked to get ahead of the current, and as he did, he drew the girl up and into his arms. He fought to latch her in a cross-chest carry, a lifesaving technique he’d been taught in Boy Scouts. With her head finally above water, he began to swim toward the riverbank. He could feel himself weakening rapidly, his heart working harder than it ever had. His arms and legs felt as heavy as stone. He gulped water, coughed, almost lost his grip on Holly, and then his feet found the muddy bottom. He stumbled up the bank backward, dragging the girl from the water. He laid her in sunlight on a bed of timothy and wild daisies. She wasn’t breathing. He cocked her head back, opened her mouth, and breathed air into her. He put his hands together, the heel of his right palm on her chest, and pumped ten times. He breathed into her again, desperately.

She spat water and gasped. Scott turned her quickly on her side, and she vomited into the grass.

“Madman!”

Del was next to him now and Nicole, too.

“Is she okay?” Nicole was in tears as she knelt beside her friend.

Holly’s eyes fluttered open. She stared up at them, dazed. “What… what happened?”

“I’ll tell you what happened,” Del said. He slapped Scott on the back. “Madman here saved your life, that’s what happened.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

JIMMY QUINN’S FUNERAL resulted in another quiet day at the Wagon Wheel. Angie and Wendell took care of the spotty lunch crowd while Ida represented the Madisons at the service. Then Angie began to work on the picnic lunch that Scott and Del and the two visiting girls would eat when they were finished with their tubing.

In truth, Angie hadn’t been thrilled with the idea of the river excursion. Partly, it was because she didn’t know the girls. Judging from their makeup, they seemed a little too eager to grow up, something that because of her own past she was terribly sensitive about. But they were polite and seemed excited about the outing. And Scott and Del were both eager, so what could she say?

It wasn’t really the girls that troubled her. It was Scott’s damaged heart. Every time she saw him run out of sight, every time he looked tired, every time he was absent longer than she’d anticipated, she worried. Even as she cut the ham salad sandwiches she’d prepared and wrapped the chocolate chip cookies and washed the apples, she fought not to listen to the voice of tragedy that always whispered at her back.

Wendell stepped into the kitchen. “Got yourself a visitor, Angie.”

“Who?”

“Garnet Dern.”

Angie looked up from the prep counter. “I thought she’d be at the Quinn funeral.”

“Probably was. She’s dressed for it.”

Angie came out wiping her hands on her apron. Garnet stood near the register, wearing a simple, beautiful black dress, a string of pearls around her neck, and matching earrings. She smiled radiantly.

“Hello, Angie.”

“The funeral’s over?”

“The services, yes. Folks will be gathering at the church now for some food and fellowship. You know how funerals are.”

“Of course. Is there something I can do for you?”

“I just wanted to remind you that the Women’s Guild will be collecting tomorrow for our book drive, and you’ve promised us a box.”

“Oh, sure. I’ll put that together tonight.”

The smile left Garnet’s lips and a look of concern clouded her face. “Mimi Fowler is on the guild, and I was talking with her this morning. She told me that she was at the Wicklows’ home for dinner last Sunday night and you were there.”