“What?”
I turned back to face Danny. “I said I guess he's warmin' up.”
He nodded. “Oh. Yeah.”
Funny thing about Danny Cander. He'd always held a certain mildly threatening fascination for me, ever since I'd met him at the wedding of his father's handsome first cousin, Lee Harding, who was assistant manager at the lumber mill. Danny was seven then and I was six, and I'd been jealous when Granddad had enthralled him at the reception with a recounting of how his Volturno River medal was earned. “Stay away from him,” Mona Tesch had warned me later at school with a sniff. “His daddy drinks.”
Brazen and tough in fights when he was younger, Danny was also amazingly shy when cornered for a mere chat by a girl. He'd always been one of the school's best athletes, hitting a baseball with grace, running races with the keen edge of competitiveness flashing under those dark eyebrows. Choosing teams on the playground, any one of us at school would pick him first. But that was his only point of popularity. His daddy's alcoholism in a town where liquor wasn't even sold set him apart.
At school there were plenty of other farm kids with chores, but nobody else dragged in late as often as he did, rubbing a hand across his forehead as he stumbled past the door of my first-period class. Sometimes I'd hear whispers about the bruises on Danny's face, and I'd go out of my way between classes to check them out for myself. If I happened to catch his eye, he'd always glance away. When he arrived at school on time, I'd often see his mama dropping him off in their ancient pickup truck, hair hanging around her face in wisps. As Melissa and I walked home in the afternoons, we'd see Danny headed in the opposite direction, cutting across town to go over the tracks. Most times he was alone. Occasionally he'd walk with Bart Rhorer, a boy who lived on the farm next to his. Younger boys would sometimes try to tag along with Danny, punching at him playfully to show they were as tough as he was, and he'd usually go along good-naturedly enough. But sometimes for no apparent reason he'd holler “Git!” and they'd skim away like water bugs in a stirred-up pond.
“The bigger problem is,” I heard myself saying, “he's gonna have to come back across. He'll get to walk home wet.” I shook my head and looked Danny daringly in the eye. “Why do boys do such stupid things?”
A faint surprise flicked across his face. “Well,” he said, clearing his throat, his gaze sliding away again. “I suppose we like to do things now and think later.”
I laughed, feeling a twisted enjoyment at his discomfort. A strange sense of power, fresh and tingling, washed through me at the thought that I could cause a reaction in someone as rough as Danny Cander. I flashed back to a perfume ad I'd seen in a magazine at Tull's, the beautiful model, red-lipped and narrow-eyed, pulling a man toward her by his tie, an electrified apprehension on his face. Thinking of that picture, suddenly I understood it. Here at the riverbank, with the rocks under my sneakers, the sun on my face, and my chilled little brother fishing, I felt as if I'd just tapped into an age-old secret bursting to be discovered. My mouth opened for another laugh, but at that moment Danny's face hardened and he stared straight back at me. The sound died in my throat.
We looked at each other in silence.
Had I ever noticed how big he was for his age? He must have been a good head taller than me, and his chest was broad compared with the skinny boys in my class. His voice had deepened long ago, when the rest of the boys were still squeaking. Maybe that's why he didn't fight anymore, I thought. Nobody was willing to take him on.
Danny turned away. “I better be goin',” he said, suddenly shy again.
“No, wait.” Impulsively I stepped forward to lay a hand on his arm. He shot a glance at my fingers and I took it away.
“What is it?” He wouldn't look at me.
My courage was crumbling. “You came here to fish, didn't you?”
“I can go down the bank a ways.”
No, I thought. “Stay here, Danny. I didn't mean to run you off.”
He swiveled toward me, a challenge glimmering in his eye. “You weren't runnin' me off.”
I smiled up at him through my lashes. “Then stay.”
Our eyes locked. His eyebrows relaxed, his jaw softened. I could have sworn I saw a flicker of delight play around his mouth; then it was gone.
“Sure,” he shrugged.
D
anny and I had a heck of a time carrying on a normal conversation. I trailed him as he walked over to the large rocks to set his tackle box down. Seeing our can of worms, he made the mistake of offering to bait my hook. Huffily I replied that if I cared to fish, I could do it myself. A minute later I tried to make amends by inquiring about his parents, to which he answered stiffly that they were just fine. Then when Kevy waved to him, I shouted across the water teasingly, “Look what the cat drug in!” only to reap a black look from Danny as if he'd taken me seriously.
Good grief, I thought. Getting along with him was almost as bad as trying to get along with Mama.
Danny was frowning at Kevy. “Hey! Ain't you got a catch on your line?”
“Yeah! It's pullin'!” Kevy started reeling in slowly. “Told you, Celia!”
“It'll be the last fish he catches, he keeps makin' so much noise,” I grumbled.
“You started it,” Danny said.
“Celia, look how big it is!” The fish was out of the water, scales sparkling as it flopped fiercely on the hook. Kevy was standing at the edge of the boulder, leaning forward precariously as he tried to grab the line.
“Kevin, watch out!” Danny shouted.
It happened so fast. One minute Kevy was on the rock, jabbering about his catch, and the next minute he was tumbling headfirst in the air. His pole flew upward, the reel spinning from the weight of the fish, then sailed down into the current. My brother hit the frigid water six feet below with a loud splash, then disappeared.
“Kevy, you idgit!” I leaped up and watched anxiously for him to appear.
Stupid boy, he never should have gone out there in the first place.
“Where is he?” I scanned the river, shading my eyes. “You see him?”
Danny was on his feet, too, squinting. “There he is!”
A good five feet downstream from where he'd plunged in, Kevy surfaced, his face blanched against the dark water.
“Come on, Kevy, swim!” I cried. “Forget your pole!”
My brother and I had both learned to swim at a young age, Granddad often walking us to the swimming hole below the rapids. Under his watchful eye I'd first learned how to roll onto my back and float, then mastered the forward crawl, and finally perfected the powerful arm and leg movements of the breaststroke. Years later I stood a few feet away from Granddad, helping him teach Kevy, backing up a little at a time, calling, “You're doin' great!” as I urged my brother longer distances.
I trotted toward the water. “Would you come on!”
Kevy gasped air in a terrorized rattle. Frantically he flailed his arms. “Kevy? Kevy! Swim!” I yelled. But something was wrong. He could only slap erratically at the water, coughing ferociously. While I froze in fear on the riverbank, my brother went under for the second time. A trapdoor opened in my stomach. “Kevy!” I wailed.
“I'll git him.” Danny was throwing off his shoes and socks, jerking the T-shirt from his waist. He ran into the river, dove shallowly, then lunged into a powerful swim.
“Please, God,” I prayed aloud, watching the current flow, desperately looking for Kevyâan arm, a head rising above the water. The river was so cold; falling into it must have shocked him something terrible. I should never have let him wade out to that rock. Mama would not forgive me for this. I ran down the bank, watching Danny slice through the current, but Kevy had popped up far ahead, spluttering. “Kevy! Swim to Danny!”
He splashed crazily for another second, then disappeared for the third time.
“Kevy!”
I sprang into the frigid water only to feel my spine pull away in terror, my calf muscles melting. I stumbled and fell, hands plunging into the river, unseen rocks cutting into my palms and knees. As the water soaked my shirt, I struggled to raise my head. Kevy had surfaced again but wasn't moving, Danny swimming toward him with all his might. Somehow I pulled myself to my feet and lurched through knee-deep water, shoes saturated and pulling off my heels. I could taste blood from a cut in my hand as I pressed it against my mouth. Breathing another prayer, I watched Danny as he fought to close the gap. They neared a bend in the river, and suddenly I jerked to a stop, hearing the rapids far too loudly. The gorge ahead would be swollen to capacity, the icy water churning in its headlong plunge over heavy rocks.
Kevy slipped out of sight around the curve. A moment later Danny was gone, too.
I heaved myself out of the water and ran down the bank, tripping over rocks and logs, calling their names. I reached the bend and rounded it, the roar of the rapids hitting me in the face, and saw the water's hue lighten as it began to spiral into a surging white. There I saw Danny Cander throw an arm around my brother, pause a moment to change course, then begin to swim toward shore with one hand, face taut with effort.
“Swim!” I screamed.
“Swim!”
I fell over sun-bleached wood, pulling up immediately. Danny was sliding with the current faster than he could reach the shore, eyes bulging with the knowledge that he could not make it. I watched him falter, then slow, losing precious headway as the current strengthened. They were so close, twenty feet from me now, but the river was beginning to funnel, plowing them back into its center. “Danny!” He lifted his head and caught my eye. “Swim!”
In three steps I'd jumped back into the water, diving into a shock that snatched my breath away. Then I was stroking toward Danny. Seeing me, he struggled harder, pulling against the current.
Yes
, I cried inside.
Yes!
In another minute our fingertips were touching, and then my arm was around his shoulder, straining toward shore as he pulled my brother. The rapids rose to a scream in my ears, my eyes blinded by foaming water. Then Danny's arm fell away and he floated aimlessly, eyes half closed, his other hand loosening its grip around Kevy. “No!” I kicked, connecting with Danny's thigh, and dazedly he shook his head. His eyes opened, filling with fear. With a final effort he strengthened his fingers around Kevy and began to swim. I felt us both lift slightly, then surge forward.
The shore stretched before us, rugged and unreachable. Close the gap, close the gap, I chanted in my head, the frigid water numbing my senses. Kevy's dead weight was like a giant stone around our necks. Get to shore, close the gap. Would the bank ever grow near? Stroke, kick, stroke, kick.
Hold Danny tight. Danny, hold Kevy tight.
Stroke, kick. The rest of the world ceased to exist. I was in a dazzling white, cold place, no sound as loud in my ears as our gasps for breath. Then a thought spun across my mind with sudden, brilliant clarity. Our own choking was louder than the rapids' roar.
We were going to make it.
The knowledge lent me a burst of speed. We moved faster through the water, the gathering sweep of current behind us. Two more strokes and I let my legs sink, touching bottom. I stood, shaking ferociously, and pulled Danny and Kevy toward me. Danny dragged himself to his feet, bent over and heaving, gripping my brother so tightly that I had to forcibly unclench his fingers. “It's okay, Danny,” I gasped. “We made it.” We huddled, filling our aching lungs. I glanced at Kevy. He was still, his eyelids and lips cold and blue. “Come on, we gotta get him out of the water.” Still gasping, we floated Kevy to shore and dragged him up the rocky bank, his head rolling listlessly, arms limp. Kneeling over his body, we slapped his cheeks. “Kevy! Kevy!” My voice sounded tinny. His wet, cold face stung my fingers. “Kevy! Wake up!” I gripped his wrist, checking for a pulse, his skin like frozen wax. It was there, faintly. “His heart's beatin'!”
Danny leaned close to his face. “He's not breathin'.”
Willfully I calmed myself, summoning my knowledge. Hadn't we studied it enough in P.E.? Hadn't we practiced dozens of times on dummies and teased our classmates about being mouth-to-mouth? “Tilt his head,” I said.
Kevy's chin jutted into the air. Danny pulled open my brother's mouth, looking inside; then I took over. Pinch the nose closed. Cover the victim's entire mouth. Exhale forcefully. And again. How many times in a row? I couldn't remember. Danny pushed me aside for another look. Nothing. I repeated the steps and pulled back. Still no movement. “Turn him over,” Danny commanded.
Panic rose within me and I fought to push it away. We flopped Kevy like a fish, ignoring the sharp discomfort on which he lay. Danny turned his head to one side and pushed on his back. “Lord in heaven,” Danny prayed aloud, “please save him.” Brown water trickled out of Kevy's mouth. Danny pushed again. Another trickle. On the third push Kevy's lips convulsed, his legs smacking against the rocks. He coughed violently, then retched. His eyeballs rolled under their closed lids, his throat gurgling. Danny flipped Kevy over to his back again and tilted his head. I bent down to cover my brother's mouth with my own once more, feeling the slick coldness of Kevy's skin on my lips. After three breaths I pulled away. “Come on, Kevy, breathe.”
I started to bend down again but Danny caught my arm. “No, wait.” My brother's chest began to rise, air whining in his throat. “Yes, Kevy.” I rubbed his forehead hard. “Come on.” His chest fell with a moan.
“Thank you, Jesus!” Danny cried excitedly. “Come on, Kevin!”
Kevy sucked in air again, his white face turning a slight pink, eyes fluttering open. “Celia.” His lips barely moved. Danny and I shot each other a victorious glance.
“Yes, Kevy, I'm here.”
For no reason a sob rose suddenly in my throat. I hadn't cried the whole time; now was an odd moment to start. “Oh,” I moaned, voice breaking. I tried to push the emotions away but could not. Kevy was all right; my brother was going to be fine. “Thank God!”