Wildwood

3. The River-1

The RiverThe world around me is thick and black. Roaring fills my ears. My heart races. I can’t breathe, can’t swallow. There’s too much sand in my eyes. I can’t open them. My chest burns. In the dark, a sliver of pinkish light becomes visible. My mind races for the light. The pressure in my chest swells to bursting, and all at once I jolt awake. Still the trapped feeling lingers. I throw the heavy quilt to the floor, and clutch at my chest, gasping until my breathing becomes normal.

“Tanzy,” my mother says from beside me, and touches my arm. “It’s okay, honey. I think you were having a bad dream.”

“Have they found Dad yet?” I ask. The roof of my mouth is hot and sticky.

“Not yet,” Dana answers from the chair in the corner of my room.

“How long was I asleep?” I pull myself up to sitting. My limbs are sore, and my skin a kaleidoscope of scrapes and bruises.

“Just through the night. It’s early,” Mom says.

“We haven’t found Teague, either,” Dana continues. “We searched the river and the woods until it was too dark to see. There’s a team of divers at the farm now…” she trails off, her eyes flitting in my mom’s direction. “They’re going to search the river, just to be sure he isn’t there.”

“You are absolutely sure he went into the river, too?” Mom clasps my forearm with both hands.

“He went in first. Teague got spooked and took off. There was this… this thing in front of Teague. He was scared, and he didn’t have anywhere to go… he just, he just went over.” My voice cracks.

“What thing?” Dana leans forward in her chair.

“It… I don’t know what it was. It was like a flash of light that turned into something pitch black. At first I thought it was part of the storm, but it was… it’s almost like it was alive.” I shake my head at myself. “I know how crazy it sounds, but it seemed like it blocked the path on purpose. Teague was going too fast to stop, and Dad…” I stop, biting back how Dad should’ve jumped off, should’ve never tried to stay on a horse bolting along a ledge. I look from Dana, who’s watching me with concern on her face, to my mom, whose expression has hardened, and my heart sinks. “It’s what I saw. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

“You went through a lot yesterday, Tee.” Dana stands. “I have heard that our minds sometimes skew or block memories to protect us from reliving the moment. Give it time. It’ll come back. You focus on feeling better. Hope, I will call you with any news. There’s no need for you guys to be out there right now.”

“Thank you, Dana.” My mother’s voice is strangled. She puts a hand on her throat and steals a glimpse of the sun through my window. Dana gives me a tight smile, and then shows herself out.

In the quiet, I watch my mom watch the sky. A tear rolls down her cheek. She swallows, blinking.

“What do you see out there, Mom?” I ask before I can stop myself.

She turns to me, her bright eyes wide. “I just, I think better when I look out.”

“What are you thinking about?” I whisper, not believing her, but not willing to push her for the truth.

“Where your dad is.”

“I thought… I thought I felt him in the river. He saved me. I felt him.”

Mom studies me through her tears. “He would do anything to save you. Anything.”

“But if he was there, if he saved me… where did he go?”

A cry escapes my mother. I scoot closer, and take her hands in mine. Together, we stare out into the clear morning.

“Did you…” I start, unsure of how to finish. Did she know something bad would happen if we broke tradition? Did she see it in the dawn? Does she see anything in the clear? Would she believe the woman on the radio?

“Do you believe in things we can’t see?” I finally ask.

My mother stiffens. “Do you mean like an afterlife?”

“No. I mean… the air we see, and accept that it’s clear, that there’s nothing there but, well, air. Do you think there’s something in it?”

“Like atoms or molecules or…” She trails off, her expression a question mark.

“No.” I work my lower lip between my teeth, trying to decide how to explain what I mean.

“Where is this coming from?” she asks, softening.

“There was a woman on the radio yesterday morning. She said there’s a world in the clear. And when Dad and I were on the ridge, I saw something.”

“What did you see?” She narrows her eyes.

“A huge rainbow. It covered the whole valley. There was something dark under it, moving fast. And then everything just disappeared.”

Mom’s expression hardens, as does her grip on my arm. “Does that have anything to do with what happened?”

“I… I’m not sure.” I glance at my arm, startled by the pressure she’s applying.

“You said Teague was spooked by something, and then a shadow blocked his path,” she pushes, her grip unyielding.

“He hadn’t been right the whole ride.” I pause, blinking back tears. Teague had most likely been spooked by the sound of my voice. If I hadn’t yelled… if I had kept my mouth shut about the shadow, Dad would’ve had more time to react.

…

Downstairs, the phone rings. Mom’s whole body tenses. Anticipation and dread are two corsets, squeezing tight around my middle.

“Stay in bed. I will be right back.” She jumps out of the seat and bolts from my room. I listen to her descend the stairs, and then slip out of bed and paint myself against the door frame, straining to hear her end of the conversation.

“Hightower residence, this is Hope speaking,” my mother says, her voice unnaturally high. In my mind, I can see her strangling the phone with one hand and chewing her nails on the other. “Hi, Dana,” she continues. I tiptoe to the banister. “That’s… that’s terrible. No, no go ahead and take care of it. There’s no reason for Tanzy to see that.” Her voice drops an octave, and I can tell she’s turned her back to the doorway that leads to the stairs and where I stand. They must have found Teague.

“I need to come out there. I want to see the river,” she says.

I freeze. Mom hasn’t been to Wildwood in months, maybe longer.

“Dana, my husband is still out there somewhere. I need to be there.” She pauses. I hear her feet pace the tile floor. “There’s just something I need to see.” After another pause she adds, “I want to see my husband’s horse. It’s important to me.”

I blink, questioning what I’ve just heard. My mother hasn’t touched a horse in a year, and I’m not sure she could pick Teague out of a pasture. Then again, Teague was Dad’s pride and joy. She can’t take care of my father. Maybe seeing to his horse’s body is the closest thing she has for now.

“No, Tanzy needs to rest. I can’t ask her to drive me. Will you come pick me up? I’ll have a neighbor sit with her.”

I rush down the stairs, clinging to the banister to keep from stumbling. When she hangs up the phone, I’m standing behind her.

“You’re not coming, Tanzy,” she says without turning around.

“Yes, I am.”

“No. It’s too soon. You need to rest. They found Teague, and they’re going to bury him. You don’t need to see that. You’re not ready to see that.”

“Yes, I am!”

“Tanzy, please. I am begging you. This is going to be hard enough.” She deflates. Her arms hang at her sides. “I need to know you’re home, safe in your bed. That’s the only way I’ll be strong enough to look into the river and…”

“And what, Mom?”

“I’ll know, Tanzy. One way or the other, I’ll know.”

“You’ll know…” I trail off. She turns around, and we lock stares. “You’ll know if Dad is gone,” I whisper.

She doesn’t respond.

“Then I need to be there,” I state.

“I’m not strong enough to keep us both together,” she whispers.

“I’m not asking you to be,” I plead. “Let me go with you. Let me be there for you.”

Mom nods, and bursts into tears. I wrap my arms around her shuddering frame, and we sink to the tile floor.

“What if he’s gone, Tanzy?” She lets out a sob. I squeeze my fist around a lock of her hair. “I don’t know how to do this without him.”

“We don’t know, yet. We don’t know,” I murmur. Inside, the little hole I felt open inside me yesterday grows wider and deeper. It’s black as night and ice cold, and I know. I know. But I can’t say it.

We’re waiting in the driveway when Dana’s truck rumbles to a stop in front of our house. She does little more than raise an eyebrow at me when I climb in the back seat. Mom sits in the front passenger seat. Dana turns off the radio, and we ride to the farm in silence.

I watch the sun paint the sky through Dana’s windshield, and my breathing quickens. Yesterday’s drive roars to life in my mind; the pancakes, the radio show, the smell of alfalfa. I pull the sleeves of my hoodie over my knuckles and press my hands against my mouth, forcing myself to slow how fast I’m inhaling. My eyes and nose burn with the threat of new tears. I close my eyes and recall my mother and her need for me to be strong enough for us both.

We pull into the parking lot. A flatbed trailer is already there, and two men are off loading a skid steer with a front bucket attachment. I look away, unable to stop myself from envisioning how they’ll use the bucket to move Teague’s body. I wonder why Mom wants to see him. Will it be the proof she needs that Dad went into the river?

“Take me to the river,” Mom whispers.

Dana opens her mouth and then closes it, a rebuttal probably stalled in her mouth. She glances at me, as if asking for permission, and I nod.

“We can take the Gator,” Dana says, breaking the silence, and we follow Dana to the front of the barn, where the UTV is parked. Mom waits for me to slide in first, but I step aside and motion her ahead of me so she’ll be in the middle.

Dana drives the Gator carefully out across the pasture and into the woods. I train my eyes straight ahead, but I can’t help noticing the shadows that lean out from behind every tree and shift along the forest floor. The moment we turn onto the ridge path, my pulse skyrockets and my hands turn clammy.

“We won’t be able to drive much further,” Dana says. “The path gets pretty steep and narrow.”

“That’s okay. We can stop here.” Mom points to a grassy shoulder. Dana pulls off and kills the engine. The river isn’t as swollen today, the rapids less angry. Still, my legs are shaking so hard I can barely stand. I support myself on the hood of the Gator, and clamor out so Mom can step down. She shields her eyes and scans the path.

“What’s the best way to the water?” Mom asks.

“Hope, you can’t go down there,” Dana says gently.

“That’s why I’m here,” Mom replies. “Now show me the way down.”

“I’m coming with you,” I say. She lifts her gaze and focuses on me, the word “no” rounding her mouth. Instead, she presses her lips in a line, and turns to the river. I fall in step behind her, and we follow Dana down the trail.

Once we reach the river, Dana points to an easy drop to the bank below, and then steps aside to let us go down without her. Mom toes out of her shoes, and walks out onto the shore with her feet bare. I fumble my way to her side, slipping more than once on the slick rocks. At the water’s edge, she closes her eyes and tilts up her chin. Her black hair blows loose behind her. Sunlight catches in it, revealing mahogany undertones that I can’t recall ever noticing before. She opens her hands and lets them hang at her sides. I stare at her, mystified. She’s not a religious person, and I have only ever set foot in a church when Dad’s parents made us during their only visit south, but in this moment, she looks like she’s praying. Her pale skin is marble smooth, and her frame barely stirs with breath. She could be a statue on this river bank. Bathed in sunlight, she is aglow, and it’s as if I am seeing her for the first time.

Without opening her eyes, she crouches down and reaches for the water. Even though the river is calmer and transparent here, I have to stop myself from grabbing her shirt and hauling her backward. I step closer to her side, ready to catch her if she loses her balance. She reaches through the surface and allows the current to play with her fingers. She shudders, and a jagged breath parts her lips. Her eyes open briefly, then she squeezes them shut, and new tears roll out.