Riversong

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  ISBN 978-1-935961-14-7

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  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to: Maria Petrone Palmer, Nina Pittenger, Natalie Symons, Jim Airy, Richard Jobes, Jennifer Risko, Marilyn Dahl, Rich and Violet Estrin, Jacqui Farnsworth, Lynnette Bradbury, Caroline Allen, Anthony Horton, Helen Hardwick, Ron and Bea Thompson, Kenneth Shear, Katherine Fye Sears. My editor, Ann Staley.

  For Dave

  Prologue

  1988

  Lee Tucker sat on the front steps of the covered porch at her family's farmhouse, a sketch pad and wire bound notebook in her lap. She wrote the date on the top of a notebook sheet and then, pushing her glasses further onto the bridge of her nose, searched her mind for possible calamities to write on her worry list. Each morning she captured potential misfortunes in writing, having come up with the idea as a way to manage her anxiety when she was eight years old after the night her inebriated mother fell down the stairs and broke her arm in three places. It happened in the middle of an ink black night; a scream, the sound of glass breaking on a hard wood floor, a succession of thuds and then a loud thump. Lee ran from her room, eyes heavy from sleep. She saw her mother crumpled, unmoving, like a discarded rag doll at the bottom of the stairs. Eleanor dazed, said to her daughter, “Call an ambulance.” The ambulance took them both to the hospital. Lee sat in the lobby while they fixed her mother's arm and made her first list on the back of a magazine order form.

  Back then she'd had a childlike belief that writing a list would keep the bad things from happening; that which was named could be kept at bay, she'd thought. But she was eighteen now and knew better. Writing the words on a clean sheet of paper was merely a way to curtail the fear. She knew by now her mother would do what she would do. Lee didn't factor into the equation.

  June 1, 1988

  (59 days until I leave for college).

  List of Worries

  Mom will find my bus fare and spend it all on booze before I can leave.

  I will have no way to get to college.

  I will wither away day after day here in this hot house while mom collects more and more papers and books and other stuff until the walls collapse in on me, causing me to suffocate.

  She tapped the eraser of the pencil on the paper. She always wrote in pencil so she could modify later in the day, as thoughts occurred to her. A lady bug landed on the toe of her sneaker. The sun was warm on the top of her head. She looked beyond the overgrown yard to the mountains jutting from the earth in magnificent peaks against a brilliant blue sky. Summer had come overnight to southwestern Oregon, bringing a dry heat that by July would bake the rich soil and turn the grasses every hue of yellow.

  Lee heard the hum of a vehicle and looked up to see Mrs. White's old yellow Ford truck racing down the dirt road. Ellen White was a spare sinewy woman. Her bony hands gripped the large steering wheel as the truck bounced through the many potholes on the Tucker's part of the road so that it appeared as if she were attached to the steering wheel itself. Her long braid, the color of a speckled hen, jerked with every bump like a live snake down her straight spine.

  Ellen White was the Tucker's only neighbor for miles. The houses shared a swimming hole with a sandy shore and deep water, a rope swing no one used; property divided equally by Lee's grandparents and Ellen and Ralph White years ago when they first settled in this valley. Not that it made any difference to Lee. She wasn't allowed to swim. Her mother was afraid of water.

  Lee lifted a hand to wave. Instead of driving past like she did most mornings Mrs. White stopped, turning off the engine and hopping out of the truck in what seemed like one fluid movement. “Mornin',” Mrs. White said. She was dressed in a long skirt, a blouse buttoned up to her neck, square practical shoes: English teacher clothes.

  “Mornin',” Lee said.

  “Senior skip day, isn't it? Why you sittin' here?” She had an unequivocal way of speaking and an economical way of moving.

  “Not going,” Lee said.

  “Why's that?”

  “No way to get there.”

  “Your mother's old Dodge broken down?”

  “I can't drive.” She felt herself go hot, ashamed.

  Mrs. White put her hands on her hips and shook her head, pursing her lips like she did during English class when someone hadn't read the assignment. “Your mother didn't teach you to drive? How you supposed to go off to that fancy college if you can't drive?”

  Lee shrugged, watching an ant make its way across the weathered board of the porch step. “She's afraid of cars.”

  Mrs. White nodded, her eyes darting upward and then returning to Lee's face different than the moment before. Flat dry eyes, the color of faded denim, Lee thought. Seemed everyone in town knew her grandparents had died in a car accident before Lee was born and that Eleanor had raised her alone. No husband, no family. “Regardless, a person needs a way to get around,” Mrs. White said, crossing her arms over her spare chest.

  “I'll take the bus. The bus system in Seattle's real good.”

  “Really good. ‘Though I ‘spect you could come up with a better description than ‘good’.” She pulled up her sleeve and looked at her watch. “All my morning classes are cancelled due to senior skip day, so there's no need for me to hurry in this mornin'.” As if her word decided everything, she said with finality, “I'll drive you up there.”

  “You know about the party?”

  “I've been teaching high school since before you were born. There isn't a thing I don't know about you kids.”

  Lee shrugged, as if she didn't care. “No one expects me.”

  Mrs. White peered at her. “What does that mean?”

  “I don't really want to go.”

  “Why?”

  “For one, I don't have a bathing suit.”

  Something flickered in Mrs. White's light blue eyes. Anger maybe. Lee couldn't be sure. “That's ridiculous. How could you not have a suit?”

  Lee didn't say anything, thinking Mrs. White asked a lot of questions. Mrs. White's gaze flickered to the window of Lee's mother's bedroom and then back to Lee. “You have shorts and a t-shirt?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Those'll work fine. What's the other thing?”

  “Huh?”

  “You said ‘for one thing.’ What's the other?”

  Lee put her finger on her sneaker and the lady bug crawled onto it. “I won't know what to do there.”

  “Preposterous. You'll eat chips, put your toes in the water, listen to that God awful Michael Jackson you kids like on one of those, what are they?”

  Lee smiled. “Boom boxes.” The lady bug took flight from Lee's finger, heading for an empty flower box.

  “Right.”

  “But, I-”.

  Mrs. White put up her hand and shushed Lee with a quick click of her tongue. “Go get on your shorts. You're going to the party if I have to drag you up there by your red hair.”

  They drove up the winding mountain
road towards the river spot Lee heard the other kids call “Six Mile.” The cab of the truck smelled like rubber and gasoline and she felt slightly queasy. They drove higher and higher. The hay fields in the valley below soon appeared as rectangular patches of green, the farm houses like dollhouses. Her heart beat loud in her chest. She told herself not to be scared of everything like her mother was. People drive this road every day, she thought. But the road was carved into the mountain and if they were unfortunate enough to take a corner too fast they might fall over the cliff and be killed instantly. She shivered, imagining the car tumbling over the side of the mountain and crashing into the canyon below. Had she known about this turn of events she would have included it on her worry list.

  As the road became steeper, Mrs. White slowed the car, keeping her eyes on the road. “Your mother sleeping in this morning?”

  Lee examined her profile, wondering what Mrs. White knew about them. “Yeah,” she answered, turning her gaze to the passenger side window. There was wire tacked to the side of the mountain to keep boulders and rocks from falling onto the road. There were dangers everywhere, she thought, vowing never to come up here again.

  The road curved sharply and Mrs. White shifted gears. The truck made a lower pitched hum. “Eleanor ever tell you her mother was my best friend?

  “Nope.” Then, afraid she'd sounded rude, added, “We don't talk much.”

  “Your mother and I had a little falling out, years ago.” She glanced at Lee. “When you were a baby.”

  Lee was curious about what she meant by a “falling out”, but was too shy to ask. She figured it was something nasty her mother had said or done. That's the way it was with drunks: anger, belligerence, paranoia. Lee knew that by now.

  Silence for a few minutes and then she saw a dirt parking lot, packed with cars and trucks. “This is it,” Mrs. White said. “You want me to pick you up later?”

  “I hadn't thought about it.”

  “I best come get you. Most of these yahoos will be drinking. Be a miracle from God if no one gets killed. Pick you up at four?”

  Lee looked at her watch. It was only 9:30. “That seems like a long time.” A long time to not know what to say or do, she thought. An eternity to sit around feeling ridiculous in her faded shorts and her skinny white legs and her flat boobs.

  “Three then.” Mrs. White flicked her hand towards Lee's door. “Go on now. Don't want any kids to see me up here.”

  After Mrs. White drove away, Lee looked around, wondering if it was too late to chase after the truck and tell Mrs. White, forget it, I don't need this much humiliation. I get enough at home, she might add. Then she saw some kids heading towards a sandy trail between some Birch trees and decided to follow them, feeling the pain of self-consciousness in every step, clutching her canvas bag that held her sketch pad and notebook to her chest. The path led to a sandy beach and a deep green swimming hole as perfectly shaped as if it were a man-made pool. The beach was scattered with kids in bathing suits and shorts. There were coolers stuffed full of beer. Chips and cookies peaked out of grocery bags. Someone had a boom box blaring Madonna's, “Papa Don't Preach”. She smelled marijuana smoke and saw some kids behind a tree passing a joint.

  On the other side of the swimming hole were boulders jutting ten or so feet above the water where kids sat, dangling their legs over the sides or tanning themselves against the rocks. Suddenly a boy did a Tarzan yell and dove from the tallest point into the jade colored water. Lee gasped, realizing she was clutching the sides of her own arms with fright until the boy's head bobbed out of the water, hair covering his face. He whipped his head to one side and his hair fell back in place. Then he swam the crawl back towards the rocks, head poking out of the water and moving from side to side in a way that reminded Lee of an overgrown puppy. Christina Brown, big hair, black lined eyes, from sixth period health class, stood beside her. She gave Lee a look like, who are you and why are you here? Then she adjusted her bikini bottoms and waved to the boy in the water.

  Lee walked to the water's edge. She took off her sneakers and put her feet into the water. The sand was soft, the water as cold as iced tea. Her feet looked whiter than usual under the water. Minnows came to nibble at her toes. Someone was distributing bottles of beer. She surprised herself when she held up her hand for one and used her shirt to twist off the cap. She sipped it tentatively. It tasted bitter and the bubbles tickled going down her throat but she took two long swallows. Then she sat back against a rock and tossed stones into the river, wishing she hadn't let that bossy Mrs. White talk her into coming. She didn't belong here, amidst all the laughter, abandonment, the war cries of freedom. These other kids were alive and vibrant. She was chained and invisible. She understood she wasn't offensive to the other kids like Ronnie Myer who didn't shower and smelled badly, or Sally Wagner who had a nervous tick and one eye that crossed and a strange habit of talking to herself in the lunchroom. Lee was just benign, someone no one thought of, like she didn't really exist. Maybe she wasn't really here or there or anywhere. Her thoughts were turning jumbled. Could it be the two sips of beer, she wondered.

  She forced herself to take another long sip. It still tasted terrible. She poured some of it onto the wet sand. The beer turned into white foam and then made air holes in the surface.

  She wandered along the edge of the river. Climbing onto a boulder she saw a patch of sand nestled between large rocks, almost like a cave. No one was there. Holding her beer in one hand and her bag in the other, she clambered over the smooth round granite to perch on an indentation that was like a seat. She took out her sketch pad and began drawing a cluster of poppies. The green buds hadn't opened yet, merely hinting at the vibrant orange that would soon be revealed.

  She lobbed a pebble into the water and hearing footsteps turned her head to see Zac Huller approaching, walking lopsided, holding a beer. He was class vice-president, an athlete. Some girl had written “babe” in lipstick on his locker last week. Lee knew his parents owned the town sawmill. “Born with a silver spoon in their mouth,” her mother said once, sneering. Zac stopped, looking disappointed. “Oh, I thought you were someone else.” He plopped down on the sand, inches from her bare legs. “What're you doing?”

  She tossed another pebble. “I don't know.”

  “Everybody's getting loaded.” He tipped the beer into his mouth, his Adam's apple moving up and down with each swallow.

  Lee chucked a small flat rock and it skipped over the water in three leaps.

  Zac threw his empty bottle and it shattered into jagged pieces. “Man, I can't wait to get out of this shit-hole.” Brown glass lay in shards on the sand and he kicked one with his foot, pulling another beer from his shorts.

  “Me too.”

  “I heard you got a big scholarship. What for?”

  “Art.”

  “I saw your paintings hanging in the cafeteria. Freaked me out but I don't know crap about art. I'm going to the community college up by Eugene. My dad's got a boner over college, so here I go.” He kicked the sand and sipped his beer. “My dad just wants to get rid of me now that my mother left him. She went to Florida with some rich guy she met when she went to visit my aunt. She hated it here. Always talking about how much she missed the city and what a hick my old man is. I guess she hated me too because she's gone, gone, gone.” He tore the label off the beer bottle and crumpled it between his fingers. “Wanna hear something messed up?” He looked at her, eyes half-closed. “Do you?”

  “I guess.”

  “I saw my mother porking that guy in Florida. I walked in on them one day after school. It was disgusting. I hate him. My dad's a jerk, always on my ass about everything, but this guy, this guy's a complete waste.”

  Lee remembered then that he was gone the first part of the school year. “Did you come back after that?”

  “Yeah, I came back to live with my dad. He thinks I'm a complete screw-up, so that's a lot of fun.” He flipped his hair out of his eyes and stared at her, slapping her ankle.
“You know, you're not so ugly underneath those glasses.” Lee looked at him, thinking he was interesting in a science project kind of way, and lobbed another pebble.

  He lurched to a standing position and dropped with a thud on the rock next to her, waving his hand between them. “What do you think about this?”

  Lee's eyes darted away from his face to the sun glistening on the water. “About what?”

  “Y'know, me talking you up?” His fingers grasped her knee and then went up her leg to the soft flesh of her inner thigh. “You ever think this would happen?”

  Lee put her legs together. “Exactly what are we talking about?”

  “I'm Zac and, you're a, what are you? A non-person. I've watched you in that bullshit Health class and I wonder if you're a girl or a robot.” His words slurred and there was spittle in the corners of his mouth. “Maybe I could loosen you up. Make you scream a little, break the robot out of her shell.” He pulled on the collar of her t-shirt with his index finger. “This could be a good spot to y'know.” He raised his eyebrows and patted the sand with his foot. “Nice and soft.”

  “It's not really soft, as a matter of fact.”

  The vein on his forehead bulged as his face turned a shade of purple. “See, like that, the way you're so stiff and shit. It's weird.” He yanked her glasses from her face and tossed them onto her canvas bag. He pulled her to the sand. He was on top of her. Sharp pebbles dug into the backs of her legs. His wet tongue wiggled around inside her mouth like a slug and his breath smelled of beer and Doritos. He panted, his hands clutching at her breasts like he was trying to pluck them from her body.

  She wheezed against his weight, attempting to push him off. He was heavier than he looked. “Don't you have a girlfriend?”