The River to Glory Land

by Janie DeVos

  Suddenly, everyone moved toward the veranda at the sound of engines revving up. When they quieted a little, someone began speaking through a megaphone, announcing the start of the first race. Peter and I hurried out to the veranda, and Olivia waved me over to a chair next to her. At the moment though, everyone was on their feet.

  “The racers will run a series of six heats.” One of the race officials stood on a makeshift wooden platform on the beach below, shouting to the crowd through his megaphone. He had on a white boater’s straw hat, which was flat on the top with a red and blue ribbon around the base of the crown, paired with a white sports jacket and navy trousers. About a hundred yards down from him, just offshore in the Atlantic, eleven boats lined up side by side. Exhaust streamed out from behind them. When the race began, the air would thicken with it. I could see that Rusty was in the second from the last lane on the far side. Marv was right in the middle. I looked around and saw that there were hundreds of spectators watching from the different hotel verandas, patios and windows, and hundreds more crowding the beach.

  Suddenly, the breeze picked up and caught the bottom of my red and white pleated dropped-waist dress, threatening to expose far more than just my knees. Holding the material in place with one hand, I shielded my eyes from the sun with the other and looked up at the banners that I considered removing a short time ago. They were making a distractingly loud clapping sound, and I decided that they were no longer a festive touch but a blasted annoyance instead.

  “Each participant will earn a series of points from those heats,” the official continued, drawing my attention away from the banners. “And the six boats with the highest scores will quality for the final race. Then, our new champion—or perhaps our returning champion,” he chuckled, referring to Buff Reynolds, who was positioned right next to Marv, “will be crowned the winner of the Seventh Annual Sandy Cup Invitational.”

  I looked off to my right, where cheering had sounded when the official mentioned Buff’s name. It came from the crowded veranda of the Belvedere Hotel. In spite of the crowd, I spotted Chick Belvedere standing at the railing. He stood at an imposing height of well over six feet tall so he wasn’t hard to miss. No matter the time of the year, the man always wore white or light pastel-colored jackets, and today was certainly no exception. The one he wore was a pale yellow. It stood out in stark contrast to his dyed black hair, which he’d slicked back with far too much pomade. He always greased his black moustache, too, which was way too thin for his narrow face. He looked toward the left, allowing me to glimpse more of his face. Even though he was too far away for me to clearly see his eyes, I knew they were nearly as black as his hair. They were too small for his face, though, and always oddly bright, almost feverishly so, giving him a seedy, rat-like appearance.

  “You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover,” my mother told me when I’d mentioned Chick’s rat-like eyes.

  “Maybe not, Mama,” I replied, “but I believe you can get a pretty good idea of what its content might be.”

  Rather than scolding me for my smart aleck remark, she tossed back her head of beautiful thick black hair with its strip of white-gray down the right side of her face and laughed. “Darlin’ girl,” she’d said, “I do believe you might be right about that.”

  There was no doubt about it; when it came to that sassy part of me, I took after my mother. She never once made me feel like I shouldn’t speak my mind, or follow my heart, no matter what the circumstances might be.

  “Now,” the official said with great exuberance, “let the race begin!”

  Immediately, the boats revved their engines loudly. They were designed for hydroplaning and equipped with enormous hundred-pound engines, which allowed them to reach incredible speeds of up to 50mph, and so the sound was deafening, even from a distance.

  The official set his megaphone down and picked up a large green flag. Holding his hat in place with one hand as the wind tried to snatch it, he raised the flag in his other, and then, after several seconds of holding completely still, he brought the flag down with dramatic force. Immediately, the boats blasted off from the starting line with incredible power to begin the first two and a half mile lap of the six they would make in this heat. The course was set out in a huge rounded triangle and marked off by flags attached to buoys. The drivers were required to stay on the outside of the flags. If they didn’t handle their turns perfectly, they could find themselves on the inside, which would result in their immediate disqualification. When that happened, the driver would stay safely within the triangle and wait until the heat was completed before moving back out onto the course.

  Throughout most of the heat, Marv and Rusty held comfortable spots behind the boats in the first and second positions. Then, as they came around the last hard turn, Rusty cut the boat closer to the buoy than any of the other racers had done, with the exception of Garfield Wood, who had won many racing titles in the crafts he designed and built. Because of that well-played maneuver, Rusty managed to place second in the heat.

  The crowd on the veranda went wild. Cheering and laughing with delight, I looked around at everyone and saw that Rusty’s mother, Maven, had grasped onto her husband’s lapels and was jumping up and down, causing the silk fruits on her hat to bounce along as if nodding their approval.

  The second and third heats went well, too. Marv placed fifth, just as he had done in the first heat, which put him in a decent position to make it to the final, while Rusty placed second again, and then third, assuring his place in the championship race.

  Between heats, the Strickland boats headed over to the seawall where my parents stood, waiting to direct the drivers in any way necessary while the mechanics tended to the boats. I knew my father was discussing strategies with them and wondered if he would instruct Rusty to ride out the last three heats comfortably to prevent the possibility of blowing an engine, or worse, having an accident.

  The boats started the fourth heat and made it cleanly around the first two laps without anyone being disqualified. This time, Marv was ahead of Rusty. Buff Reynolds was ahead of them both, and neck and neck with Garfield Wood. As the boats came around the last turn, Buff attempted to break away from Garfield, but instead of doing so, he overpowered his engine, causing the boat to fishtail and careen wildly out of control. At the same time, a strong gust of wind caught the stern, making it nearly impossible for Buff to regain control of the boat. Marv cut past him just in time, but Buff’s stern whipped back again, catching Rusty’s bow. Instantly, Rusty was ejected from the boat at the same time it splintered into a thousand pieces. The other boats narrowly missed hitting the debris. But the next to last boat wasn’t able to avoid hitting Rusty. The boats killed their engines and we heard the sounds of screaming, but Rusty heard nothing as he slipped beneath the waves.

  Chapter 6

  A Concrete Heart

  Daddy and Mama drove the Hollisters to the hospital, while Olivia and I rode with our grandparents. Sitting in the backseat, I held Olivia’s head in my lap as she sobbed uncontrollably. Finally, our grandmother had had enough and told Olivia to pull herself together.

  Emergency personnel standing on the seawall had immediately dispatched a small boat waiting there for just such an emergency. The driver circled the area where Rusty had gone under while another dove in and quickly brought him up to the surface. They worked on him in the bottom of the boat for a couple of minutes, and once they got him breathing again, sped back to shore and a waiting ambulance. Neil Aldrich had raced down to the ambulance and rode with Rusty to Miami Beach’s recently built Allison Hospital. By the time we arrived there, Neil had already rushed Rusty up to surgery to treat a critical head injury.

  We sat in the waiting room for nearly four hours; praying, talking, crying and holding our breath at the sound of footsteps each time we heard them coming down the hall. Finally, an exhausted-looking Neil came into the room and sat down in a chair next to Mr. Hollister.
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br />   “Well, he came through it,” Neil immediately assured us as he pulled off his surgical cap and rubbed his face with both hands. “But, he’s got a long way to go,” he quickly added, tempering our exclamations of joy and relief.

  “Unfortunately, the left side of his head took the brunt of the impact and his left ear was completely sheared off.” A gasp erupted from both Maven and Francine. Jim took his wife’s hand and Olivia took Francine’s as Neil continued. “Honestly, folks, that’s the least of his problems. His brain is bleeding, and there’s a lot of swelling, so we performed a trepanation. We drilled a small hole in his skull to reduce some of the pressure,” he explained in layman’s terms. “Right now, Rusty is in a coma, but we’re hopeful that once some of the swelling goes down, he’ll come out of it. The bottom line is, only time will tell. I wish I could be more positive for you, but it’s just touch ’n go at this point. Maven, Jim, if y’all want to stay here, I’ll see about having some cots brought up for you.”

  He stood up, placed his hands in the small of his back and did a small backbend. “It’s gonna be a long night, folks. Everyone try to get some rest. I’m staying here for a while. If there’s any change, I’ll let you know.” Everyone uttered words of thanks as he left the room.

  “I’ll be right back,” I whispered to Mama, who was sitting next to me, and then I hurried out to the hallway.

  “Dr. Aldrich. Neil!” I softly called, stopping him. From the way his shoulders drooped, it was obvious that he was exhausted.

  I hurried up to him. “Is there anything else you can tell me that you didn’t say back there?”

  “Come in here with me while I get some coffee,” he said, ushering me into a small doctors’ lounge.

  “Here, let me,” I said, knowing how Neil took his coffee. I’d done it enough. I walked over to a tray of white mugs sitting by a coffee pot and pastries on a long table that was set up in front of a bank of windows at the back of the room. After stirring one small teaspoon of sugar into the otherwise black coffee, I handed it to Neil. Rather than moving to one of the chairs, he simply leaned up against the refreshment table and ran his hands through his thick auburn hair.

  “God, I’m tired,” he admitted before taking a sip. Then, “He’s bad off, Lily. I wish our neurosurgeon, Robert Simon, was on staff right now but he’s gone to New Zealand for the holidays. He has a daughter there. We did what we could though, and, honestly, I’m not so sure there’s much else Rob could have done. The brain’s a complex organ—a miraculous one, but a complex one. Like I told Rusty’s family; all we can do is wait and see.”

  “What are his odds?” I softly asked.

  “He’s the darkest horse in the race. Only the most foolish would put any money on him,” he frankly replied.

  Placing my hands on my hips, I looked down at the tops of my red t-strap pumps and took several deep breaths to keep from crying. It did no one any good to see me breakdown. I needed to hold it together for the Hollisters, for my family, and even for Neil. The last thing he needed was to have to console some weeping female. Suddenly, he lifted my chin with his thumb and forefinger so that he could look me in the eye.

  “You don’t always have to be so strong, Lily,” he said, with a small smile. He’d worked around me enough to know that I hated showing any signs of weakness. His compassion and understanding started to widen the small fracture in my composure and my eyes welled up. “We’re doing everything we can,” he reassured me in a whisper.

  “I know you are,” I replied, my voice thick with emotion.

  Neil studied my face, then tucked the long side of my bob behind my right ear. “I’ve missed you, you know.” I could hear the emotion in his voice.

  “I know,” I whispered. “But, Laura’s a good—”

  “I know,” he repeated, cutting me off.

  Then, before either of us could remind ourselves of the fact that our actions would hurt other people terribly, Neil leaned in and gently kissed me. I responded with all of the longing that had been building up in me over the months, turning our gentle kiss into one of heated intensity.

  Finally, some semblance of common sense broke through to my emotionally overloaded mind and I pulled away from him. Wide-eyed, I covered my mouth with the back of my right hand and shook my head at him. “We can’t do this. We can’t,” I whispered thickly as I started to back toward the door.

  “Lily, I…” Neil let his words trail off and watched me for a moment before turning to face the window. He ran his hand through his hair again, but this time it seemed like a response to frustration rather than exhaustion.

  “I’ve got to get back…I need to see…” I let my sentence fall away as I hurried out of the lounge and ducked into the ladies’ room right next door. Fortunately, there was no one in there. Locking myself in one of the three stalls, I closed the lid on the toilet seat, sat down, and cried out all of the sadness that weighed down my heart. As the tears flowed freely, I wondered if all of the pain and unfairness that life seemed to dole out would cause my heart to close itself off, making it as hard as concrete.

  Chapter 7

  Looking from the Outside In

  I returned to the waiting room and found that more people had arrived to keep vigil. Janice Reynolds, Buff’s wife, was among the new arrivals. I learned that Buff suffered nothing more than a broken leg from the impact of the collision, and had just gone up for surgery. Marv Tollison, and his wife, Gloria, and Scott Monroe were there as well. Scott, as it turned out was Buff’s first cousin. Laura Aldrich was another addition to the group. When I walked into the room and saw her, I felt the blood drain from my face. Although I said hello to her, my eyes couldn’t quite meet hers. I hoped she wouldn’t notice it. If she did, I prayed she would assume that it was nothing more than everyone feeling at a loss for words. Olivia scooted over on the couch and I sat down by her.

  “You’ve been crying,” she whispered, looking stricken. “What did Dr. Aldrich say?” She clearly assumed I’d been driven to tears by what he privately told me about Rusty’s condition. To a certain degree, she was correct.

  “He said he’s bad off, Olivia. But we already know that. We’ll just keep praying and, hopefully, his brain will stop bleeding and the swelling will go down. We just have to wait ’n see, though.”

  Olivia looked down at her crossed hands on her lap and several tears splattered the tops of them. I put my arm around her shoulders. “He’s in good hands, Sister. They’re doing all they can. Fortunately, Rusty was in good shape, so that helps a lot. If I were a betting woman, I’d put money on him to pull through.” I was lying through my teeth but I hoped Olivia didn’t realize it. “Have y’all had anything to eat?” She just shook her head in response.

  I needed some air, and, more than anything, I needed to be away from Laura Aldrich. Standing up, I looked around the room and said, “How about if I get some coffee and sandwiches for everyone? It’s not gonna do Rusty any good—or Buff either—if we don’t keep our strength up.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Mama said, standing up.

  We went around the room writing down what everyone wanted, and when I asked Scott what he’d like, for some odd reason, I had as much trouble meeting his eyes as I did Laura’s. He told me he was fine at the moment, but thanked me anyway, and then Mama and I left the room.

  “Let me run into the ladies’ room,” Mama said. As she did, I waited out in the hallway. Suddenly, I felt exhausted. I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes but I opened them a moment later at the sound of approaching footsteps. Scott was walking toward me.

  “You know if the men’s room is this way?” he asked, jutting his chin in the direction past the ladies’ room. Now that I was standing next to him, I realized he stood about six feet tall. Though he wasn’t extremely tall, he was well built, making him a good-sized man.

  “Yes, it’s just down a little bit,” I replied.
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  “Okay, thanks,” he said, and started to move away. But before he’d gone more than a couple of steps, he stopped and turned back to me.

  “Mind if I give you a friendly piece of advice, Miss Strickland?”

  “Uh…no. I guess not.”

  He stepped even closer to me, placed his hand up on the wall next to my head and leaned in. He was close enough that I could see his eyes were green, though the shade varied from a dark green at the edge of his irises to a lemon-lime green in the center. Some women would find his eyes sensual, but they made me terribly uncomfortable, as if he could see through me.

  Scott looked to the right and left, then seeing that no one was within earshot said, “The next time you’re going to neck with someone else’s husband, make sure there are no windows in the door of the room you’re in. If someone were to walk by and happen to catch a glimpse, they’d sure get an eyeful.”

  “Oh, my God,” I whispered.

  “Fear not, Miss Strickland.” He smiled, apparently amused because he’d caught me in such a compromising position. “There was no one with me. However, I can’t tell you if anyone else saw anything before or after I walked by. Your secret is safe with me at least.” Suddenly, his grin faded away, and he looked at me hard for a second or two longer. Then, without saying another word, he pushed himself away from the wall and headed down the hallway.

  Chapter 8

  A New Kind of Normal

  Rusty Hollister died just before three o’clock in the morning. Neil came into the waiting room to tell us, but there really wasn’t any need to. The look on his face said it all. Immediately, Francie let out a keening wail and then quieted into heavy sobbing, but Maven just sat there staring into space with absolutely no color in her face. Jim grasped her hand and kept calling her name, but she wouldn’t respond. Finally, she turned to her husband and said in a strange monotone voice that she figured Rusty’s blue suit was the best one he had and they’d bury him in that. Then, she stood up on shaking legs, said she had a pile of ironing to do and promptly fainted. She didn’t fall forward or backward, but merely went down in a heap as though she had melted. Neil called into the hall for smelling salts and within a minute, Maven was sitting upright again and crying to the point that she hyperventilated. When they got her breathing under control, Neil decided to keep her for a few hours to make sure that no other symptoms of shock set in. Then she was taken by gurney to another room with Jim walking alongside her, more concerned about keeping his wife alive than allowing the grief of his lost son to set in.