by Holly Green
“Cancer,” Cully says. “It happened so fast.”
“She cheated on you right after your dog died? That’s cold.”
“To be fair, she was cheating on me before my dog died,” he says. And I can see it now, that he’s drenched in sadness, trying to pretend he’s not. I want to get a towel and dry it off him. “I still shouldn’t have done it.”
“So that’s why you took our number? Because of Tanner?” There’s no fire left in me around that number.
“I couldn’t pass it up once I thought of it.”
“Are you …” I don’t know how to ask this. “Is it going to mess with you if she’s there tomorrow?” I hope to god he says no. As hard as this has been, the best parts of the race are behind us. The rest is a bunch of suck. I don’t need my partner simmering over the deep noirness of his soul at every water stop. “I bet Erica would keep her away. She’s intimidating as hell when she wants to be.”
“Yeah. I get that about her,” Cully says. “But the thing at Cottonseed won’t happen again. It was an anomaly. I don’t want to be with anyone who could do that to me.”
Which doesn’t mean that he’s not still hurting. It sounds more like a mantra. One of those things you say over and over again, hoping that one day you’ll finally convince yourself. Like I welcome the pain and I’m not scared of paddling through the second night and I’m not worried about making it through the next few hours without water.
Also, who says anomaly?
We round a bend to a long straightaway, and we must be facing east, because there’s a glow on the horizon.
Almost through the night.
6:11 A.M. SUNDAY
The light on the horizon gets bigger. Brighter. We take a turn to the west, and although the sun isn’t all the way up, it’s bright enough that we can turn the flashlights off. When the river bends back to the east half an hour later, the sun is in the sky.
It’s officially the second day.
To be followed by the second night.
We paddle on, and neither of us has the energy to talk anymore.
Minutes tick by slowly. Each time I swallow, my tongue has to unstick from the back of my throat. Each stroke takes so much effort, and for once, Cully has the cadence spot on.
“You doing okay back there?” he asks. “Something feels off.”
“Just tired,” I say.
“Have a snack and grab a sip of water.”
It’s what I would have told him.
“Yeah. Thanks.” I put down my paddle and rumple my snack bag so he’ll think I’m eating. There’s not enough moisture in my mouth for food. I wouldn’t be able to get it down.
The sun shines red through my eyelids. Inhale. Exhale.
My head swims when I sit back up.
Maybe there’s something left in my water bottle.
It takes forever to unscrew the lid, like my hands aren’t connected to my body, but then I tip it back. Half a mouthful of wet. I’m so sick of lime, but I don’t even care. I swish it around and my mouth must absorb it like a sponge, because I swear none of it actually makes it down my throat.
“You okay?” Cully asks again.
“Yeah. Fine.” My head is swimming again. It aches. I take a couple of breaths to steady myself. “Fine.”
Every stroke is a stroke closer to Hochheim. To my bank crew. To water.
It becomes a chant in my head. The word starts at the catch and ends when I pull out.
Closer. Closer. Closer.
Seven o’clock comes.
Then eight.
Then nine.
I slip on my sunglasses and hat because the sun makes my head worse. My eyes can’t focus on the water. They linger around my toes. My stomach is beyond empty. It’s nausea and pain at the same time.
There it is. In the distance. I can’t keep my eyes off the shore below, trying to make out Erica and Gonzo and the boat ramp. But it’s too far. Too blurry with my tired, dry eyes.
Until we’re close enough that it’s not.
“Here. Take it.” Erica offers me the water tube before we’ve even stopped the boat. I take it and bite the rubbery tip and drink, trying to wet that spot at the back of my tongue. Trying to wet my whole mouth. I take pull after pull and swish it around. The dry spot isn’t satisfied. It’ll take more than just water. It’ll take time.
I throw a leg on either side of the boat for stability. My head still pounds, and now that I have something to swallow it with, I pull out a couple of vacuum-sealed Advil and swallow them, too.
Only now, with my belly full of water and medicine, do I actually look at Erica. She’s wiped off the eyeliner and her limp hair sticks to her head.
“You’re an idiot for running off without food,” she says. “We took turns on our phones all night making sure your dot was still moving. We were going to bushwhack our way to you on the side of the river with water and food if you stopped.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “We made it.”
“You look terrible.” She hands me something wrapped in foil. “Eat this.”
I unwrap the foil to find the holy grail. A warm breakfast taco full of eggs, potatoes, bacon, and cheese.
“Oh, thank god.” I exhale the words before taking a bite. It is warm and soft and juicy, and having it in my mouth, chewing it, is everything. My eyes drift shut as I chew each bite until it’s gone.
When I finally finish my religious experience, Erica has changed out my water and food bag. She’s peering through the mesh to the wrappers and food inside.
I doubt she slept at all. “Thank you so much for this.”
“How come you didn’t eat all your food? You couldn’t have had much to begin with.”
“I ran out of water a few hours ago. Didn’t think I’d be able to get food down without water.” I take another long drink. My stomach cramps.
She nods toward Cully. “Did he have any left?”
“I couldn’t let Cully know I was out,” I whisper.
Her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. “So he’s Cully now?”
“Shut up. We had to talk to each other.”
“We should put the lights away, right?” Cully twists around to face me.
“Yeah, let me do it,” I say, because the whole system is finicky. It was always my job with Tanner, too.
I put my hands on the gunnels and push up. Everything starts to go black. My head wobbles. I let myself back down. I close my eyes and breathe. There’s not quite enough oxygen, not enough of anything, inside me.
“Whoa, Sadie. Are you okay?” It’s Cully’s voice.
Someone pushes through the water toward me. A cool hand on my forehead, and then a pair of fingers on my wrist.
“How are you feeling?” Gonzo asks. I open my eyes. It’s his hand. His fingers.
“Woozy,” I answer.
“I bet,” he says. “You’re dehydrated.”
“I could have told you that,” I say.
“Well, I’m telling you that you need to lie down and get some more fluids and some food in your body before you go,” he says. “Small sips. Small bites. I don’t want it coming back up.”
I am not lying down. “Do you think you’re a doctor or something?”
“One day, maybe,” Gonzo answers. “Right now, I’m an EMT-Basic and I know what dehydration can do to you.”
“You’re an EMT?” God, I don’t know anything about Gonzo.
“I’m also your bank crew, so you don’t have a choice.”
He slides an arm around me and half pulls me out of the boat. My head swims again. The boat rocks when Cully climbs out. My eyelids sink shut. Cully’s arm goes around my rib cage, thick and warm. He steadies me as I push myself out of the boat. We both wobble as we walk to shore. I crawl until I find enough space to sit.
Cully lies down a few feet away.
I don’t fight the rest this time. Not because I think I need it. I know I could go on. Dad would push through and he’d be fine. I don’t fight it because it’
s my fault we rushed off without food and water. I did this to myself. I own it. I’m just sorry I’m bringing Cully down with me.
I don’t even ask Gonzo and Erica what place we’re in.
Top five is over. Out of reach.
9:35 A.M. SUNDAY
Dad always says to look strong at checkpoints. That other people are watching. That they’re reporting back to their boats.
Which means I’m stewing that much more about Allie showing up under the bridge right before we leave. I don’t know if I’m more offended that she’s here, or that she’s late. She’s totally underestimating our pace. Cully sees her, too, in her sundress, with perfectly placed curls on her shoulders. I’m in muddy tights and shorts and my body is smeared with diaper cream.
But I get it now. She’s not just trying to mess with Cully. She’s reporting back to my brother. She’s a freaking spy.
And she caught me lying on a boat ramp.
It’s not just that my brother will find out. It’s that my dad will. It’s enough to eat me from the inside out.
But everything is worse because when we finally get on the water, Cully is stiff as a rock up there in his seat. Perfect form. Spot-on pace. But he’s silent. Impenetrable.
It’s like last night never happened.
And this is another beast of a leg. Twenty-five miles between Hochheim and the checkpoint at Cheapside. Probably five hours before we see our bank crew. By that time the sun will be high. The sky is already perfectly clear. It’s going to be a blazing-hot day.
“Steer left. There’s a branch up here,” Cully says. It’s the first thing he’s said to me since we left.
I press the rudder pedal and the boat veers left. I peer into the water as we paddle past. It’s not just a branch, but a whole fallen tree in the water.
“Good call,” I tell Cully, just to soften things up. To get his mind off Allie. But he doesn’t talk to me.
“So, how did Gonzo become an EMT?” I ask after a couple of silent minutes.
“He took classes.”
“Yeah,” I say, because that was pretty obvious. “What I mean is, why did he become an EMT?”
“Because he’s interested in medicine.” Cully’s voice sounds impatient.
“You could be a little nicer,” I say. “I’m just trying to make conversation.”
“You could have told me you were out of water last night.”
“What?”
“You could have told me you were out of water. You should have. I’m your partner, Sadie. I need to know these things. I would have shared mine,” he says.
“You would have called Gonzo. We’d be out of the race if I’d told you.”
“God, Sadie. It’s like you don’t take this seriously.”
“How can you say I don’t take this seriously? I’m ready to keep going no matter how much I want to quit. I’m in this to prove something. And you were willing to give up last night because you thought I pushed you too hard.” I’m almost yelling. My throat is raw. “This race is my life.”
“No. It’s not. It’s just a canoe race. You’re worth more than that.”
There’s a stab of pain in my side. An echo of my ribs last year. My eyes go blurry.
“You’re being dramatic,” I say. “I knew I could do it.”
He’s silent for a long while. “Do you want to know why Gonzo became an EMT? Why he wants to be a doctor?”
“Yeah,” I answer, although I’m a little afraid to find out, based on Cully’s tone.
“It’s because his Dad keeled over from a heart attack in the middle of dinner last summer. Gonzo’s mom wasn’t home. It was just the two of us there with him. Neither of us knew what to do besides call nine-one-one.”
“Oh my god.” I didn’t know this.
“The dispatcher walked us through CPR until the paramedics got there and took over. They brought him back,” he says. “It killed Gonzo, it killed both of us, not knowing what to do.”
“Is Mr. Gonzales okay now?”
“He spent a few nights in the hospital, but he’s better now. Fully recovered,” Cully says. “As soon as he was back home, Gonzo and I took a CPR class, and Gonzo wanted to know more, so he became an EMT. He’s going to be premed at UT.”
I turn that over in my head, how cool, how admirable it is that Gonzo took that helpless feeling and turned it into something good. That he did it to be able to take care of his dad. That he wants to take it even further.
“Sadie,” Cully says. “I’ve already visited you in the hospital once. I don’t want to do it again.”
For a moment, I’m ten again, on the couch made up like a bed with a pillow and blanket, nursing a stomachache and fever. “Must be a little stomach bug,” Mom had said as she brought me a glass of Gatorade and some saltines. The vomiting came a few hours later, and after a dash to the bathroom and a lot of tears, I went back to the couch, this time armed with a small trash can, and turned my movie back on. Mazer curled up on the couch next to me, even though officially he wasn’t allowed on the furniture.
The stomach cramps hit like a knife in my abdomen. I screamed.
Dad didn’t consult Mom. He scooped me up in his arms, blanket and all, and laid me across the back seat of his truck. We sped down our long driveway before Mom even made it out the door.
I miss that. I miss Dad picking me up and taking care of me. I want to prove I’m just as tough as anyone else who does this race. One of the strongest, because I’m not going to be one of the people sleeping on the side of the river tonight. But how come if I’m the strong girl, I can’t be the girl whose dad scoops her up and takes care of her, too?
It’s 1:48 when we see a few spectators in camp chairs on the bluff at Cheapside, our next checkpoint. The sun is right on top of us, beating down. I would give anything for some clouds to block the sun. Instead my hands, my neck, my face, and my ears are all greasy with sunscreen and slick with sweat. Everything about the second day is worse. More time between water stops. More hours without seeing another boat. Fewer people cheering you on. Fewer people in general. Cully and I have only been exchanging huts and river logistics, so I have a lot of time alone with my thoughts.
And my thoughts are mostly about food and water and my bed. I can’t imagine anything better than a long shower and then putting on dry clothes. A tank top and a loose pair of shorts. And then sliding into a freshly made bed. I wouldn’t even draw the curtains to make it dark. I might open the windows and turn the fan on. I would close my eyes and be still. No paddle in my hands. And my hands would be dry, not wet and wrinkled. My feet, too. Dry feet. Maybe a pair of fluffy socks.
“Sadie!”
“What?”
Cully draws the boat right. “It’s time to pull over.”
“Looking good, three-twenty-four,” someone calls from the bank.
“Oh, right,” I say, pressing the rudder pedal. How many times did he have to say my name?
We pull up alongside Erica and Gonzo in the water. A few other people linger onshore.
“How are you feeling?” Erica asks immediately.
I shake my head, but the back and forth makes it hurt worse. “It’s totally normal to feel lousy at this point,” I reassure her. But then there’s a woman dressed as a bee on the shore. “Am I hallucinating that?” The hallucinations usually start on the second night. Not in the afternoon.
“No, that’s real,” Gonzo says. He’s next to me, too, his beautiful hair now under a baseball hat. Up front, Cully slides into the water.
What’s he doing getting out of the boat at a checkpoint? People will think we’re falling apart. And I can’t even say anything, because I’m not supposed to bark orders at him anymore.
“Have you been keeping food and water down?” Gonzo takes my wrist and presses two fingers on it.
“Yes food. Yes water. And I’ve been peeing. I’m fine.”
“I see your snark is still in working order.” He walks to the other end of the boat, where Cully is floating in t
he water.
I grab my mesh bag and hand Erica my trash and extra food. She gives me a fresh food bag and examines my old one. “You’re not eating enough.”
“Do antacids count? I’ve been popping those like candy.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better,” she says.
“My stomach’s just a little off. It’s normal.”
She nods and we change out my water bottle.
“Oh, I almost forgot!” Erica grabs the plastic bag tucked under her tank top strap and hands me a beautiful peach with a rosy red spot on it.
“Yum,” I say, and even though the thought of eating makes my stomach churn, I bite into it and the warm juice rolls down my chin. It is sweet and a little tart and everything a peach should be, but I have to force myself to swallow each bite.
“Ready?” I ask Cully between bites. He’s still in the water, stretching.
“Another minute. Muscle cramps.” He glances at me before going back to his conversation with Gonzo.
“What place are we in?” I whisper to Erica because I can’t not know. And I don’t want another you’re already enough talk from Gonzo.
Erica shrugs. “Dunno.” Which is total bull. She sees our place on the sign-in sheet at each checkpoint, and she sees it on the tracking app.
“It’s part of your job to tell me this stuff,” I say.
“Sadie, I didn’t take three days off from work to help you torture yourself. I’ve read through the rule sheet. My job is to make sure you’re safe and healthy enough to keep going. That’s what I’m doing.”
This is what happens when your bank crew look down their noses at the race. It’s like they’re conspiring against me, and there’s nothing I can do.
When I finish my peach, I hand her the slimy pit.
We finally get back on the water at 1:57.
Nine minutes. Who takes a nine-minute break at a checkpoint?
At least Allie wasn’t there watching.
We don’t look any stronger at our next water stop, either, because Cully gets out and stretches again.
“Still cramping,” he explains.
“Pickle juice might help,” I tell Gonzo, since our electrolytes aren’t doing the job.
