Heading into the long, steep slope back to town, Jenny peddling directly behind him, Willie hears the metallic click of her derailer gears shifting into high. “Oh, Christ,” he says, closing his eyes momentarily and reaching to the crossbar for his own gears.
Jenny shoots by him as if out of a giant sling, Chinese braid whipping in the wind, yelling, “See you later, baseball hero!”
He shifts into high, pouring it on, but Jenny’s pulling away. He knows he’ll catch her, but Jenny Blackburn was born on that bike.
Halfway down the grade, Jenny is no longer widening the gap, and as they near the three-quarter mark, Willie starts to gain. His thighs burn like molten steel and his lungs and stomach ache; but he’s gaining. Three hundred yards from the bottom, his front tire is even with Jenny’s rear tire. She’s leaning forward as far as gravity will allow and peddling like a runaway locomotive, but slowly Willie’s tire pulls even with her crossbar. His legs pump as fast as he can make them; he leans farther into it, his wheel now even with the back of her front tire.
Then, fifty yards from the bottom of the hill, Jenny suddenly sits back and throws up her arms in triumph. “Finish!” she yells. “She does it again, folks. Jenny Blackburn does it again! Her opponent today, a virtual unknown, gave her a tremendous push, but Jenny was equal to the challenge. Seldom in cycling history…”
“Okay, okay,” Willie puffs, coasting beside her as they shoot out onto the flat. “You win. You always win. You always will win, as long as you race these courses with the flexible finish line.”
“So you want to tamper with the rules?” she asks, shaking her head in disgust. “Typical rookie behavior on this circuit.”
They pedal back into town as dusk turns to a dark brownish gray, and Jenny turns off at her street, yelling back over her shoulder, “Looks like you worked up a pit! Make sure you get a shower. I like my boyfriend clean.”
CHAPTER 5
Willie tightens down the boat-trailer hitch and wraps the safety chain twice around the bumper of the Bronco, then tests it, jerking up hard on the tongue of the trailer. Good and tight. He waves to his dad, who eases the boat down the driveway and into the street, then backs up until the Bronco stands in front of the walk running to the house. Sandy hurries out the door with a giant picnic basket and several blankets, followed by Johnny Rivers carrying wetsuits and water skis, which he deposits in the boat, then hops into the backseat with Willie.
“What time’s Jenny expecting us to pick her up?” Big Will asks, pulling out onto the street.
“Whenever,” Willie says. “She gets up around six to run or ride her bike, so she’ll be ready.”
“Coulda swore I saw an American Legion Championship ring on her finger the other day,” Johnny said. “Wonder where she got that. Think she’s going steady with Petey?”
Willie says, “Keep it up, buddy.”
“That wasn’t yours, was it?” Johnny stays with it as if he didn’t hear. “Two jocks in budding romance? That’s dangerous. Somebody could get beaned…”
Willie threatens a budding nosebleed, and Johnny laughs. “I been slapped around by Sal Whitworth, remember? Toughest guy in three states. Popped me three times before I could get to the ground. You think I care about a little nosebleed?”
“Mouth like you’ve got,” Big Will says, “you can probably expect a lot more Sal Whitworths in your life before you’re old enough to vote.”
“Everybody says that,” Johnny says. “Nobody appreciates rapier-like wit anymore.”
Willie’s mom says, “Sometimes you just don’t know when to quit, Johnny. Like in the Crazy Horse game when you started in on that Whitworth boy’s sister.”
“Yeah,” Johnny says. “Cut that kinda close, didn’t I? Guess that’s what makes me so cute. Always out there walking the edge. Besides, I know when to quit. If he’d have knocked me cold, I’d have quit.”
Jenny’s waiting on her porch as the Bronco pulls up, and she jumps up and runs down the walk, jerks open the back door and hops in. She pecks Willie on the cheek, catching Johnny’s look as she does; squints menacingly, and shakes her fist at him.
“See?” Johnny says. “I know when to quit.”
Big Will stays on the freeway as long as he can, then turns onto the two-lane highway leading to Salmon Lake. It’s the last weekend they’ll be able to get to the lake, the last weekend of water sports until next summer. Already nights are occasionally down to freezing and the water will be cold, which is the reason for the wetsuits, but the Weavers stretch summer out as long as they can. Winter in eastern Montana can be long and cruel.
Big Will turns the conversation to football. Coho High School won its fourth game out of five yesterday and Willie’s name is starting to hit the papers. It’s been mentioned more than once whose son he is.
Jenny teases him about an alley-oop pass he threw into the end zone yesterday for an interception. The defender ran it back clear to midfield before Willie could bring him down.
“Coach said I should train to be a basketball ref,” Willie laughs. “Throw jump balls.” He shakes his head. “That was supposed to be for Mike Johnson. I figured if I could get it into the end zone, he could just jump up and catch it. Jeez, he’s six four.”
“Yeah,” Big Will says, “but the ball must have been in the air seven seconds. You got more hang time than most punters.” Then, more seriously, “That was pretty funny because you guys won it anyway, but those kinds of mistakes can kill you. Never do less than your best just because you’re playing an inferior team.”
“It slipped,” Willie says defensively. “I just lost my grip.”
Johnny laughs. “God, it was high enough you could have run down and caught it yourself.”
“Would have saved the interception,” Jenny says.
“Yeah, well, it was a bad call.”
“The bad call,” Sandy says, “was the one you screamed out when the ball slipped out of your hand. Where do you hear language like that?”
Willie points. “Jenny.”
“It should have been short and over the middle to me,” Johnny says.
Willie says, “Absolutely.”
“Wouldn’t have had to embarrass your mother the nun with scatological epithets.”
“Absolutely,” Sandy says.
Big Will stares at the road. “Never do less than your best.”
The landing at Salmon Lake is empty. A power boat races by about fifty yards out as they back the trailer into the water, and there’s one ski boat in sight, but other than that, the Weavers are the only party in town. Big Will and Jenny lower the boat from the trailer to the water while Johnny and Willie and Sandy unload the car and set up in a nearby picnic area.
“Gonna fish today?” Willie asks his mom as they move the barbecue grill in under the trees and set it on its stand.
“I might,” she says, “when you’re all finished skiing. Your dad and I talked about maybe cutting you three loose on the beach for a bit while we troll.”
Willie hopes that happens.
Johnny’s voice jars him from his thoughts. “I remember we came up to this lake when I was a little kid,” he says. “My brother and I thought there was sunken treasure and we brought our snorkels and goggles and fins and spent the whole day just swimming around with our faces in the water looking for something shiny.”
Sandy is sucked in. “Find any?” she asks jokingly.
Johnny smiles. “Matter of fact, we did. After we’d swam around almost all day and finally given up, we took off our gear and were wading in and I bashed into something hard with my lower leg.”
“And it was sunken treasure.”
“It was. Really. Just goes to show, sometimes booty is only shin deep.”
Big Will fires the ski-rope handle at him, and Johnny ducks, then smiles, pounding his chest like Tarzan.
“He can get you anytime,” Jenny tells Sandy. “Never ask him anything about anything.”
“C’mon, you guys,” Johnny says, “I
’m just a kid who’s maturing process is permanently arrested, and, besides, I’m not responsible. You think I tell those things because I want to? You oughta hear what it’s like inside my head. It’s noisy. So indulge me, I’m a sick boy. Give ol’ Johnny Rivers a little round of applause when you hear one of those. He’s just out here doin’ his best.”
Big Will hops into the boat to crank up the engine, eases it away from the dock and takes a short warm-up spin while the kids pull on the wetsuit tops. Willie stands on the edge of the dock smiling and thinking how he loves speed as his dad opens the engine fullbore.
“Don’t get too taken by fast things.” His mom’s voice comes from behind, and he turns around to see her watching him; Jenny a few steps back. “They can hurt you. One of these days you and your dad may have to pay for all your recklessness.”
Willie smiles. “We’re careful,” he says. “We just like to go fast.”
Sandy looks into him. “You’re careful?” she says, raising her eyebrows. “You think I don’t know where you leave your helmets when you take the bike up on the bluffs?” She shakes her head. “You guys think you’re so, so smart. Telling Mr. Cantrall at the 76 station anything is like putting it in the newspaper.”
Willie sees a flash of the sadness he sometimes sees in his mother’s eyes. Missy’s sadness. “I’ve lost all I can afford to lose,” she says, almost matter-of-factly, and Willie has no words. He makes a mental note to tell his dad they need to leave their helmets somewhere else.
Big Will pulls the boat up next to the dock and throws out the ski rope. “Need a skier and a spotter,” he yells.
Johnny already has the ski on and Willie looks around for a ski vest, which is nowhere to be found. From the Bronco he yells that they only have the extra-large; the others must be home on the porch. Johnny nearly swims in the extra-large, but he cinches it as best he can and grabs the rope handles.
“Why don’t you ride in the boat and spot, Mom?” Willie says. “Jenny and I’ll set up the food.”
Sandy doesn’t argue, just smiles and steps over the side into the boat, pinching Big Will as she gets in. “Hey, big boy,” she says. “Let’s dump this bugger somewhere out in the deep water and go for a nice boat ride.”
“Can’t be done,” Johnny says smugly, standing on the dock, measuring the slack in the rope. “I’m the Muhammad Ali of fresh-water sports.”
Big Will says, “We’ll see,” as he shoves the boat into gear and idles forward.
When the slack is almost up, Johnny screams, “Hit it, Ski Cat!” and Big Will shoves the throttle forward full speed. Johnny steps off the dock onto the water, barely wetting his feet. Within seconds he is cutting across the wake, shooting a high rooster tail. Jenny and Willie hear him challenging Big Will to “Dump me! Dump me!” as they walk back toward the picnic table, Willie with his arm draped easily across her shoulders.
When the table is nearly set, Willie heads up the trail to the public outhouses, lost in the crunching of the pine needles beneath his feet on the trail and the crispness of the day; the brilliant colors of fall. He stops to take a leak, then walks farther from the water, thinking about his mother: how she hides her pain; how sort of disrespectful he and his dad have been, not paying better attention; and for some reason memories of Missy rush in, filling his chest, almost choking him. Startled by their power, he turns around.
Back with Jenny, the feeling fades.
Out on the water, Johnny flips the rope in the air, glides toward the dock, turns and sits. His wake catches up and washes over his legs as Willie and Jenny trot toward him.
“It’s great!” he says, working his way out of the too-large jacket and kicking the ski loose. “Colder’n a welldigger’s butt in the Klondike, but great.”
Willie takes a turn, then Jenny, then Big Will. Sandy isn’t a skier, so she takes the rope and spotter duties; drives the boat when Big Will skis. They eat, then the kids stay on shore to catch the last of the autumn sun while Will and Sandy take a slow tour of the lake, throw out a fish line.
Willie’s on his stomach at the end of the dock, head and neck over the edge, peering into the deep green water at a school of minnows jerking this way and that, as if to the snap of a minnow-trainer’s whip. Johnny gathers a dozen or so flat rocks, skips them out onto the lake. The water is rougher as the breeze picks up, making it harder to skip the rocks, but Johnny gets three or four out of even his worst throws, uttering a loud “Ha!” when he gets more. Jenny moves over to Willie, sits cross-legged beside him and begins to run her fingernails gently across his back.
Willie groans under the gentle pressure of her touch, a trick he learned watching Big Will get the most out of a back rub from Sandy. His mom can’t quit when his dad obviously enjoys it so much. Jenny watches Big Will and Sandy putter slowly parallel to the shore. Then, softly, “Your mom and dad really love each other, don’t they?”
Willie nods. “I think so.”
“I think they have a marriage like I want. Only one I’ve ever seen.”
“What about your folks?”
“My folks just look good in public. Sometimes I don’t think they even really like each other. I mean, when one of your parents does something on their own, it seems right. It’s like they’re sort of proud of each other for having their own lives. I don’t think either one of my folks even knows what the other one likes.”
“That’s crappy,” Willie says.
“Crappy for them. They’re nice to me, though, so I guess I shouldn’t complain. But sometimes it seems like it wouldn’t even matter if they split up. I mean, sometimes I sort of wish they’d have boyfriends and girlfriends or something; something that would make their lives exciting. God, I hope my life is never like that.”
Johnny has moved into earshot and for the first time today he’s serious. “That doesn’t always work out so great either,” he says. “Two years ago my mom found out my dad was screwing around with some woman down at his office. About three minutes into that conversation I was ready for something less exciting.”
“Your dad was screwing around?” Jenny asks. “God, what’d you do?”
“Took my little brother and headed for high ground.”
Jenny leans back on her hands and nods. “Yeah,” she says. “Maybe it’s as bad one way as another.”
They look up to the sound of the boat idling their way about twenty feet from the dock. The sun is low, just above the mountains. “One last run?” Big Will yells. “Summer’s almost over.”
“I’ll go one more,” Willie says, pulling the wetsuit top on. Sandy asks Jenny to ride in the boat as spotter while she and Johnny load the Bronco. Willie straps the life jacket on over the wetsuit, trying in vain to find a way to take up the slack of its size. “God,” he says, “I hate this thing. Why don’t I go without it, Dad? The wetsuit will keep me up.”
Big Will shakes his head. “No jacket, no go. You know the rule.”
Willie straps it on as his dad idles slowly straight out from the dock. Jenny pitches him the rope. He stands with his foot in the ski until the slack is up, then yells, “Hit it!” and the boat shoots forward, pulling him effortlessly onto the water. The wind is higher, the lake rougher, and Willie works hard to keep his rudder in the water as he cuts sharp curves and flies across the wake. Twice he’s almost upended, but manages to right himself. He waves to get Jenny’s attention and draws a big circle in the air with his finger, a message Jenny relays to his dad, and Big Will takes the boat in a long, wide curve. Willie crouches down, pointing the ski directly away from the boat to crack the whip, and as the boat circles tighter, he flies faster in its arc. It takes all his strength to hold on against the centrifugal force, but he grips the handle tighter, crouches even lower, pulling into a wider, faster orbit. The ski slaps loudly on the rough water as the waves shoot under him, and he leans back to hold the rudder down. The speed and the wind in his face and the sheer power of it all send adrenaline through him like a river, and his yell is drowned out by
the noise of the engine and the wind and the water juggling him across its surface.
His shoulders ache and his back leg begins to numb, so he stands to cut back in toward the boat, but his weight shifts forward and a wave splashes over the tip of the ski, forcing it down and pitching Willie forward. The tip bounces back up in time to catch him in the middle of the forehead and the last thing he sees is blood from a gash ripped to the bone. The life jacket slips up, trapping his arms and head, and Willie slips into darkness.
Jenny knows instantly Willie’s hurt and screams to Big Will, who immediately cuts a tight circle back, whipping the boat around to get close. He sees Willie’s head below water and dives in as Jenny braces herself on the side, ready to pin Willie’s hands so Big Will can crawl back into the boat to pull him up, like she learned in their Lifesaving class, but Big Will keeps pushing him up from in the water, and the boat floats lazily away. Jenny tries to help, yells instructions, but Big Will seems stricken, near panic. “Get his hands here where I can reach!” Jenny screams, but he ignores her, pulling Willie back toward him, working to free him from the tangled jacket.
“He’s not breathing!” Big Will screams. “He’s not breathing! Oh, God, no! Not again!”
“Get him over here!” Jenny screams again, to Big Will’s deaf ears. She jumps into the icy water, treading momentarily as she gasps for breath, then swims toward them. Big Will looks disoriented, completely confused. His efforts to free Willie from the jacket are tangling him worse; Willie’s head is in and out of the water like a bobber on a fish line, and the blood from his forehead makes the scene look like something from Jaws. Jenny maneuvers herself behind Willie, grabs hold of the back of his life jacket, places her foot in the middle of Big Will’s chest and kicks as hard as she can, prying the two of them apart. In a quick move she pulls the vest partway open, unravels the strap caught on the wetsuit and Willie’s head comes free. Immediately she begins mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, all the while kicking away from Big Will, who is lunging toward them. She screams, “Stop it! Stop it!” between breaths. “Goddam it, please stop it!” and finally Big Will hears her; sees her forearm braced under Willie’s neck; imagines her breathing life back in.
The Crazy Horse Electric Game Page 4
