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“You two are close?”
“I honestly don’t know what I’d do without her.”
“That’s awesome.”
“I know. Oh—you’ll want to turn right on the next street.”
—
When Avery imaginesrivers, he pictures Mississippis and Hudsons, or maybe white-water rapids with death-defying challenges at every turn.
The river Ryan is offering is nothing like any of those.Those are highways and this is a country road; Avery takes it on faith that it’s actually a river, but to his eye, it’s more like a stream.
Still, even though the current isn’t strong and the space between the shores isn’t wide, the presence of water registers, that alchemical interaction where your body feels like a tributary and your heart eases into the pace of gentle waves.
Avery immediately understands why this is a place Ryan loves, and is glad to have been brought here.
Ryan remains too nervous to read Avery’s contentment as Ryan walks them over to the canoe, a boat big enough for two. Together they carry it to the makeshift dock Caitlin’s put at the edge of her yard, and then Ryan supervises as they lower it into the water and step inside.
“No life jackets?” Avery jokes.
Ryan, not realizing it’s a joke, looks stricken, and says, “It’s really not that kind of river. But if you feel uncomfortable, I can go see if Caitlin has one.”
“It’s totally fine,” Avery assures him. “I trust you to dodge the rapids.”
“Dodge the rapids. Check,” Ryan says, scribbling it on an imaginary list and, yes, checking it off.
Avery sits in the front, Ryan in the back. There are two paddles in the bottom of the boat. Avery is excited by the feel of one in his hands.
“Do you prefer the left or the right?” Ryan asks.
“I’ll go left,” Avery replies, putting the paddle in the water.
“Excellent. Let’s go.”
Ryan has faced them upstream to begin; at this hour, there isn’t much resistance, and it’s always better to have the current on your side on the way home.
They head off, and fall easily into a rhythm. Avery delights in guiding the paddle through the water, the way he can feel his arms working, the pull that’s required to leverage against the water and the release when the boat glides under their lead.
Ryan is the one keeping pace, measuring his strokes against Avery’s to keep them in sync. While Avery moves his paddle like a spoon, Ryan directs his more like a knife. The light hits Avery’s hair in fascinating ways, sometimes making a halo, other times a cloud.
There isn’t much for them to see at first. Mostly the backs of houses, the detritus of backyards. In the past few years, the river has risen above its banks a few times; not a flood, really, but definitely a warning. Some people like Caitlin have pulled back from the river, shored up their possessions. Others let things fall where they fall, so you can’t tell whether the river took them there or whether it’s just the flotsam of human laziness.
Ryan feels he isn’t being a very good tour guide, so he tells Avery a little bit about the river’s rise. Then Avery says, “Wow, what’s that?” and Ryan looks to his left and sees the only yard around here that looks cultivated, deliberate.
“That’s The Garden Lady’s house,” he explains. “For all Iknow, she’s a witch, because she can get just about anything to grow, even after the soil is flooded.”
“A good witch, then.”
“Definitely a good witch.”
“And you call her The Garden Lady?”
“Yeah. I have no idea what her real name is.”
Avery holds up his paddle and points to another yard. “Who lives there?”
“I have no idea. This isn’t my neighborhood.”
