Evan tensed and his arm around me tightened.
“That’s all we got so far,” the trucker on the CB said. “But it’s jamming up the works something fierce. Was wondering if you got out okay.”
“I’m rolling,” Cal said, his hand on the steering wheel clenched until his knuckles went white. “I’m 35 north. Just past Billings.”
I exchanged glances with Evan, neither of us missing that Cal was broadcasting his locale.
“You stay ten-ten,” Cal said into the mouthpiece. He lowered it from his chin but didn’t hang it up. He kept it in his hand and without saying a word, he drove to the side of the road, slowing his rig with a hiss of the air breaks, and then stopping.
“This is far as we go,” he said finally, not looking at us. “I don’t want trouble.”
“Neither do we, sir,” Evan said sincerely. “We’re very grateful. More grateful if nobody knew we were here.”
Cal stared straight ahead. “You got yourselves in some trouble, did you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What for?”
When Evan hesitated, I faced Cal, knowing that he was a good man, and being honest with him might serve us better than lying to him. “I was in a bad place, sir, and Evan pulled me out. We didn’t mean to hurt anyone who wasn’t also trying to hurt us.”
Cal peered at Evan. “That true, son?
“Yes, it’s true, sir. I hurt someone who was trying to hurt her. And I’d do it again if I had to. To protect her.”
Cal took in my cheek and Evan’s arm around me. “Less I know the better. I can’t take you no further. But I haven’t seen you.”
“Thank you, Cal,” I said as Evan gathered our bags and opened the door on his side.
Cal made a small grunt in return, eyes straight ahead, as if looking at us too long made him guilty. Before we shut the door, he leaned over the bench seat and said, “Son, you stay out of trouble best you can, yeah? Take care of your girl and don’t do nothing stupid.”
“No, sir.”
Cal nodded, reluctantly satisfied. Evan shut the door and we watched the tanker roll away.
When it was gone, the road was empty, lonely in the new, hot morning. The sun beat down on the deep green tangle of trees. A river coursed slowly beneath the highway, colored a sicker, muddier green.
Evan scanned our surroundings. “We should get off this road. Stay out of sight for a while before we try hitching again.” A truck trundled toward us on the highway. Evan shouldered our bags. “Come on.”
When the truck passed, we crossed the road and headed west along the banks of the river. After three quarters of a mile, the river curved away from the highway and swelled into a brighter green, cleaner and clearer toward the opposite shore. Here I felt safer. Hidden. Any sound from the highway was lost in the river’s slow flow and the birdsong ringing out from the forest around us.
We found a dry patch of beach and Evan laid out the red-checkered blanket. We didn’t have much food packed in our bags but we ate our sandwiches and drank from water bottles.
Evan’s blue eyes were on the river, lost in thought or something only he could see. I studied him a few moments, then asked, “What do we do now?”
“I need to go under,” he said, jerking his chin at the water.
“Here?” My stomach sank. “I hate it. I won’t be able to see you.”
“Come with me. Hold my hand. I have to do it, Jo. I need more minutes.”
I nodded reluctantly and got up. We stripped to our underwear. He dug his old watch out of his bag and put it on my wrist. It was far too big for me and I held my left arm high to keep it dry. Evan held my right hand and we waded in. The water was warm and muddy at the shore but dropped swiftly to some depth I couldn’t see. I brushed my toes on the soft, almost slimy silt beneath me. Evan held my hand tighter.
“I won’t let go. I promise. But let me stay until I have to come up. All right?”
I nodded, and I readied his watch. “Go,” I said, hardly a whisper.
Evan went under, the murky water concealing him from me but his hand solid in mine. The minutes began to add up, and my anxiety mounted. Four minutes came and I expect him to rise up, gasping. He didn’t. Five minutes.
Six minutes.
“Six fucking minutes, Jesus, Evan,” I whispered. It took everything I had not to haul him up. My hand on his tightened and I felt an answering squeeze.
At seven minutes, I was clutching his hand so tightly my bones ached. His hand tightened too and I felt him struggle to stay down. I reached my limit and was about to yank him up when he broke the surface in a splash of water.
I noted the time: 8.02 seconds
“That’s impossible,” I whispered. Then my relief and amazement morphed to panic. Evan clutched his chest, sucking in lungful of air in between deep, harrowing coughs, his feet stumbling for purchase on the riverbed.