The smell of pancakes reached us at the banks of the river and seemed to pull us bodily back to the camp. I couldn’t remember ever being so hungry.
Rory was bent over the fire, which he’d somehow gotten started and roaring even though everything was wet. He had on a soft gray T-shirt that said U. OF ORONO—GO BLACK BEARS! in red letters and the same bright orange nylon shorts he’d worn the day before. Whistling to himself, he expertly flipped the cakes and stacked them on a beat-up metal pan that he’d balanced on a rock next to a squeeze bottle of maple syrup. Another pan, full of black coffee, steamed next to a container of dried milk. Pia stood a few yards away in a sun-dappled glade, brushing her hair with quick, sharp strokes.
“How’s it going?” Rory flashed us a smile as we filed into camp. “Anybody hungry?”
“I could use some coffee,” I said. “Breakfast smells great.”
He handed me a tin plate and gestured at the pile of cakes and coffee. “Dig in. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”
Sandra hesitated, then took a plate and served herself. Rachel did the same in silence. Rory stood with his hands on his hips, watching us. “Everybody sleep okay?”
I looked up from my food to see if he was kidding or being sarcastic or just what was going on, and his face did hold a question, but it was something more along the lines of How about it, ladies, are we going to make a big deal of this thing, or are we going to let it drop?
“Fine,” I said, my mouth sticky with syrup. “I slept great. Like a rock.”
“Sandra, how about you?”
“Good.” She nodded to her food. “This is delicious. Thank you.”
Pia wordlessly served herself breakfast, then sat near the fire, away from all of us. The sun had begun to take on altitude and strength, even under our canopy of leaves, and I stood up to take off my fleece.
“Rachel?” he asked.
Rachel tested a few bites of the pancakes but set them aside. She sat on a rock and peeled an orange. “Can’t put my finger on why, but I didn’t sleep a wink.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Rory said. “But tonight’s gonna be a different story. The river will wear you out, and you’ll all sleep like babies.”
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By eight or so we’d dragged our gear out of the tents and rolled up the sleeping bags and pads. Rory had gone down to the river to wash the dishes and pack those up too. We took down our tents, which were still wet and covered with leaves and pieces of bark, and rolled them as tightly as we could, sitting on them like luggage, per Rory’s instruction. Everything had to fit on the raft from now on, including us.
We all lifted the raft, which was so much heavier than I’d imagined, and carried it sideways, awkwardly, from the campsite through the woods to the river and the put-in place, an inlet even farther upriver than our little island, so by the time we got there we were all sweaty and fly-bitten and hot. Then of course we had to double back, collect all our gear, and lug it to the raft, with Rory making an extra trip for the food and the second tent, leaving us alone to not talk to each other, or to sit by the river with a paperback, or to do nothing but watch all that water rush by, our silence like a wall I couldn’t muster a strategy to burst through, dig under, or climb over.
Exchanging only the information necessary to get the job done, our faces drawn and solemn, we arranged our gear, separating out what needed to be stored in dry bags from what didn’t, and strapped everything down across the center beam of the raft. We wore our white-water rafting getup: wicking fabrics, water shoes, and life jackets. Sandra in her hot-pink top and black shorts, Rachel sporting a black tank and dark purple shorts, me in a yellow T and aqua hiking shorts, and Pia in a bright white T and red cutoffs—we were already starting to look out of place next to the muted palette all around us. Our helmets and paddles rested by our sides.
Rory spent an hour or so teaching us about the best way to throw a rescue rope and other safety techniques, about chicken lines and carabiners; we learned about eddies and the different kinds of water we were going to hit; how to read the water, our positions in the boat, and how to paddle. During the drills, Sandra, Rachel, and I sat in a semicircle on the ground while Pia stood away from us and closer to him, finding every opportunity to not look at us. I tried not to think about how much fun we weren’t having.