Chapter 13

After dinner, Charlie and his new friends kept their faces toward the river, even though it was too dark to see it.

"That was great, Jenna. Thanks."

"You're welcome, Charlie. I grew up out here, on the river. My father loved it, and he taught me all his secrets…even campfire fish recipes!"

"You're good enough to be a chef."

She laughed. "Well, short-order cook, anyway."

"That's what she does," Sam informed him. "We're kind-of between jobs, now. We're just bouncing from campground to campground, staying our two-week limits, hoping to get by until tourist trade picks up."

"Places around here will increase their hours, soon," continued Jenna. "We'll get something seasonal. At least one of us. Sam's an outfitter."

"A what?"

Sam laughed. "Fishing guide."

"Do you do this every year?"

"I always have," Sam said. "Try to pick up some day labor work in the winter. Unemployment's pretty high around here, last few years. Jenna just lost her job about four months ago. The restaurant where she worked went under."

"And it didn't take long for our savings to go under too," Jenna laughed. "But this is okay. We're okay out here." Her voice sombered. "Like I said, I grew up on the river. I don't want to leave it."

"Your family can't help?"

"It was just me and my Dad for a long time," she answered. "Lost him last year, too. I miss him."

Charlie felt his heart wrench. "I'm sorry. I lost my mother not too long ago."

"Mine lost me," Sam put in, throwing another log on the fire. "Never had much use for me, either one of them. My father thinks I'm a bum because I work a seasonal occupation, but I don't have much education or training for anything else."

They were silent for a while. "Jenna, though, she could be an artist," Sam finally said. "You should see her pencil sketches."

"I'd like to," answered Charlie. "Maybe tomorrow, in the daylight?"

She laughed again. Charlie loved her laugh. It came so easily, seemed so genuine. "I don't draw anymore, Charlie, that was just a dream."

"You're still good," Sam insisted. "I've seen your 'doodles', as you call them."

"You shouldn't give up on a dream," offered Charlie.

Her voice was pensive, now. "I don't know. I think dreams give up on us, sometimes. Dreams are what we have as children. You know, 'I'm gonna do this when I grow up.' Then we grow up, and what we actually do is…life, I guess. Life gets in the way of dreams."

When neither of the men said anything, she went on. "Think about it. How many adults do you know who are doing what they dreamed about doing as children? Sam wanted to be a cowboy." A low chuckle sounded from Sam's corner. "How about you, Charlie? What did you want to be when you grew up?"

He didn't have to think about it, he knew the answer, but his voice was soft. "A teacher."

"So?" It was Sam's voice. "What are you doing right now?"

This, Charlie had to think about. Finally he answered, in a voice even softer, so soft they could barely hear it over the sound of the river. "Right now," he said, "Right now, I'm learning."

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Charlie cast the line out over the water. "Are you sure this is okay? Don't I need a license or something?"

"Of course you do," Sam laughed as he cast out his own line. "But Jenna's not fishing today, so let's just say you're her. Besides, most of the Fish & Wildlife guys around here know me. They probably won't bother us."

Charlie waded a little farther out into the river. Damn, this was cold, even through the borrowed rubber hip boots. "Probably?"

"Well, if you see one, just don't panic and drop the pole. Jenna will kill you."

"Nice of her to offer to do my laundry with yours," Charlie said.

"Hell, kid, you're paying for it. It's the least we could do." Sam reeled in, recast. "Now shut up. You're scaring all the fish away."

The two men fished in silence, without so much as the sound of a salmon chewing a worm, until Jenna appeared at the bank. "Give up," she called. "Come and have lunch. I got something special in town."

Soon Charlie was sated from his third meal with his neighbors. He wandered back to his campsite, and again fell asleep in the sun.

It wasn't mathematically possible. Anyone could see that. The tires were simply not wide enough to maintain a person's body weight in an upright position. Not even if that person was only seven years old, and his father was helping him. "Don't let go," he begged, and he heard his father laugh. "You're fine, son, you're doing fine! Daddy's right here!" They passed his mother on the sidewalk, and he heard her voice, worried. "Don't let him fall on the cement!" He was going too fast, he couldn't hear his father's breath in his ear anymore. "Daddy!", he yelled. "I want to stop!" There was no answer, and Charlie tried to look behind him, but he was afraid to stop looking at where he was going. Suddenly remembering the bike's braking system, he yelled again. "I'm going to stop!", but the entire conglomeration began to wobble, and he felt himself tipping. Suddenly, he was on the ground, looking up through the spokes, and his father was running toward him from over a block away. Had he ridden all that way alone? It scared him to be on the ground, and he was crying by the time his father reached him. "Why did you let go?", he begged, and Alan lifted the bicycle off. "I didn't, son," he answered. "You let go of me."

Charlie jerked awake. This was insane. What was he doing? He let a stupid fight with his big brother separate him from his father, from his friends, from his teaching, from all that he loved? He was pulling people out of wrecks, driving trucks, fishing rivers, and letting his father worry?

He shivered. Time to start the fire again.

That night he sat in the doorway of his tent, just far enough from the fire to still feel it, watched the sun set over the river. He was buried in his head, staring out at the water long after it was dark, and Sam and Jenna left him alone.

Just like he had left his father alone.