What This River Keeps: A Novel

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER NINE B y Sunday afternoon it was raining again. This time it came gently over the woods to the west of them, descending slowly like a down blanket being laid over a sleeping child. The rain fell on the leaves of the trees and each drop formed a soft rhythm, a million tiny heartbeats advancing through the woods. Frank cocked his ear to the open door ofthe barn and listened to its approach. They always got a lot of rain in July-thunderstorms, mostly-but this summer felt more like a monsoon. He stood in the barn and watched the rain fall first on the garden, then the yard. It hammered the metal roofoverhead. He'd been cleaning up the boat, and was about ready to stop anyway. Now he'd get wet on the way to the house. He shut off the lights and grabbed a piece of plywood to serve as an umbrella. With his cane in one hand and the other holding the plywood over his head, he walked out into the rain. He looked down at the wet grass and remembered how he would gather nightcrawlers for bait on rainy nights when he was a kid. By the time he leaned the board against the house and shook off his hat, the phone was ringing. She answered it. "Oh hi," she said. "Yes, he just got back in here. Looks like the rain drove him in." She lowered the receiver from her ear and stood there holding it out. Their only phone was attached to the kitchen wall-its cord would not reach all the way to the mudroom. He leaned against the doorjamb and untied his boots. Finally, he got to the kitchen and she handed him the phone before swinging a chair out from under the table. He sat down, got the receiver positioned where he wanted it after considerable shuffling, and said, "This is Frank." "What do ya know," Chub said. "Oh, not too much, I reckon. I went out and checked fences this morning. River looks all right. Still high, though." "Funny you should say that. Guess what 1was calling about." "Fences?" "I don't give a damn about fences. No, 1wanted to see ifyou noticed what it's doing outside." "Rainin steady here." "That's what 1figured. You know they're fixin to turn on something fierce when this rain hits em." Frank looked at his wife. She sat in the living room in her chair, reading a paperback. "Not sure rd want to go too much past dark," he said. She looked up at him. "Be at my house in a few minutes?" 73 74 Greg Schwipps "All right." "All right, then." He hung up after waiting several seconds to see if Chub was going to say something additional. Eventually, he heard him hang up, so he did too. "Sounds like I'm gonna be spending my Sunday evening by myself," she said. "How'd you know that?" "I know what you're up to. Can't you leave them fish alone for a day or two, at least?" "Not with this rain, I guess. But he ain't got nothing better to do." She went to the window and looked out at the front yard, the driveway running out toward the road. A constant, slow rain fell. "It's not going to storm, is it?" she asked. "Don't feel like it. We'll just be gone a couple hours. Maybe we could do steaks when I get back." "Well, I might wait dinner on you. Or maybe not." She sat back down with her book. He went to get his raingear from the closet. He liked fishing in the rain. "Now, what do you suppose that son of a bitch is doing?" Chub asked. He was peering downstream, hand over his eyes. He wore a poncho and little rivulets ran down the plastic like streams down a mountainside. "I can't tell," Frank said. "But I thought I seen him throw something in. We better float down there and check it out." He goosed and turned the outboard so the bow cut its way into the main channel. The boat lightened and sped up with the faster water under it. They were heading downstream and the current helped. They'd been out for an hour or so, fishing. Six decent channel cats were swimming in the livewell. Chub wanted to keep them to eat. Frank had hooked...