“Aw, he’s okay,” I said and smiled at Toby.
“I’ve known Jack a long time.”
“I know,” Toby said.
“When did we meet, Jack?”
I broke some of the driftwood smaller in my hands and fed the fire back up. Toby had already filled the other kettle with water and I balanced it over the flames on three rocks.
“You want some coffee?” I said. I did not want to get started on the old world. We had met in the lobby of Wasatch Dorm my junior year. Glenna had come up to take my picture for the Chronicle. It was the Christmas of the White Album and Warren had decided I should run for class president. That afternoon she introduced me to her roommate, Lily Westerman.
“I don’t think so,” she said, showing me her bottle of Cabernet Lemon-Lime.
“Get your cup, Toby,” I said. When I heard the boiling water cracking against the side of the kettle, I poured him a cup of hot chocolate. I fixed myself a cup of instant coffee and poured in a good lick of whiskey. Toby was standing to one side, a bright silhouette in the firelight.
“I think I’ll go to bed,” he said. “You guys are going to talk ancient history for a while. Dad was a big man on campus. This was during the war and he ran the paper, and Mom was the head photographer. You were all students, sort of, and Jack was going with Lily, who was Mom’s roommate, and their house was like a club in the days when things mattered.” He sipped his chocolate and toasted us. He knew how smart he was. “This was years ago.”
“He’s older than I am.”
“Oh Jack,” Glenna said, suddenly looking at me with eyes as cool and sober as the night. “Everybody’s older than you are. That’s always been your thing. It’s kind of cute—about half.” She must have seen me listening too hard, because she immediately waved her hand in front of her face and said, “Jack, ignore me. I’m drunk. That’s what I do now: the drunk housewife.”
“I don’t believe her,” I told Toby.
“I don’t either,” he said.
“Are you mad at your mother for embarrassing you today?” Glenna said. She was slumped against a rock opposite me. Her voice was now husky from too much sun, too much wine, too much lemon-lime.
“Mom,” Toby said. “I’m tired. It was a pretty wild day. Good night.” And he stepped down through the sage to his tent.
Halfway in the dark, he turned. “But Mom, you know what you said to that guy today, the naked guy?”
“Yeah?”
“It wasn’t right. We weren’t fishing with worms. The Green River is artificial flies and lures only.”
“Okay, honey.”
“But it was pretty funny, given the situation.” He nodded once at us. “Good night.” Toby disappeared in the dark.
“He’s a good kid,” I said.
She nodded the way people nod when their eyes are full and to speak would be to cry.
“It’s okay,” I said. “It was a good day.” I looked at her slumped on her suitcase, her hideous and beautiful suitcase, which seemed now simply something else trying to break my heart.
“Oh, Jack, I’m sorry. I’m so surprised by what I do, what anybody does. I guess I’m surprised any of it gets to me. If we’d just met, this would be a fun trip. If we were strangers. We’re two people who know too much.”
It was the worst kind of talk I’d ever heard around a campfire, and I wanted it to go away. “You’re all right,” I said. “You’ve got Toby.” That, evidently, of course, was exactly the wrong thing to say and I sensed this from what I could hear in Glenna’s breath. She was going to cry. The whole night seemed wrong.
I could hear a high wind in the junipers, but it was quiet in our camp. The campfire fluttered and sucked, settling down. I stared into the pink coals and watched them pulse white. I could see the bright edge of light on the cliff tip that meant in an hour the moon would break over the canyon. The other noise that came along sure as sure was the soft broken sucking of Glenna crying. She had her hand over her face in a gesture of real grief. I watched her for a moment, holding myself still. I was going to cry too, but I was going to try to wait for the moon. Finally, I went around the dying fire and sat by her.
“Hey, Glenna. Glenna,” I whispered. “Did you bring any sunburn stuff?”
She shook her head no.
“Here,” I said, handing her my tube of aloe. “Use this tonight. Okay? Use plenty. You surely scorched yourself.” I could feel the heat from her sunburn as I sat by her.
“He’s a good kid,” she said.