Down River. Karen Harper

top. For everyone else, including the obviously wealthy Bonners, denim was the name of the fashion game around here. Maybe Vanessa hadn’t gotten the message about how to pack for the land of remote fly-in lodges and cabins in America’s “last frontier.”

      Vanessa’s pent-up energy and jumpiness made her stand out. The woman’s Cuban heritage and temper, which Christine had noted when she’d seen her arguing with Jonas from a distance earlier, was a far cry from a Yup’ik personality. Yet Christine saw Vanessa had a good side, what the Yup’ik called catngu, the gift of friendliness and helpfulness. Had she been hanging around the back of the lodge just waiting to help out? Maybe she thought being prompt would impress the Bonners, when they hadn’t even come downstairs yet. Or was she lurking around, maybe trying to keep an eye on her competition for Mitch’s old job?

      “I’m just fine, but thanks for the offer,” she told Vanessa. “You just make yourself at home. Go ahead and enjoy some of these appetizers. I’m sure the others will be here soon, and you don’t have to wait for them.”

      “Thanks,” she said, shoving her hands in the pockets of her jacket. “So, have you seen Mitch?”

      “Not for a while.”

      “Lisa?”

      “Briefly.”

      “Were they together? Oh, sorry, too used to interrogating potential witnesses, I guess,” Vanessa said with a little shrug and smile.

      Christine nodded and went back out in the kitchen for more food. She glanced out the window down the path toward the lake landing. No Mitch, when she was expecting—wanting—him back.

      She carried the last plate of appetizers to the table. Now Vanessa was pacing inside, pretending to look out the big bubble window. When she saw Christine was back, she said, “I didn’t want to miss anything, but I’ve got to get my exercise in, since my appetite’s gone as wild as the woods up here.”

      When Christine put the last plate of food down, the woman came over and pounced on it. “I hope I burn off these calories with everything Mitch has planned,” she said, pouring herself a glass of Chardonnay to accompany her full plate. “Jonas said he’s ready for more of your delicious deep-forest fare, too.”

      Christine was willing to bet both of them—Lisa Vaughn, too—had been just plain hungry for Mitch’s old position since he left the law firm. But, yes, where in all creation was Mitch? And, as Vanessa had asked, where was Lisa?

      All Lisa wanted to do was sleep, to get lost in the arms of warm, lazy sleep. She must be on the beach because a canvas cabana covered her head and wrapped around her. She loved the sun but knew too much of it on her skin could be dangerous, even deadly. Dangerous … deadly … just get warm. So sore and exhausted … Just stay warm and go to sleep … sleep …

      Someone shook her, held her. A lifeguard? Was a lifeguard here because a big wave had hit her?

      A man with a deep, raspy voice said, “Lisa, I said you have to keep moving your arms and legs. Wiggle your fingers and toes.”

      She dragged her heavy eyelids open. Mitch. Mitch on the beach with her. No, there were tall stone walls, and she could hear the roaring surf. But this wasn’t Florida. “I guess we’re not in Kansas anymore,” Dorothy said to Toto after the tornado had picked her up and spun her silly. Lisa tried to do what Mitch said, what the good witch told Dorothy to do to get home. She tried to click the heels of her sparkly shoes together and make a wish but she had no shoes, and her feet were so cold….

      Someone shook her again. Mitch. Mitch was here.

      “Lisa, listen to me. I wish we were back at the lodge but we’re not.” He shook her shoulders and squeezed her tighter to him. “You fell in the river. You are hypothermic and you have to get warm. Drink more of this and move your arms and legs.”

      It took great effort, but she obeyed. Sore, so sore. But she swallowed a warm, fizzy drink. Champagne? No bottles or glasses were allowed on the beach.

      Then she really remembered. Back at the lodge, outside on the lake landing path, she’d been waiting for Mitch. Looking at the roiling water and almost seeing Mother and Jani there, Mother’s face staring up at her through the river foam. And then—

      She jolted alert in his arms. Someone had pushed her in! Hadn’t they? No way she had fallen or jumped just because she was thinking about Mother and Jani. Surely Mitch had not pushed her, then rescued her, so he could be a hero, so he could win her back. No, wishful thinking, wishing upon a star. There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home. Home was where your loved ones were. But her loved ones had been swallowed by all that raging white water.

      A second jolt shot through her, cosmic compared to anything else except the initial impact of that freezing water. She was in Mitch’s arms, in some sort of bed, and they were both naked.

      She tried to sit up. He pulled her back down. Where were they? What had they done? No, no, Mitch was right. She fell in the river, and he must have come after her, saved her. But she fell because she was pushed. But by whom and why?

      She went rigid against him. “I’m better, warmer. You can let me go.” She didn’t sound like herself. Her lips were swollen and bruised. She was almost mumbling, stuttering.

      “I’d like to believe that, but you were close to comatose. You’ve only been out of the river for about two hours.”

      “I—th-thank you. You came in a b-boat?”

      “I chased you in the kayak that we were going to take across the lake.”

      “Oh.” She tried to process that. Yes, they’d agreed to have a talk, but now this.

      “M-Mitch, someone pushed me in the river. I fell down the bank and rolled, but someone pushed me first.”

      “You said that.”

      “Don’t you believe me?” It came out as Don’t you leave me.

      “When we get back, we’ll look into it. I did see the stuff Christine packed for us strewn down the bank toward the river. Why didn’t you go down to the lake landing to wait for me? Didn’t you see or hear anyone?”

      “Hear them, with the roar of the river? I—I was just looking at the salmon in the water. My mind is working all right now. I’m better,” she said, shifting away again. She wanted to remember what had happened, but not feel the hopeless panic, the fear of riding the river. Was her memory messed up like her mind?

      And Mitch—he felt more solid than she recalled, so good, warm and strong with rock-hard muscles like the ledge under her. Had Alaska done that to him? Yes, he’d looked more bulked up when she’d seen him yesterday after an entire year apart. If it wasn’t a crazy idea, she’d almost think his new life had made him taller, too.

      “I’ll see if your clothes are dry, and we’ll get the wet suit on you for warmth, too,” he said. “The little cookstove may warm your hands, but don’t be in too much of a rush to get up. The shock of it—you’ll come back slowly and may have some scrambled thoughts.”

      That’s for sure, she told herself, but demanded, “You don’t believe I was pushed in?”

      “It’s good you’re getting angry at me. That will get your blood and temp up—and besides, that’s more like picking up where we left off, isn’t it?”

      “That’s all past now. I can’t thank you enough for risking the river to come after me. Can’t I just get d-dressed, curl up and sleep for a while? I’m so exhausted. It’s a trauma for both of us.”

      “Sure has been, and not just this river ride. But no, you can’t just go to sleep yet. I’m not the doctor in my family, but I know a hypothermic victim shouldn’t do that—too dangerous for a while. I think it’s like having a concussion. My clothes were soaked, too, and you needed core body heat badly, so if you’re wondering why we’re both undressed in here—”

      “I