The River Runs Orange by R.J. Harlick

Author:R.J. Harlick
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dundurn Press

TWENTY - THREE

As the afternoon sun beat a hot, baking path across parched Three Deer Point, we moved our wicker chairs further into the cooling recess of the verandah. Thinking the Paynes had only dropped by for a brief chat, I'd expected them to leave after finishing their first glass of ice tea. When they requested a refill, I thought they were just being their usual friendly Texan selves, but when Ed asked for a third glass while his eyes gazed wistfully at his wife's bowed head, I realized they really wanted to be distracted from their worry.

Knowing of their keen interest in the past, I brought out some of my great-aunt Agatha's old albums that contained photos from the early 1900s of Three Deer Point and the surrounding area, including several intriguing pictures of everyday life on the Migiskan Reserve. In fact, I could have sworn one nattily dressed gentleman wearing a rakishly-cocked felt hat and plus-fours was the spitting image of Eric. Amidst hoots of laughter, Jid agreed. It was most likely his grandfather or another close Odjik relative.

Although Billie showed interest in the ancient photos, Ed's eyes strayed, spending perhaps more time gazing at his wife than the album, his brow dented with concern. Finally, halfway through the second album, he stood up and suggested it was time they head back to their cabin at the Forgotten Bay Fishing Camp.

Her lips firm in reluctant agreement, Billie apologized for taking up so much of my time. “At times like this, it's a help to be with friends. Waiting ain't easy. I find that no matter how bad the test results, knowing is better than the worry of not knowing.”

I put my arms around her and gave her a hug. “I'm rooting for you. And please, feel free to drop by any time.”

I watched the two of them climb into their SUV, their usual exuberance still and muted. Billie gave me a last wan smile before she closed the massive door. I felt helpless.

And as I watched the back of the Lincoln disappear around the first bend of Three Deer Point's long twisting lane, I thought of another friend, who'd also endured this terrible wait for what is essentially a sentence, life or death. In her case it was death. Within a month she'd been dead, of pancreatic cancer. About the only good thing you could say about her tragic demise was it had been mercifully quick. If Billie were to have a similar sentence, I hoped it would be just as quick. No one should have to endure a slow lingering death attached to machines and intravenous pouches. Sergei nudged me for a pat, and as I bent down to hug him, I thought about how we are more merciful with our pets.

Through my haze of worry, I barely noticed Jid run up the steps into the house. “Phone. It's Eric.”

I shook myself back to the blazing afternoon and went inside.

“What's wrong?” Eric asked, obviously hearing the note of sadness in my voice.

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