Whitewater Rendezvous

There were nods or raised hands all around. Justine’s WNC

baseball cap was hanging behind her on a peg on the wall.

“Well, ladies, if we’re all done eating.” Chaz surveyed their empty plates. “Let’s adjourn down the hall and I’ll pass out your dry bags.”

They trooped over to the conference room that Orion rented between trips, still in disarray from the aborted gear and food sorting session that morning.

“You get two of these.” She held up a large dry bag. “One for your clothes and one for your sleeping bag and pad.” In her other hand, she held up a much smaller one, about the size of a large purse. “This is for the essential stuff you need to have with you during the day. Both of them should be lined with garbage bags. They’re on the table over there, you can help yourself.”

“I’m also giving each of you one of these.” Chaz put down the dry bags and held up a Ziploc bag containing a roll of toilet paper and a lighter. “When you need to use the bathroom, pick a spot 200 feet away from camp and away from the water. That’s about seventy steps. Dig a hole, six to eight inches deep, preferably in an area without vegetation.

Do your business—and try to burn the paper when you’re done. Any remnants go in the hole, then you cover it and try to make it look like you were never there. Oh, and any feminine hygiene products need to be packed out with the trash. I can give you extra Ziplocs if you need them. Any questions?”

There were none. But Megan gave her a look she couldn’t quite decipher when she picked up her bags. She’s unhappy about something, Chaz guessed, probably the lack of bathroom facilities.

Once all the clients had retired to their rooms to repack their gear, Chaz picked up where she and Sally had left off assembling their equipment and meals. She spread out the food on the long tables, allocating perishables for the fi rst days out and freeze-dried and dehydrated meals for the later stops. She packed the ingredients for each meal into a large Ziploc, labeling it “Thursday lunch” or “Sunday breakfast” or whatever was appropriate. She also packed individual bags that contained drink powders, candy, and energy bars for each of the clients.

She was fi nishing up when she felt eyes on her and glanced up to fi nd Megan Maxwell watching her in silence from the doorway.

• 49 •

KIM BALDWIN

“I need a couple more dry bags,” Megan said. “I can’t fi t all my stuff into the three you gave me.”

“We have a limit on what we can take with us on the raft,” Chaz explained patiently. “We generally only allow each client the three bags—that’s why we sent out detailed packing lists of what to bring.

Can you leave some of your things back here at the lodge?”

Megan frowned at her for a moment before she replied. “Well, I really don’t want to do that unless I absolutely have to.”

Clients had asked this before, and she and Sally had always stood fi rm. But despite Megan’s abrasiveness thus far, there was something about her that touched a chord in Chaz, and she relented. Maybe this was her opportunity to improve their rapport. “I’ll give you one more bag.” She reached for one of the smaller ones she had left over on the table. “But you’ll have to limit yourself to that, all right?”

“Just this?” Megan complained, taking it from the guide. “Can’t I at least have a bigger one if I’m only getting one more?”

”I’m sorry. That’s the best I can do. Anything you don’t have room for you can leave with Sue and Paul, and they’ll make sure it’s safe until we get back.”

Megan didn’t try to hide that she wasn’t happy with the arrangement.

Her expression said it all. She looked like a pouting child. “Whatever,”

she harrumphed. Pivoting on her heel, she headed back to her room.

Peachy, Chaz sighed as the woman departed. Royal Ice Bitchindeed. Why am I trying so hard to please the Queen of Rude?

• 50 •

Дата добавления: 2015-11-14