Whitewater Rendezvous

curved horns on the rams. Chaz had encouraged them to keep their binoculars always close at hand. It was easy in this wide, gentle current to put down their paddles for a moment now and then. They began automatically reaching for theirs when she reached for hers, following her eyes, never disappointed.

The hours passed quickly, they were all so absorbed in the awesome views, in every direction, ever changing with each stroke of their paddles. Not a landscape to be rushed through. Mountains, mountains, mountains, and wide plains of tundra meadows dotted with dark pools of placid water and interlaced with a dazzling mosaic of lichens and mosses and wildfl owers.

She was guessing, having only colors to go on and not the details of blossoms and shapes of leaves, but Megan thought the wide swaths of pinkish-purple fl owers she was seeing must be fi reweed—the guidebook said it was ubiquitous in Alaska.

It was such an immense and endless landscape of wilderness that it began to unsettle her. She was the center of the universe at WNC; the newsroom revolved around her, and she was in total control of everything. Her words moved mountains. But out here…all bets were off. You can’t control this place. Get lost out here and you’re in somedamn serious trouble. It was frightening, but exhilarating too. Like she was living on the edge of danger instead of just reporting about it.

She hadn’t seen any sign at all that another human being had ever been this way before. But Chaz was here, she remembered. She took the caribou picture on this river. For the fi rst time it occurred to her.

Who was with you when you took that? Who did you share that with?

Sally?

There were more trees than she’d imagined she’d see this far north—forests of spruce and thickets of dwarf birch and alder and willow. They were coming up on one now, an area of dense conifers with an undergrowth of spongy green moss, and Chaz was pulling off, beaching her kayak.

“We’re stopping here!” she called as she waved them over.

It was a delightful spot, Megan had to admit, with the soft sphagnum to cushion their sleeping bags. Through the trees, a short distance away, she could see a small lake shimmering in the sun.

Once they had shed their life jackets and spray skirts, Chaz laid out the camp: the area for the tents, where the food prep and cooking

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KIM BALDWIN

would be done, and the designated bathroom area—over a small rise for privacy and away from the water.

“We have two-person tents,” Sally said, taking four identical navy blue tent bags out of a large compactor garbage bag and lining them up near the area where they would spend the night. “Since you’re all friends, we’re assuming you can decide how you want to divvy up the sleeping arrangements.”

“Linda and I will take one.” Pat plucked bag number one.

“Megan? How ‘bout it?” Justine asked, glancing her way as she reached for number two.

“Sure, that sounds great.”

“That leaves me with the masseuse.” Yancey ruffl ed the spiky dark hair on Elise’s head as she passed by her to pick up the third bag. “You all didn’t think very smart on that choice, my friends.”

Elise smiled at the compliment, but her eyes hadn’t left Chaz since they’d beached the boats. “Well, we can always change the sleeping arrangements at any time, if someone wants a little variety, can’t we?”

Here we go again. Though it was increasingly obvious that Chaz was not exactly jumping at the chance to take Elise up on her blatant, nonstop fl irtations. More and more, Megan began to wonder why. She was fairly certain Chaz was gay. I swear I caught you checking me outfor a second during that rolling lesson. So, what is it, then? Are youinvolved with somebody, or just not interested in Elise?

O

Nearly simultaneous shrieks from the tent area 200 feet away brought Chaz to her feet and instantly alert, but the familiar laughter that followed quickly reassured her that it was merely Sally’s traditional opening night prank of assorted artifi cial spiders, hidden in the tent folds and among the poles and stakes. She relaxed back down on the rock she’d been sitting on and resumed preparations for their dinner.

Shortly thereafter, she spotted Linda and Pat approaching.

“Oh, come on, honey.” Pat’s voice rang with amusement. “You know there are no tarantulas in Alaska. Chaz even warned us this would happen.”

“So I forgot. And you better stop teasing me about it if you want

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