The River Burns by Trevor Ferguson Page B

memory, and people knew it was his way of blunting pain. He’d been left numb by the experience, disoriented, defeated. Spending time with his dad reinforced the notion that he might inherit his circumstances, become old and awash and alone. In the main, he spent substantial time with his dad only during hunting season, and he supposed that that was not going to change.
    His father came up behind him.
    â€œSo. Dad,” Ryan said. He turned. “Help me out on this. Why pull a shotgun on that poor kid?”
    â€œHe’s almost as old as you are.”
    â€œNot nearly. I’m thinking you had an ulterior motive.”
    â€œI wanted to save his skin. Spare him from the wrath of my neighbours. I don’t suppose you’re going to arrest me.”
    The two men faced each other just inside the dining room, the heat of the day slipping in through open windows, fluttering the curtains a touch.
    â€œYour brother,” Alex said, “can’t get over that you’re a cop. I understand it, though. What else would you do with a mind like that?”
    â€œSuspicious?”
    â€œThat’s not the word. Inquisitive. Also . . . I might blush here because this makes me so proud . . . brilliant.”
    Ryan knew that his father was not about to blush. He also knew that he was right in that something was on his dad’s mind. He’d been lured here.
    â€œSo what’s up?”
    â€œHow about a Coke? I got diet. The other stuff pisses right out of me. You can still be on the job and have a Coke, no?”
    Quietly, Ryan said, “Sure.” He sat in a hardwood chair by the table. Cooler than the sofa. Whatever was stuck in his dad’s craw sounded serious. He automatically hoped it wasn’t health-related.
    In the kitchen, Alex uncapped a beer for himself and poured the Diet Coke. He returned to the dining room. “I put it in a glass,” he said. “With ice. We can pretend we’re like civilized people.”
    To Alex, his son seemed to take his remark to heart, perhaps invest more in his words than he intended to say. “Out with it,” his son nudged him.
    â€œIt’s all just talk, Ry.” He raised his right hand and made it vibrate. “The wild man of the river. You know my reputation.”
    â€œIs it? With a basis in truth, no? Anyway, it’s more than reputation, Dad. You’re a freaking legend. Your name carries weight. I know what I’m talking about. Denny and me, we grew up with it. We were expected to score the pretty girls, the girls expected it of us. Well, that part wasn’t so bad.”
    â€œI wouldn’t think so.” Alex laughed from his belly a moment, then took a swig of his beer. He wanted to say more, but it seemed that something was also on Ryan’s mind.
    â€œWe fought the toughest fights. Drank more than anybody else, took the biggest risks, on and off the river.” Ryan responded to a need to run this down, as they rarely got into such territory. What they knew about each other was usually kept under wraps. “You were the river rat everybody else followed and looked up to. People took their cue from you. You got the logs downstream, but you also led the strikes when that needed to be done. You straightened people out sometimes, made them wise up. But you also settled them down when that was necessary, and then, Dad, when it was time to get them off their butts again, you riled them up. Call it mythology, okay, but I heard tales about you from enough sources, including from Mom, that they’re bound to contain more than a grain of truth.”
    The reminiscences did not seem to hearten Alex. “Old times,” he commented. “I have a hard time swatting a fly now. Life on the river makes you older than you are. Weathers you. Pulls a tear in every muscle you own. Mangles your bones. Are you still on me for working over that driveway salesman?”
    â€œYou know