Where the River Ends - Charles Martin [134]
It was a tough place.
The river moved by, sliding across the earth’s surface like sheet of polished slate. I stepped in and it tugged on me. I waded in waist-deep and pressed her to my chest. I missed her. And standing in that water, I missed her a lot.
An osprey glided above me and a pelican floated by some hundred yards away. Downriver a shrimp boat’s horn sounded. I lifted the lid, held her, turned her over and watched as Abbie took a swan dive.
AFTER ELEVEN DAYS on the river, we had reached Cedar Point and, unbelievably, we had checked off all but one. Nine out of ten. I pulled her halfway up the shore. A helicopter sounded in the distance. “Honey…Abbie…” Her eyes fluttered. “We’re here.” I could hear men running toward us in the marsh. Her father’s voice in the background.
She swallowed and tried to catch her breath. I didn’t know what to say. She nodded but didn’t open her eyes. “We’ll save the dolphins for another day.”
I patted her cheek with my hand. “You should have wished for more?”
She lifted her hand and touched my face. “I got all I ever wanted.”
I was stalling. “Hey, you…you said you wanted to give me something. Didn’t you? An anniversary present?”
She nodded. “Already gave it to you.”
“But…?”
She tapped me in the chest. “It’ll be there when you need it.”
Her eyes were starting to roll back. She sucked in a deep breath. Eyes closed, she placed her hand behind my head and pulled me toward her, pressing her forehead to mine. “Don’t keep all that to yourself. People need what you’ve got. So you give it away. Invite them to your island.” She closed her eyes and lay back. Her face was on fire but her hands were clammy and her breathing was shallow. She pulled my face to hers and whispered, “When you wake up and discover the hurt places, don’t run. Sink your paddle in and ride the river.” She tapped me hard in the chest. “Every time. Dive in, let the river take you, and you’ll find me.” She pointed toward the ocean. “I’ll be waiting.” The tears began to flow. Her arms fell limp and breathing all but disappeared. I held her head in my hands. “Abbie? Abbie?”
Her body tensed, she inhaled—filling her stomach—and focused somewhere ten thousand miles behind me. “Abbie?”
She pulled on me. “Promise.”
“But…”
She smiled and her eyes returned to me. “Doss?” I couldn’t look. She pulled again. “Life is a series of hellos and goodbyes. This…is goodbye. But not our last hello.” She tapped me in the chest. “Say it.”
My voice was broken. “I promise.”
She sucked in hard, blood draining out of each nostril, and pointed toward the ocean. “I’ll be there. Waiting. So bury me…where the river ends.”
She lifted my hand, placed my finger between her temple and her ear—and then she was gone.
HER ASHES SPREAD across the water. There were so few. They spread out covering the surface, stretching from ripple to ripple. The outgoing current tugged at them, then strung them out single file in a long stretch toward the ocean. A hundred yards away, I saw the flash of a tail. A bottlenose dolphin rose up through the ashes. Then another. And another. Four of them rolled slowly through, painting their skin in white ash. The water was warm and clear. I whispered softly across the ripples on the water, “Abbie…wait for me. Wait for me where the river ends.”
She passed out of view and I walked up on the bank. Dripping.
I stood on the beach, watching a fiddler crab crawl across my toe. I crossed the point, through the marsh and headed back up the dirt road. A man I didn’t know approached. Long hair, short-cropped beard, pad of paper in his hand. A second man with a video camera perched on his shoulder was following him. The first said, “You’re that artist? The one that made the trip downriver…with Abbie.” I nodded. He crossed his arms and stood between me and the end of the road. “It’s been about