get up.
"Not today. I have things to do."
"Things more important than taking care of our river?"
"Yes."
Jonas felt a keen sense of disappointment, though he would never admit it. "All right then."
"Kara needs help decorating the recreation center. Are you coming to the dinner tonight?"
"Maybe. Maybe not."
Andrew sighed. "If you do -- just lay off the whiskey beforehand, okay?"
"Who the hell are you to tell me how much to drink?" Jonas demanded, angry and offended by Andrew's comment. He knew he had been drinking a bit much lately, but that was his business. He had things on his mind, problems made lighter by a nightcap.
"For what it's worth, I'm your son. And Dr. Appleborne has called three times to schedule your annual physical, and three times you've canceled. The last time he called, he told me he wants you to see a cardiologist in Sonoma, a Dr. Steiner. He's worried about your heart, and so am I. You're not a kid anymore; you have to take care of yourself."
"You're my son, not my mother. Lay off."
Andrew's face shut down. "Fine, do what you want. You will anyway." Andrew gathered his things and walked up the steps that led to the house and his car. After a moment Jonas heard him leave.
God, what was he doing -- driving away the only person he had left? But he couldn't seem to stop himself.
Squaring his shoulders, Jonas picked up his walking stick and headed downstream. He stopped now and then to catch a candy bar wrapper or an empty milk carton on the sharp edge of his stick and put it into the garbage bag that he carried over his shoulder.
After awhile he began to feel winded, so he sat down on a boulder and waited for the sudden tightness in his chest to go away. He didn't like the sensation of getting old, feeling weak, but the last thing he needed was some damn doctor telling him his ticker was slowing down. As if he didn't know that.
Thankfully the river wasn't slowing down. It sailed by his feet, fast and swift. Jonas loved the rush of the water. It soaked right through to his soul, giving him a thrill of excitement every time he heard it.
All of his memories were of the river. His parents had married on the grassy bank. He had been born in a log cabin where each fall the river rose high enough to wash the summer dust off the front steps. He had spent his summers learning fly-fishing from his father and testing his courage on the white-water rapids upstream. The river had been his playground. While other kids had jungle gyms and toy cars, he had had a big, glorious river to play in, and he had loved the water since his first breath.
When the sky was blue and the sunlight sparkled through the trees to dance on the water, he felt God close to his soul. This morning there were clouds, but as Jonas looked up toward the sky, they broke apart and the sun beamed down a welcoming ray of light.
The light beckoned to him like a playmate's mischievous smile. Oh, to be as free as the birds that flew overhead, that sang their songs to the melody of the river. How he would love to be flung from this mother earth and tossed up high to the treetops, to feel as light and as joyous as a new bird, feeling its wings for the first time.
But his feet still touched the ground. His heart still felt heavy, so he turned his face away from the sun and the joy and looked down at the ground, at the empty granola bar wrapper. This was reality, ugliness in his special place.
He hated the intrusion of such ugliness. He hated when things didn't work out the way they were supposed to.
Thirty-seven years ago he had married Isabelle, a beautiful young girl from New Orleans who had come to live on the river with her aunt Claire. Isabelle's parents had died in an automobile accident, and aside from her maiden aunt, she had been all alone in the world.
He had fallen in love with her on sight. She had seemed so much like the river to him -- long, flowing summer dresses, a smile that warmed his heart, and a passion as exciting as a
"Not today. I have things to do."
"Things more important than taking care of our river?"
"Yes."
Jonas felt a keen sense of disappointment, though he would never admit it. "All right then."
"Kara needs help decorating the recreation center. Are you coming to the dinner tonight?"
"Maybe. Maybe not."
Andrew sighed. "If you do -- just lay off the whiskey beforehand, okay?"
"Who the hell are you to tell me how much to drink?" Jonas demanded, angry and offended by Andrew's comment. He knew he had been drinking a bit much lately, but that was his business. He had things on his mind, problems made lighter by a nightcap.
"For what it's worth, I'm your son. And Dr. Appleborne has called three times to schedule your annual physical, and three times you've canceled. The last time he called, he told me he wants you to see a cardiologist in Sonoma, a Dr. Steiner. He's worried about your heart, and so am I. You're not a kid anymore; you have to take care of yourself."
"You're my son, not my mother. Lay off."
Andrew's face shut down. "Fine, do what you want. You will anyway." Andrew gathered his things and walked up the steps that led to the house and his car. After a moment Jonas heard him leave.
God, what was he doing -- driving away the only person he had left? But he couldn't seem to stop himself.
Squaring his shoulders, Jonas picked up his walking stick and headed downstream. He stopped now and then to catch a candy bar wrapper or an empty milk carton on the sharp edge of his stick and put it into the garbage bag that he carried over his shoulder.
After awhile he began to feel winded, so he sat down on a boulder and waited for the sudden tightness in his chest to go away. He didn't like the sensation of getting old, feeling weak, but the last thing he needed was some damn doctor telling him his ticker was slowing down. As if he didn't know that.
Thankfully the river wasn't slowing down. It sailed by his feet, fast and swift. Jonas loved the rush of the water. It soaked right through to his soul, giving him a thrill of excitement every time he heard it.
All of his memories were of the river. His parents had married on the grassy bank. He had been born in a log cabin where each fall the river rose high enough to wash the summer dust off the front steps. He had spent his summers learning fly-fishing from his father and testing his courage on the white-water rapids upstream. The river had been his playground. While other kids had jungle gyms and toy cars, he had had a big, glorious river to play in, and he had loved the water since his first breath.
When the sky was blue and the sunlight sparkled through the trees to dance on the water, he felt God close to his soul. This morning there were clouds, but as Jonas looked up toward the sky, they broke apart and the sun beamed down a welcoming ray of light.
The light beckoned to him like a playmate's mischievous smile. Oh, to be as free as the birds that flew overhead, that sang their songs to the melody of the river. How he would love to be flung from this mother earth and tossed up high to the treetops, to feel as light and as joyous as a new bird, feeling its wings for the first time.
But his feet still touched the ground. His heart still felt heavy, so he turned his face away from the sun and the joy and looked down at the ground, at the empty granola bar wrapper. This was reality, ugliness in his special place.
He hated the intrusion of such ugliness. He hated when things didn't work out the way they were supposed to.
Thirty-seven years ago he had married Isabelle, a beautiful young girl from New Orleans who had come to live on the river with her aunt Claire. Isabelle's parents had died in an automobile accident, and aside from her maiden aunt, she had been all alone in the world.
He had fallen in love with her on sight. She had seemed so much like the river to him -- long, flowing summer dresses, a smile that warmed his heart, and a passion as exciting as a
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