Page 21 of The Ripple Effect

McHuge ambles up to the green sign I’m readjusting, which is mounted to the tree with rope, because McHuge would never poke a hole in a friend.GROOVER THIS WAY!it says, groover being the inexplicable whitewater word for outhouse. Also scattered around camp are a selection of McHuge’s favorite inspirationalquotes. From here, I can seeCHALLENGE YOUR REALITYandHAVE THE COURAGE TO BE BAD.

Ha. It takes way more courage to be good than bad, to show your soft belly instead of your steely spine. Although by that metric, McHuge is the brave one around here.

“Looks nice.” His voice is a natural disaster. It raises the hairs on my arms, gives me the sensation of gathering electricity in the air.

“Could be better,” I say, undoing a lumpy knot and trying again. “I want to send the right message.”

“What message is that?” He makes an amused huff, tracing a freckled finger along the rope. I thought his hands were blunt and pawlike, but I was wrong. Their roughness doesn’t erase their elegance and deliberation.

I look back at the rope. “These knots say,Your eyeballs matter to us. What you put in them should be beautiful and luxurious. We know you have a choice of outrageously expensive experimental relationship therapy, and we thank you for choosing the Love Boat. Ha!” I exclaim, when the knot settles into the right lines. Thirteen more to go.

“I’d rather go for more heart and soul, less eyeball and wallet.”

I stare at him, amazed. “You havenoidea about people, do you?”

“I have a PhD in psychology, Stellar.” Is there a trace of annoyance in his voice? A barely noticeable rise in his shoulders? They’re good shoulders—built by a generous hand, muscle on muscle topped with pale, freckled skin like the glaze on a cinnamon roll. I’m learning to diagnose their hidden messages: the easy, satisfied roll of a steering stroke in the canoe; the loose happiness when he plays chase with Babe; the square strength of a hug with Sharon.

I shouldn’t care that I’m the one who tightens his posture instead of loosening it. I should care that whatever I can discern from his movements, he can probably discern twice as much from mine. When you’re with people day after day, they see things. Weaknesses. Soft spots I’d rather not reveal, because those are easier to defend when nobody knows where they are.

It’s fine if we’re colleagues, but I need to not forget how he got under my defenses last time. That can’t happen again.

“Maybe we’ve met different people, because the ones I know wanteverything. If they think they’re owed something they don’t get, that’s when trouble happens.”

“You think a lot about give and take.” He doesn’t say it judgmentally, but maybe I’d rather he did. I’d like to find his boundaries, but he’s a cloud, leaving me swiping at nebulous arms of mist.

“Everyone cares about that. I’ve never gone to a restaurant where someone said, ‘I had the pasta but got charged for the wagyu filet, seems fair.’”

“I’m sure the guests wouldn’t give you a hard time about knots.” He puts a shoulder against the tree, leaning into my field of view so I can’t avoid his gentle concern. “It’s okay to let it go, if you want to.”

Ugh, sympathy. I want it; no, get it away from me. I’d die of relief if he hugged me; I’d kill him if he made me cry with his stupidcaring.

“I’ll be fine. It’s the service industry. It’s not that different from delivering pizza.”

“The river is not pizza, Stellar. It will give you more than you ever expected, but you have to be open to receiving and giving back.”

It’s the first Zen-like thing he’s said in days. When did he drop his groovy persona around me? “I’m sure the river and I will get along, in that case.”

He breathes out like he was hoping for something and didn’t get it. “Okay. Show me how you tie those knots.”

I make a shooing gesture. “I can handle it, McHuge. There must be other last-minute things you want to do.”

“Nothing more important than this,” he says, undoing the lowest one himself. “The knots matter to you, so that’s what we’ll do.” He’s a lefty, so the black steel ring winks in and out of view as he follows my directions: twist, loop, around, and through.

When he pulls the rope into a tight, flat, flawless double infinity shape, something inside me loosens. I don’t know why it’s better when he gets it right than when I do, but it is.

“It’s perfect. I… you didn’t have to do this.”

“I know.”

I haven’t yet learned to diagnose whatever’s in his eyes when they lock with mine. Suddenly I wonder what I would do with his body, if I had the right. What he’d do with mine. I can’t quite breathe, imagining the touch of his stomach against my own, the spring of his hair in my fist, the whisper of his fingers underneath my shirt like a prayer.

An old-fashioned alarm clock sounds from the sleeping quarters. My eyes wander to the neon-orange tent now visible through the trees—tall where McHuge’s and my solo tents were small, wider than our two spaces put together, bright and dangerous as a red sky in the morning.

“Time for me to pick up the guests,” he says, stepping back. “We’re ready, Stellar. I promise you can take a break. Chill in a hammock. Go for one last solo paddle.”

“No, thanks. I have work to do.”

He sighs. “Yeah, I figured. See you in ninety minutes.”

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