The Banks of Certain Rivers by Jon Harrison Read Free Book Online Page B

pressed. She also hinted
that she loved being a nurse but was considering going back to school
to widen her opportunities. I never pressed too much about that
either. I hoped she wouldn’t move away.
    I’d bring lunch sometimes. I’d tell stories over the
dining room table, and she’d laugh her easy laugh.
    One day things shifted, a tiny seismic tilt that realigned our
interactions. I came over to the farmhouse to find Lauren in tears,
nearly inconsolable, and she managed to tell me she’d just got
a call from her mom; her little brother had been in a serious car
accident and it looked, at the moment, like he might not survive his
injuries. She came to me, and I put my arms around her shoulders, and
she cried against my chest for what seemed like a very long time. I
knew about that sort of loss. When she calmed down enough I drove her
to her condo in town, and told her to let me know if she needed a
ride to the airport, or anything else.
    She called me later that night.
    “He’s going to be okay,” she said, letting out a
long breath. “Okay. Okay. They’re pretty sure he’s
going to make it. It was really iffy at first, but he’s stable
now.”
    “Do you still need to get back home?”
    “I’m going to wait a few days. He’s going to stay
with my parents while he recovers, so I’ll help out.”
    “Right up your alley.”
    “Lucky for my mom and dad, right?” She paused. “Can
I ask something?”
    “You want me to bring you your van from Carol’s house?”
I replied. Lauren sniffed and laughed.
    “Well, yeah, I guess I do, now that you mention it. But I
really wanted to ask if I could take you to dinner when I’m
back from Pittsburgh.”
    This was maybe the last question I was anticipating, but I smiled.
    “I’d like that very much. But there’s one thing I
need to tell you right away.”
    “Yes?”
    “I need to be sensitive to how Chris is going to feel about
anything like this.” I knew how I felt about it; my
heart was pounding so hard I could feel my pulse in my neck and
fingertips.
    “I understand,” Lauren said. “I think I can work
with that.”
    And that was how it started.

    It doesn’t take us as long to get the next shelf assembled, and when it’s complete
we stand it upright and shuffle it over against the wall. Lauren
starts arranging things on it—books, candles, framed photos—and
I get to work on the final piece of furniture. This shelf is smaller,
shorter and broader than the first two, and it goes together quickly.
    “Where are we putting this one?” I ask as I gather up
some torn plastic bags and leftover screws from the floor.
    “That’s for the office,” she says. The condo has a
master bedroom on the main floor above the garage, and Lauren has the
upstairs loft arranged as an office and guest room.
    The piece is heavy, but not too difficult to carry upstairs. I go
backwards, slowly, stepping cautiously on the smooth wood treads with
my bare feet while Lauren looks up at me saying: “Careful,
Neil. Be careful. Three more steps. Two. Let’s put it over
there. Right there. Whew! Good.”
    We sit on the bed to let our breathing come back to normal, and I
squeeze my fingers where they were crimped by my awkward grip. It’s
dark up here, barely illuminated from the living room below, but
neither of us bothers to flip on a light. It’s nice in this
darkness. Lauren rises to unlatch the skylight on the pitched
ceiling, and when she swings it open I can hear the waves washing in
from the lake and the continual low grumble of the river flowing over
the spillway. She returns to my side, and lets herself drop back to a
reclining position with her legs dangling off of the bed.
    “Thank you,” she says, stroking my back. “That was
heavy.”
    I listen to the sounds of the night. Some kids are laughing out on
the beach, and when the wind gusts the papers on Lauren’s desk
tremble. The breeze carries the smell of autumn. It’s easy to
let myself fall back to lie at