Page 28 of My Sister is Going to Kill Me

“I don’t,” Lucinda said simply. “But I know this: In any industry, the best salespeople are wholly committed to their performance. It’s all blinding surface, with questionable substance underneath.”

“Babette has depth,” Mandy grumbled.

“I don’t doubt it, dear. Anyone who’s built a business of this scale must have something beneath the razzle-dazzle. But I wonder if you—or anyone here—knows what lurks down there.”

The osprey plunged into the river in a sudden spray, and Mandy startled. A moment later, the bird burst back up with a silver fish in its talons, beating its enormous mottled wings as it ferried its quarry to a perch high on the other side of the canyon, beyond her field of view. The canyon went silent again, as if the violence had never happened. The sun winked out on the water, taking the last of its warmth with it.

Chapter Thirteen

A long, low horn sounded across the beach.

“DINNER!”

Liv could smell it from their campsite. She’d created a sleeping area for two sisters in perfect alignment: two pads squared up in crisp parallel, pillows side by side, bags lined up by their feet. But Liv had set it up alone, while Mandy flitted among the other guests, finding anyone except Liv to talk with.

Even on a sister trip, Mandy was happiest getting lost in a crowd. It was her security blanket in good times and bad. Liv remembered when she’d gotten the call at her college dorm fifteen years ago about their mom’s accident. Her sister had been incoherent, babbling, her words knitted with sobs, but Liv caught the basics: her mother driving home late, a truck that migrated over the line. Head-on collision. No survivors. Liv raced to find a flight from Washington, DC, home to Irvine, but somehow, in the fifteen terrifying hours it took to get there, Liv missed the crucial window to fall with her sister into that first shock wave of grief. Mandy had hugged her when she arrived, long and hard, but all week she kept drifting away, floating into the arms of their dad and family friends, the unfocused pain on her face shot through with what Liv could only interpret as recrimination. Because Liv hadn’t been there when it happened. She hadn’t held her little sister’s hand when the first call from the police came in. She hadn’t had to identify their mother at the scene.

It wasn’t fair. But it was true. The heartbreak that should have been theirs together was theirs apart.

There was no way to reclaim those fifteen hours and pierce the orbit of her sister’s grief. Mandy had turned to others, so Liv did then what she did now: She made herself useful. Fifteen years ago, she’d taken out the trash, paid the bills, and organized insurance paperwork. She saved her tears for when she washed the dishes at night, choking out hard, ugly sobs over the sink while no one was watching.

She looked back down at their campsite, then up the brush-scraggled rocks. No one was watching now. Liv headed over the sandy hillock that led back to the main beach. It had been transformed. Where there were once tarps and bags, there now stood thirteen camping chairs in a circle, anchored on one end by a grill, a huge Dutch oven, and a long table loaded with steaming mashed potatoes, green beans, and pineapple slaw. A minor miracle. She’d had nothing but granola bars and a smooshed peanut butter sandwich all day.

Big Pete gathered them inside the circle of chairs. “We like to do something special your first night,” he said. “Rib-eye steaks, or tofu if you don’t eat meat. German chocolate skillet cake for dessert. There’s plenty for everyone to stuff yourselves.”

“Babette specified a polyphasic forage-friendly diet for this trip,” PK said. “We need ingredient lists.”

“And macro counts,” Fiona added.

Big Pete smiled wearily. “We make menus, not miracles. What we got is good, hot, nutritious food. I suggest you act accordingly.”

He went over the basics of how meals worked: the handwashing protocol, where compost went, and how to sanitize everything at the end. Liv was surprised they were so intense about hygiene. It seemed like a group of scruffy river guides wouldn’t care much about that.

“Out here, we take health and safety very seriously,” Big Pete said. “Falling in the river lasts a minute, but an outbreak of norovirus can have everyone laid out puking for days. We can’t pick up new supplies midstream, and there’s no way to leave the canyon if you get hurt or aren’t feeling well. If there’s a life-threatening emergency, we have a satellite phone and a radio to call it in. A helicopter can land at one of the medevac locations. But there are only a couple of those. Unless someone is seriously injured, we’re on our own until we reach Lake Mead at the end of the week.”

“Has Marc contacted you from the office?” Charlie said.

“No.”

“So Babette isn’t coming,” Fiona said. “I knew it.”

Charlie looked like he was about to protest, but Devon put a consoling hand on his arm.

Big Pete kept his voice calm. “It’s not conclusive. Marc might still be getting back to the rim. He could have had an issue with one of the mules.”

“Or Babette might not have arrived or contacted your office at all,” Stefan offered.

“Hard saying, not knowing,” the guide responded. “Any other questions? Preferably ones I might be able to answer?”

Imogen raised her hand. “I didn’t find a tent in my sleeping gear.”

Big Pete nodded. “This time of year, you shouldn’t need one.”

“But what about scorpions?”

“They’re out here.”

“And snakes?”