Page 33 of River & Rue

Rue grins down at me. “Lucky for you, my phone picked up the Wi-Fi from the Lodge.”

The golf cart grinds to a halt six inches from my head. Kirk hops out, followed by another man in a PAC polo shirt.

Kirk peers down at me. “You’re not looking so great, bud.”

“He smells bad too,” Rue says cheerfully. “You’ve got him from here?”

“Absolutely,” he assures her. “Doc is on her way.”

“I don’t need a damned doctor.”

“Don’t listen to him. He hit his head when he fell.”

Kirk nods solemnly. “Don’t worry about a thing, Ms. Rue. We’ll take care of him.”

I glare at the relentless thorn in my side. She smiles and wiggles her fingers at me, then takes off at an easy jog.

“She-demon!” I shout at her.

“Man-baby!” she shouts back.

Kirk hocks a loogie.

“Okay, big guy. Let’s get you on your feet.”

15

river

​. . .​

mini-exorcisms

The “Doc” Kirk referred to is an acupuncturist and Qigong energy healer, and “on the way” meant they’re making a two-hour drive.

Color me unsurprised.

In the interim, Kirk and his helper, Gavin, take me to the small medical center attached to the spa. The nurse on duty is an older woman named Debra, with eyes that have seen some shit. She’s unfazed by the drying mud covering half my body and splattered over the rest.

After ordering Kirk to stop hovering and wait outside, Debra gives me an exam—one that includes a thorough, completely unnecessary check for a concussion—then agrees with my self-diagnosis of a pinched nerve in my lower back. She gives me a mild muscle relaxant and ibuprofen, along with a sheet of instructions for an ice/heat protocol and gentle stretches.

I thank her and hobble outside, emerging into a large courtyard. A stone pathway lines the edges, connecting the spa and medical center with the adjacent gym. In the center, a giant manzanita rises from the soil like a bloody hand with too many fingers, its bushy crown of leaves fluttering.

The rest of the space is a mixture of native grasses, gravel paths, and a dozen midsize copper sculptures. I was too out of it earlier to notice them, but they’re pretty incredible. One looks like it’s floating, thousands of tiny components bouncing and spinning in the wind. If I weren’t encrusted with dried mud and all-around miserable, I might take a closer look.

All I want right now is a ride back to my cabin and a shower.

Not seeing Kirk anywhere, I make my way along the path toward the offshoot leading away from the buildings. When I get there, I’m relieved to find him waiting on a sun-drenched bench, the golf cart parked beneath a nearby tree.

He doesn’t notice me approaching, engrossed in the paperback he’s holding a few inches from his face, well beneath the brim of an enormous straw hat. The relic looks like it’s been run over a few times, frayed edges waving in the breeze. Several loose stalks tap against the book, drawing my focus to the cover.

I blink. Blink again. Shake my head and squint. But nope, I’m not imagining it—he’s actually reading a book with a half naked lumberjack on the cover. The title, in thick neon-pink cursive, is Axe Me, Daddy.

With a resigned sigh, I add another item to my growing list of Things I Wish I Didn’t Know About Kirk.

When I’m close enough to throw shade over his pasty, oddly hairless legs, he startles and looks up with a smile. I try very hard not to think about why his face is pink.

“Howdy! You’re looking more chipper.” His eyebrows waggle. “Debra give you the good stuff?”