🎧 Chapter Two | Hot Water
What you need to know:
On a day trip to the hot springs, in 2011, the lug nuts attaching the wheels to the axels, fall off, forcing this family to pull over and deal with the problem. Rick, Jennifer’s husband of a few months, had loosen them with the goal of rotating the tires, but then got distracted and forgot to tighten them again. Jennifer, scared by this oversight and how it could led to the death of all of them, including her two children from a previous marriage, calls her former husband (a mechanic) for advice.
Chapter Two
Hot Water
Jo and Spencer splash water toward each other across the indoor pool. Laugh. Yell. Their voices mix with the other children here with their own families. Overhead, a sharply vaulted ceiling paneled in knotted pine. On all sides, angular windows with great panels of glass that overlook grassy hills and pine trees.
This is the Bonneville Hot Springs.
In the corner of the great space, I’m partially immersed in an oversized circular hot tub.
Next to me, Rick floats serenely, arms spread wide and gazing at the ceiling. Mineral infused steam undulates between us, an ever changing veil. Now and again his fingers brush against my leg, a reminder of his proximity.
As of yet, I haven’t been able to speak to him beyond: “See if you can find some branches or boards along the road.” And, “Hold the wheel steady.” And, “Pass me that crowbar.”
I sit in the pose of a watchful mother, elbows on the cool concrete edge of the hot tub, eyes trained on my kids.
I should be able to thank my lucky stars that nothing more serious happened and forgive Rick’s very human error—first that he loosened and then forgot to tighten the lug nuts and second that he has yet to acknowledge his mistake. That’s how it goes, right? People are flawed. Let it go, and why not? We made it to the dealer in Hood River without incident, replaced the lost lug nuts and continued on our way. Sure, a couple of the wheels would need the posts replaced and that would cost a few bucks, but so what? I should be able to emerge from this icy terror but it will not melt despite the hot water swirling around the lower half of my body.
“Marco,” Spencer calls.
“Polo,” a group of other kids call around him.
Spencer stands in the pool’s shallow end, eyes closed tight. The other children back away from him.
Jo swims to the ladder, climbs out. She’s in an orange and pink polka dot bikini. Water sluices down her skinny body and long legs. Arms close to her sides, she fast walks to the hot pool, hops down the steps.
I slip off the edge and deeper into the water.
Jo floats onto my lap. “I hate that game,” she says. “So stupid.”
“Agree. It’s kind of scary,” I say. Holding her tight, I rest my cheek on top of her head. She smells of chlorine, minerals, and herself—flowery and sweet.
Behind us, the voices continue calling out the predictable mantra. Marco. Polo. Marco...
Jo wiggles free of my too-tight embrace, swims around to face me. “I’m bored,” she says. Bits of her blonde hair, darkened by the water, stick to her cheeks. “How long are we staying?”
“We just got here, silly,” I say, tug one of her drippy ponytails playfully.
“I’m hungry.”
“Your snacks are over on our chairs,” I say, wave to the row of loungers arranged next to the windows. “We can get them and bundle up in towels if you want?”
“I’m tired of snacks,” she says.
Rick, having floated to the far end of the pool, watches us through the waves of steam. Seemingly amused. He has two grown sons (from a previous marriage) and is done with the minutia of parenting. He largely stays out of the way of this work I do with Steve, thinks of himself as a friend to the kids. A pal.
“I can get you a sandwich from the restaurant?” I say, looking from him to her. “Or fries?”
Rick floats over, beard beaded from the steam. “I could have some fries,” he says to us. “Want me to order them?”
“Jo!” Spencer calls.
At the near edge of the big pool, Spencer waves two pink foam noodles over his head like flags. Marco Polo over, apparently.
“Cool,” Jo says, swims to the steps, climbs out, then jumps into pool with Spencer. She takes one of the noodles. They joust at each other as if in battle.
Rick slides his arm around my shoulders.
It’s all I can do not to flinch.
“How about you?” he asks. “Fries?”
“I’m good,” I say, look up at him, quickly, then ahead at the swirling, churning water of the tub. I need to get a better attitude. Need to stop this. He’s my husband. A good man. I love him. I love him. I love him, I tell myself.
Rick rests his head back against the edge of the hot pool. Closes his eyes.
Shifting, I look past him at the kids who thwack at each other with those bendy noodles, then at him again. Those pale lashes. That freckled complexion. That strong, lean body. Rick is all I could ever want, I tell myself. A Zen Buddhist. A conservationist who recycles and composts. Rick keeps a brood of urban chickens in our backyard, peddles his bike to his clinic every single day in order that we are responsible with our carbon footprint. Rick is an old fashioned country doctor, the kind who refuses payment for treatments and take casseroles and loaves of bread instead. I am the luckiest woman in the world. I am.
Rick opens his eyes, lifts his head, looks at me looking at him.
“Relaxing, isn’t it?” he asks, takes my hand under the water, holds on. “I’m glad we came.”
“Yeah. It’s great,” I say, force a smile.
The timer snaps off. The water stills.
Our hands interlinked under the surface are cadaver-like.
“I got you,” Jo yells. “You’re dead.”
“No you didn’t,” Spencer says. “I got you!”
I ease my hand from Rick’s, float to the steps, take hold of the rail, pull myself out of the hot tub. “I’m going to hang with the kids,” I say to him.
“Great,” he says. Mild, calm, relaxed. He smoothes his hand over his beard, lifts his chin. “Turn on the bubbles, would you?”
Next:
Chapter 3: Moody Women Staring into the Distance
