“Ron …?” Dani pitched in, seeing he had gotten all nervous. “It’s okay. What did you see …?”
“Nothing,” Rooster finally said. His eyes hung, seeming both shot down and defeated, and they seemed to settle on Dani’s with a kind of contrite, regretful smile. “Nothing more to say.” He raised his glass to Rudy and John. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“C’mon, Rudy, that’s the end of it …” John Booth pulled his friend back around by the arm. “Just Rooster being Rooster. Sit back down and have a wing. We’ve all had a bunch to drink.”
“I ain’t drunk,” Rooster chimed in again. “Been clean for fifteen days now. It’s ginger ale. See …?” He held up his drink. “Anyway—to your friend.” He tilted his glass.
“To Trey …” Rudy nodded grudgingly, turning back around. Under his breath, he muttered, “Asshole.”
“I think you’re right,” Dani said to Geoff, sensing the shift in the mood. “Time for me to move along.” She went into her jeans pocket and came out with a couple of twenties.
“No way,” John Booth and Alexi seemed to say as one. They pushed her money back. “Your money’s not good here. Not after what you had to do today.”
“Thanks,” she said.
“You want to stay with me?” Geoff asked. “It’s a long way back.”
“I’m fine,” she said. She put her hand lightly on his thigh and smiled. “Thanks. But don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Besides, Blu will get me back.” Blu was her three-year-old yellow Lab, who went with Dani everywhere. She stood up and said, “It’s a work night, everyone, or at least it is for somebody out there … Time for me to get back home.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Blu got up from snoozing in the back as Dani climbed into her Subaru wagon. “C’mon, Blu, baby …” He stepped up to front, wagging his tail happily. “You’re shotgun, dude. Time to get me back home.”
Carbondale was thirty miles northwest up Route 82, and there were always a bunch of cops out at night. And Geoff was right, she’d probably had had one more than she should. She turned on a CD, a local cover band named Wet Spring. She made the turn onto Main and then went on through the rotary, heading onto 82. She settled in for the forty-minute ride.
Sure, accidents always happened, she knew. And that was likely what it was. John Booth was probably right, he could have been trying out some old spins or flips. He could have been going down backward. There was so much beautiful water, he could have easily hit his head a million ways, with no helmet. You pitch into a rock, or get sucked under by an eddy or thrown by a hole. Anything could happen on the river. They all knew the risks. Trey more than any of them.
Dani sighed. “What did it really matter anyway, right, Blu?” How Trey died. He wasn’t wearing a helmet. It’s a lesson for them all. He was dead.
That’s all.
Around the turnoff for Snowmass, she winced at the thought of Allie and Petey having to suddenly go it alone. To have their world ripped from them. Just like that. Like soldiers in the war, talking one minute, who drive over an IED. One day you’ve got a beautiful family and the sky is blue and the whitewater is rushing. The next day you’re gone.
Her mind flashed back to Rooster: You didn’t see what I saw, that’s all.
That Ron was a hard one to like. An even harder one to put stock in and believe. But what he had said seemed to stay with Dani. It wasn’t no accident?
Well, if it wasn’t an accident, what the hell was it then? Was there another rider out there? Did someone else ram into him, and cause him to spill? Or did someone come out from the shore? There was that rock bed down there by the Cradle.
She tried to imagine Rooster in the air gliding by. Then she let out a sigh of disappointment, suddenly realizing he was totally full of shit. There was no way to see the Slaughterhouse Falls run from anywhere near where the balloons went up in Aspen. Even on a perfect day like yesterday. It was at least a couple of miles away. Whoever had said it was right: the guy was basically a quarter short of a dollar between the ears. And always starting trouble.
Rooster being Rooster again.
That was all.
Wet Spring was singing their hit, “Misunderstood,” which she’d seen them do a couple of times, and Dani couldn’t stop herself from singing along. Blu had his front paws on the divider and his hind legs in the backseat.
From there it was another fifteen minutes to Carbondale. She pulled off Route 82 and into town, which mostly dark now—nothing much happening here after ten P.M.—and turned onto Colorado Street and into her apartment complex: eight attached units facing Mount Sopris. She shared it with Patti, who worked at the yoga clinic, but Patti was away in L.A. doing some certification seminar. Her neighbor’s calico cat, Cici, was slinking out on the lawn. She never strayed very far and sometimes walked along the fence that separated their decks when Dani was drinking her morning coffee or doing her sun salutations. And who, defying conventional wisdom, Blu seemed to get along with rather well.
“Hey, baby.” Dani bent down and picked her up. Cici was purring. “How was your day? Mine was pretty terrible.”
The door opened and Dawn stuck her head out. “Oh, Dani, sorry, she must’ve snuck out. We’ve been calling her.”
“No worries,” Dani said, handing the cat over. “I never mind a visit from my friend.”
“We’ve got a zin open.” Dawn was a massage therapist who worked at the St. Regis, and her boyfriend, Jerry, was a chef at the hotel, too. “You and Blu want to come over? Watch Jon Stewart?”
“Thanks,” Dani said, “but I’ve had enough. Rough day.”
“I know. We heard. So horrible. Did you know him?”
Dani shrugged, opening the door for Blu to go inside. “A little. More a while back than now.”
“You’re sure you don’t want that glass of wine? It’s a good one.”
“Thanks, Dawn. I think I’ll just crash. We’ll do it another time.”