Page 61 of River Wild

Carrie

“How’s your foot doing?”

“Oh. My toe. Yes, it’s fine. Thanks again for fixing me up.”

“I only put a Band-Aid on it.”

And blew on it …

Sweet Lord in heaven.

I swallow down. “Yes, well, I appreciate it.”

Silence.

“Did the blood clean up okay?” I ask.

“What?” His word is sharp, surprising me.

“My blood that I got on your floor. I’m hoping it didn’t leave a stain.”

“No. It cleaned up fine.”

“Oh, good. I’m glad.”

Silence again. The low hum of the engine and the whoosh of noise from passing cars are all that can be heard while River drives us to Thistleberry Farm.

“Do you mind if I put the radio on?” I ask him.

“Knock yourself out.”

I reach over and press the On button, bringing the radio to life. “Last Christmas” by Wham! fills the car, and he groans.

“You don’t like this song?” I ask him.

“Does anyone?”

Well, I do.But I keep that nugget of information to myself. Don’t need to give him any more ammo to use against me.

I select another radio station.

The Pogues and Kirsty MacColl’s “Fairytale of New York” is playing.

“I love this song,” I tell River.

I know everyone is all about Mariah and the other upbeat Christmas songs, but for me, this tale of longing and melancholy is the best. I don’t know what that says about me. Probably nothing good.

Neil always hated this song.

That’s possibly one of the reasons I love it so much.

“You love this song?” He’s skeptically looking at me.

“Yes. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t believe me.”