Part 3

“At the Cabin” Part 3

Dylan was disappointed that they were the first ones to arrive.  He never looked forward to Independence Day, because it felt like the whole world was full of women.  His mother and sister, his grandmother and great-aunt, and his four girl cousins.  Dylan’s friends were having a cookout in their neighborhood, and Dylan had begged his mother to let him stay the night and spend the holiday with them, but she had gotten very angry and almost cried.  Sullen, he scratched Esmeralda behind the ears when she rushed out to greet the car.  “Good girl,” he whispered.

His uncle wasn’t even here yet with the food, so he had a long time to kill before lunch and a long time to kill after lunch while everyone was sitting around talking.  He sat outside on the deck with the dog and his music, first Bob Dylan, then other stuff, wishing he were swimming in Jacob’s pool.

His grandmother came outside and handed him a brown paper sack and her cell phone.  “Why don’t you go on down the hill?” she said.  “Take Ezzie.  Sneak away while you’ve got the chance.”  She patted him softly on the shoulder.  “We’ll probably eat about one-thirty or two, but I won’t worry about you until three o’clock.”  The screen door latched closed.

He pocketed the cell phone and examined the sack lunch.  Roast beef sandwich, chips, apple, three cookies, water bottle.  He looked over his shoulder at the house.  His grandmother had closed the solid door on the inside too, so no one in the house would notice the empty deck.  He grinned.  “Come on, girl.”

The path was steep and Dylan started sweating almost immediately, even though the trees provided plenty of shade.  He took off his shirt and stuffed it through the back of his belt.  This was good: a man and his dog, pioneering.  Esmeralda trotted a little ways ahead of him, sniffing deer tracks in the low brush excitedly, and Dylan ran to catch up with her.  She took one look at him and bolted, barking, hot with the joy of the chase.  Dylan shouted and chased her.

In about an hour they reached the end of the trail.  They had to wade through a field of tall grass to reach the pebbly edge of the river, and Dylan thought of his mother thinking of ticks and laughed.  Esmeralda leapt, sending sheets of water sparkling up into the air.  Dylan shed his clothes on the bank and waded in.  It was colder than he’d expected, and muddier, too muddy to see any fish; even sitting, the water only came up to his armpits.  He splashed the dog and swam around, upstream, downstream.  When the sun was directly overhead, Dylan ate his lunch and lay on his back on the water-smooth pebbles.  The sun still shone red through his closed eyelids, so he draped an arm across his face.  He allowed the heat to make him drowsy and breathed a great sigh of relief from the women, relaxed, slept.