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"Clear," Munro announces. "You can start snogging again if ye like."
Errol grasps my face in both hands. We're both struggling to breathe, and my heart still pounds like crazy. He leans in as if to kiss me.
I lurch toward the side of the raft to vomit into the river.
The man who saved my life watches me with a pinched expression. He lays a hand on my back and holds my hair out of the way while I throw up again. Then I raise a hand to let him know I'm done. Nothing left in my stomach, I'm sure. I turn around and slump against the side of the raft.
Errol brushes wet hair away from my face. "All right now? Should we call for help?"
"Not necessary. I'm okay now that I've emptied my stomach." I manage a weak smile. "Guess I'm not totally over my motion sickness."
"I got nauseous too, so donnae feel bad." He kisses my forehead, then says loudly, "I'm sure Munro got a wee bit nauseous too."
"Never happens to me," Munro says. "My stomach is made of iron."
"You were meant to commiserate with Ashley, not brag about how tough you are."
Munro casts me a sheepish look that seems less than sincere. "Aye, lass, the waves got me too."
"You don't need to lie," I tell him. "Doesn't bother me at all that you have an indestructible stomach."
"One of us has to stay in command, aye?"
"Absolutely." I pat Errol's cheek. "You're still my hero. I would've drowned without you."
"I hope I never need to do that again. Nearly gave me a heart attack."
"Me too."
Luckily, we seem to have smoother waters ahead for quite aways, which means I'll have time to recover from that harrowing episode. Well, I'd wanted excitement. Ask and you shall receive, right? This was a bit more than I bargained for, and I don't care to repeat the experience.
Errol and I study the map again and compare it to the surrounding landscape. The map seems to include Hermit Rapid as well as a few other rapids further up the river, but then it seems to suggest we should stop just before the next rapid. That one begins at Crystal Creek. I would've expected the map to point us toward Crystal Creek, or maybe even past it, but Errol and Munro both agree we should stop before that. The symbols on the map match what I see in the satellite images on Errol's computer too. We plan to stop where there's a small section of rocky beach right beside a big ledge of black stone. What looks like a dry creek bed or maybe just a stripe of lighter rock winds up the cliff there.
We survive the next batch of rapids and reach our destination. The big black cliffs dwarf the scrap of rocky beach where we land, and I can't resist tipping my head back to take in the stark beauty of the geology in this region of the canyon. But I give up my awe of the landscape and help the boys unload our gear, then find a place to hide our raft while we explore the cliffs above us. They feature forbidding overhangs that seem like places where, long ago in the distant past, molten sandy rock had oozed down the cliffs and somehow gotten frozen partway down, like cloaks dropped there by ancient giants. I'm no geologist, so I have no idea how those formations came to exist. But they are startlingly beautiful.
Below those overhangs lie darker rocks, separated from the lighter formations just past them by a stripe of light-colored sediment. Well, I assume it's sedimentary rock. Don't really know for sure, and as much as I'd love to learn all about the geology here, we need to get moving.
Besides our backpacks, we also have the extra bag Errol brought along, the one he didn't want to talk about at the time. Now I wonder how he plans to carry two packs. When I ask him, he just smiles and says, "Let me worry about that."
"Are you going to tell me what's in your mystery pack?"
"When the time comes. Trust me,gràidh."
Errol helps me get my pack onto my shoulders, though I could've done that on my own. I like that he's sweet enough to give me help even when he knows I could do the task myself. He also knows I would help him too, if he wanted it.
"What is that word you keep calling me?" I ask. "All you told me last time I asked was that it's Gaelic."
Errol pulls on his pack and uses adjusting the straps as an excuse not to speak, though it's not really an excuse. He can still talk while doing that.
I clear my throat, hoping to snare his attention. "I asked what that word—"
"He's calling you 'darling' in Gaelic," Munro says. "Errol is embarrassed to admit to that."
Errol flashes his cousin a dirty look. "I am not embarrassed, yecacan. And that means he's a wee shit, Ashley."
"He doesn't look small to me," I say. "But I'm wondering why you've been hesitant to tell me you've been calling me 'darling.' It's a sweet thing to say, not something to be ashamed of."
"Can we discuss this later?" He sidles closer to me and whispers, "When you-know-who isn't listening and interfering?"
