Page 10 of A Summer to Save Us

I ’ve barely wiped my dusty fingers on my jeans when he takes my hand without asking. The right one, without the wound, and he holds it as if he doesn’t trust me. I immediately stiffen, and not just because of the contact.

What if he takes me straight to my dad? What if his name isn’t River McFarley and he’s not one of the good guys? What if he’s another Chester?

Heart pounding, I look at him as he leads me along the old track toward the forest. He doesn’t look at me but straight ahead at an unknown fixed point. It’s funny that I didn’t notice him sooner, but I was distracted—he must have approached from the other side.

Maybe he sneaked up on you on purpose. He has an obsession with the bizarre, remember?

Or maybe he fell from the sky.

At the edge of the forest, I see my bag lying on the ground like a wet animal.

Didn’t he have a backpack with him this morning?

I remember the strange seatbelt straps, carabiners, and ropes spilled out.

Why is he carrying those around with him?

For what reason? He ran in front of your car , Arizona said.

“You have to leave something behind,” River suddenly interrupts my thoughts. He’s stopped but continues to hold me.

I blink, uncomprehending.

“You didn’t jump, so you have to symbolically throw something off the bridge. Do you have something you want to get rid of? Maybe something in your bag? That’s yours, right?” No comment on its condition.

I nod. For some reason, I don’t question what he says. It seems crystal clear.

He releases my hand so I can go through my things but stays nearby.

I crouch and notice his black boots in the grass; he shifts his weight back and forth.

His smell envelopes me again, that combination of wild herbs, leather, and something sweet and bitter, smoky, possibly Jack Daniel’s—but it doesn’t disgust me.

I could challenge him and see how serious he is.

I toy with the idea for a few seconds as I comb through the wet chaos of notebooks, sharpener shavings, and pencils.

Everything is useless, including my beloved Kansas’s Strange & Beautiful Words notebook—a collection for the trash.

I gently stroke the swollen pages and leaf through words and sayings in all possible languages from people like Rumi and Nietzsche.

Each night the moon kisses the lover who counts the stars.

There are no beautiful surfaces without a terrible depth.

Ari no longer writes anything in it for me anymore anyway.

I’d love to take the whole thing and chuck it into Willow River, except for the soggy photo of Mom.

I quickly stuff it in my pocket as River watches me like a hawk. A thought flares up in me: I have to go with him or jump. There is no alternative.

And then suddenly, I do it. I jump up, swift as an arrow, and run back onto the old wooden bridge—one step, two steps, three.

On the fourth, I hear River chasing me. I haven’t even reached the point where the bridge floats above the abyss when River grabs my arm.

I kick at him, but he deftly avoids it. I try to break free by swinging at him, but he’s faster.

And stronger. Within a few seconds, I’m on my stomach on the rails, one arm pinned behind my back, River half kneeling on top of me.

“Seriously, Kentucky, do you think I’m that stupid? Should I feel like you’re insulting my intelligence?” He’s not even out of breath while I’m gasping for air, which is exhausting. “What’s going on?”

I don’t know myself. For a moment, both of us remain silent.

“We’ll go back, and you’ll pick something to throw down,” River finally says, calmly.

He lets go of me but remains vigilant. I sit up, my heart pounding. What did I want to achieve with this crazy action? Did I want to see how serious he was about protecting me? Or did I want to run away? I’m no longer certain about anything.

Confused, I stand, and he grabs my hand again. Rather firmly. Alongside him, I slink to my bag. For some incomprehensible reason, I feel better, like a cat that’s tasted forbidden milk. He didn’t hurt me, not even when he pulled me down. So, he’s not violent, which is good, just damn attentive.

As we stand in the cool of the forest, I grab the handle of my bag and lift it up like a trophy.

He raises an eyebrow. “You want to get rid of everything at once? Must be quite some baggage.”

If you only knew, McFarley .

“I’m sorry, but I don’t trust you,” he says, this time grabbing my arm as we walk toward the bridge. He only walks up to where the abyss opens up beneath us. “Okay, now it’s your turn.”

I swing the bag back and forth a few times until it gains enough momentum, then throw it forcefully over the edge, where it briefly catches one of the steel struts protruding from the side.

“Pitching isn’t your strong point, is it?” River pulls me forward a few steps so I can watch it fall, but his grip tightens. Unfortunately, he hits a bruise from Chester, and I flinch.

“I’m sorry.”

I only slightly reacted, but he noticed.

I don’t respond to his words and watch with strange fascination as my dark green bag makes a hole in the waters of Willow River, like a bullet into human tissue. Fountains of water spray upward, then whitecaps form on the swelling water. My things are gone—swallowed, disappeared.

My heart beats faster. Suddenly, my chest doesn’t feel so constricted.

Should I run away with River? What do I have to lose? But I’m afraid to leave our house. How am I supposed to function on the road? I don’t even eat in front of strangers!

But what else is there?

I close my eyes for a moment and feel dizzy.

We’ll get you. All of us . I can almost feel Chester’s face close to mine, his disgusting odor, as if he’d eaten a thousand McDonald’s pickles in one go, and his wet, greedy hands on my bare skin.

I feel the smelly water he dips me in and the panic of choking.

My hands shake. I should tell Dad. But Dad wouldn’t believe me, and that would be the scariest of all possibilities.

But I can’t go back to Kensington. I’m too afraid of what Chester and Hunter will do to me if I don’t tell anyone—and what they’ll do if I do tell someone.

As we walk down the valley, River no longer takes any risks and follows closely behind. Withered autumn leaves from last year rustle under his soles while I walk almost silently in my flip-flops.

“We have three options,” I hear him say halfway through the walk.

“I can take you to your family and tell your mom or dad what happened, or I can take you to a clinic and tell the doctors what you’re planning to do.

If you don’t want to go to your family, that’s fine.

” Maybe River thinks I’m being mistreated at home.

“And you know option three, so take your pick, Kentucky. You might as well get it in your head that I will no longer let you go anywhere alone.”

Dad will find out what happened no matter where River takes me. If I’m unlucky, Dad will use his influence to get me out of the psych ward, and I’ll be back in school quicker than I can think Kensington .

I give River a sideways glance. What if he’s up to something terrible? Something I can’t even imagine? I mean, he could have been following me the whole time. But, if he wanted to harm me, he would have done it long ago. Nobody is here. He would have had all the time in the world.

“My car is down in the parking lot. Have you made a decision?”

I take my cell phone out of my pocket. Where would we go? I type.

He catches up, reads the text, and takes the cell phone from my hand. To the land of dreams , he writes back.

That sounds too mysterious to me, especially since he’s typing instead of speaking. Who knows what he means by that? I look at him questioningly and take a deep breath before answering.

I’m coming with you . I really don’t want that either since I don’t want to go anywhere with a stranger and I don’t know him.

It seems easier to jump—no more compromises.

And who knows if we’ll get picked up by the police because I’m only seventeen?

Who knows if Dad will report me missing?

On the other hand, that would at least allow me to avoid summer school.

River reads my sentence and smiles cautiously. “We’ll see, Tucks, we’ll see.”

A strange warmth spreads through my lungs as I breathe, possibly because he’s making up nicknames for me, which you only do when you like someone or hate them. And I don’t believe he hates me.

As we walk the last few feet through the forest, he cheerfully hums “Jump” by Van Halen to himself.

There’s only one car in the deserted parking lot at the abandoned quarry, so I assume it’s his.

A black Porsche Carrera 911 convertible like the one Chester drives.

It’s even the same model, with the same metallic paint and eye-catching matte black rims. My stomach instinctively tightens, but before I can react, River opens the passenger door for me.

I reluctantly sink into the seat. It smells like a new car and cigarette butts.

River fiddles around in the trunk for a while, and I wonder if he’s rearranging or hiding something. But when he gets in, he puts a dark blue sleeping bag on my lap. “It’s hot, but you’re wet and will be cold on the journey.”

A wave of gratitude rises within me. I can’t remember the last time someone worried about whether I was cold or not.

As he revs the engine and drives off, I give him a sideways glance. His hair blows back in the wind, revealing his crystal-clear profile. His left elbow is relaxed over the door with the window down. I spot a straight scar across his eyebrow and a mole at his hairline.

He takes the highway toward Cottage Grove.

I must be crazy. How am I ever supposed to eat or drink with him around? What if there isn’t a bathroom anywhere?

At a red light, I hold my cell phone under his nose.

Can we stop at a gas station? I have a girl problem.

Oh God, that sounds terrible. Luckily, I wrote it and didn’t say it.