Page 16 of A Summer to Save Us

I nod. We climb over a few fallen trees, and suddenly, house-sized rocks rise before us. River takes the path through a crevasse, and the air immediately grows clammy and cool.

I think about what he means by the Big Five as a breathtaking panorama opens up in front of me: a deep blue lake framed by lime-green trees, behind which rise the same type of rocks we just walked through. Ancient rock, furrowed and reddish-grey like the faces of old Indian chiefs.

“Sylvan Lake, Custer State National Park, but that’s irrelevant.” River has stopped and is pulling his T-shirt over his head. “I’m going for a swim. Are you coming?”

I stare at the glittering lake surface on which the clouds are reflected and gesture in the negative.

Even if it weren’t for the bruises, I wouldn’t strip down to my underwear in front of River, and I turn away when I see him bare-chested.

He must exercise a lot as he is slim, toned, and almost perfect.

Like a model. And I’m pathetic, pale, and out of shape. And you kiss like a dead fish!

After a few seconds, I hear him dive into the water. I look over at him again, and when he appears, I see letters flash on his tanned shoulder but can’t see what it says from this distance. It looks like calligraphy. Whoever gave him the tattoo must have put a lot of effort into it.

“It’s a shame you’re not coming in. The water is refreshing.”

I shrug, and River swims alongside me with long strokes. “Can you carry my clothes?”

He still hasn’t told me what he wanted to tell me, but of course, I hurry back and collect his jeans, white T-shirt, and flip-flops.

I circle the lake thoughtfully as he swims alongside me. On the opposite side, there is a narrow beach in front of the rocks with a few visitors, but they’re far away.

I wish I was as easy-going as River. I wish I could do what I want. The wind blows the voices and laughter of the early swimmers to us, and I feel that wall again that shields me from everything, the deep trench of silence.

What does River mean by the Big Five? If it’s something like a bucket list, then he probably means five things I want to do in life before I die.

It’s easier to die together . Tolstoy, Mom, and River McFarley. He may be dead serious. Maybe he truly wants to jump off a highline with me. At least now I know what it is—a slackline, almost a mile up in the air.

“Hey!” River is standing next to me as if he grew out of the ground.

I must have been completely out of it, but that’s what I’m good at—disconnecting.

I still can’t look at him, not when he’s nearly naked and wet.

He smells of lake water and a hint of sweat mixed with a trace of aftershave.

He exudes masculinity, and it makes me weak in the knees and numbs me at the same time.

Without looking, I hand him his clothes and, out of the corner of my eye, watch him dry himself with his T-shirt.

“So... have you thought about your Big Five?”

I’m flattered that he trusts me to piece together his cryptic statements. At least he doesn’t think I’m stupid.

Still, I shake my head, wanting to keep moving. I assume this path eventually leads back to the parking area or that the direction is correct.

“Wait!” He grabs my wrist. His grip is insistent but gentle. “What’s going on? You suddenly can’t look at me anymore?”

And because I usually do what people expect of me, I force myself to look at him.

His face is still shiny and wet, droplets of water hanging off his thick eyebrows and eyelashes.

Silently, he loosens his grip, and I only see his eyes.

He’s the only one who’s touched me in a gentle way lately, and suddenly, I want so much more.

I can hardly breathe. I deliriously dig my nails into my palm, and the pain floods my mind, separating me from the feeling of losing myself. I’m sure he’d laugh at me.

I jerk my arm, and River lets go. I race along the path, stumbling over stones and thick grass.

“Kansas! Wait!”

But I can’t. I just want to get away from him and his eyes and the idea that I could be important to him.

After a while, I actually arrive back at our tent. I climb inside, wanting to burrow under the blanket. But that’s childish, so I wrap my arms around my pulled-up legs and remain stock-still. A few seconds later, River opens the flap and looks at me in shock.

“Whatever I did wrong, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you or overwhelm you. I’m just me, unfortunately.”

Unfortunately? I swallow. This person who calls himself River is too good to be true. People like him only exist in films. I’m dreaming, and I’ll soon wake up, and James will shout from downstairs to hurry up.

River points to my fingers. “You’ve hurt yourself. You’re bleeding.”

I quickly hide the disfigured hand behind my back before he sees the ugly scars. Toad hand , Chester hisses in my head. I don’t want to run away again. And I want to look at him. I’m simply too afraid of everything.

River stares at me for a moment, then pulls away. I hear him lighting a cigarette and taking a drink. Probably to wind down. Why does he even want to go to a highline when he constantly needs something to wind down?

At some point, I hear him outside saying, “I owe you some information about me.”

Anxious, I hold my breath. I hear his footsteps outside the tent, and suddenly, his shadow appears against the thin fabric, kneeling in front of the entrance without opening the flap.

“I did something bad once,” he says quietly. “So, at times, I really hate myself. It may not seem like it, but even the sunniest skies can hide the darkest storms.”