Page 25 of A Summer to Save Us

Naturally, I do what he asks. Why doesn’t he want to show his face? Why did I have to black out his face before sending Dad the photo? Does he not want to be recognized? I look at him thoughtfully and frown as his hair falls across his face.

“Race to see who gets to the entrance first,” he suddenly calls out and starts running. I run after him without thinking about how stupid I might look. After a few feet, he lets me catch up and pass. “You’re taking the lead!” he shouts after me. “But I’ll catch up with you!”

I run faster, suddenly eager to win. I hear him approaching—Fast. If I were a normal girl, I’d scream or squeal with joy or whatever girls do, and he would catch me.

I’m silently gasping for breath when he overtakes me with a grin.

I grit my teeth and keep running. I’m close behind him, so maybe he’ll slow down a bit.

“Hey, Tucks.” He slows down, but he’s not out of breath in the slightest. My heart beats like a drum.

I wipe my forehead with my fluttering blouse and slow down.

On a scale of one to ten, I’m a minus five when it comes to sports.

Competitive running never helped me at Kensington, and hiding only did sometimes.

When I’m even with River, he takes my hand as if it’s second nature now.

“Bad news,” he says seriously.

I immediately turn to look for the black Camaro, but I don’t see it.

“You fell for it again!” River grins. “In Wyoming, it’s illegal to shower on Wednesday.”

Crap! I write with one hand. I’m all sweaty! Can we go back to South Dakota?

“We have a mission to complete! There is no going back, only forward.” He’s no longer looking at me as he pulls me through the wide glass doors of the supermarket.

I still know what he means—my Big Five, the jump, the end—but I prefer to push the thought away.

As soon as we enter the store, River leads me to the fruit department and before I know it, he’s juggling four oranges, although juggling is one of those skills he hasn’t perfected yet.

Two oranges end up with the apples, and he casually puts one of the oranges back and begins to peel the other one, nodding at me.

I follow him through the many aisles, feeling completely out of place. Everything is oversized, the shelves as wide as those in furniture warehouses, extending almost to the ceiling, fully stocked with goods—perhaps this is both a regular store and warehouse.

I feel like everyone is staring at me. There’s a man in hippie clothes with a tie-dye headband and waist-length dreadlocks.

His deep-set eyes look at me as if he’s piercing my outer shell, the blonde curls and makeup, into the depths of my soul, whereas he looks like he’s in costume.

A group of teenagers lets out a whistle, and it’s certainly not because of the orange that River is meticulously peeling.

“You look stunning,” River comments calmly as if he doesn’t know what it means to me and it’s always been that way. “Here!” He hands me an orange wedge, and I take it, lost in thought. I want to get out of here. Someone will try to talk to me, and then I’ll look like an idiot in front of River.

“Let’s play hide-and-seek,” River suggests.

No, I don’t want to be separated from you , I write back with flying fingers.

“Okay, then, a test of courage.” River strolls into the center aisle, which is wider than the narrow road through the Black Hills on which he overtook another car. Suddenly, his eyes widen. “I’ve always wanted to do this!”

I follow his gaze. Oh no! I feel sick.

Please don’t , I write, but I already know that it’s futile.

River laughs and grabs my hand, pulling me toward the giant pyramid of watermelons. They must have used a forklift to build it, and I have no idea why or how the thing stays upright. The peak is definitely three-man-high toward the ceiling, and by three-man-high, I don’t mean Napoleons.

Don’t do it!

“No more fear, Tucks. Never again. You should know.”

What if we get arrested? And I have to go back to Kensington? I immediately feel sick.

River scans the area and runs a hand through his blond hair, causing the white-blond strand to stick out a little from his head.

“We just won’t let ourselves get caught,” he says softly.

“I’ve always wanted to do what you see in blockbusters.

” With these words, he stalks toward the watermelons.

Its base dimension must be nine by nine feet.

River inconspicuously waves me over with one hand.

“Come on,” he calls out faintly. But I just press my back against the front of a long shelf of pet food . I can’t do it, I tell him with a look.

At that moment, two men in cowboy boots suddenly appear behind River. They seem to be branch managers or maybe lawyers. Engrossed in conversation, they pay no attention to River, even as he blatantly eats his orange. One has a clipboard and appears to be checking something off.

River strolls back to me with his hands in his pockets. “Later then,” he says regretfully.

We wander through the aisles and end up in the frozen section.

“Cookies I’m not going back home.

But I can’t get far alone. I need River.

If he jumps, I jump with him because I have no other option.

But it’s not even July yet, so I push the thought away and tell myself that River will change his mind, and everything else is just talk.

And if that’s the case, I can stay with him as long as he allows it.

We continue strolling, crossing the wide central aisle several times, where River keeps casting longing glances at the melon pyramid.

Meanwhile, he opens a box of chocolates and then a can of pickled tuna.

He only ever eats tiny portions and offers me everything else; if I refuse, he leaves the item somewhere.

At some point, we arrive at the spice aisle.

I can’t look quickly enough before River has already torn open the packaging of a number of products and is painting a winking smiley on the floor with salt, oregano, and pepper.

I cannot believe it. How old is he? He suddenly reminds me of Peter Pan, the boy who didn’t want to grow up.

“Come on, join in!”

I kneel down next to him and look around. Luckily, the aisle is empty. I tentatively dip a finger into the soft circle of salt.

“Hey, make your own picture!” River hands me a refill box of salt.

Since I’ve been following his suggestions blindly, I pour a circle of salt on the floor, even though I have a bad feeling.

I think about it for a moment before scattering a line across the circle a nose and two dots above it as eyes.

River looks at my picture with raised eyebrows and states pragmatically, “That’s a wow smiley.”

“Hey! I’m going to report you to the manager immediately!” a voice suddenly booms above our heads.

My body feels like it’s turning to stone. River sits up. “It’s art, man. Don’t you recognize that? Come on, Tucks, let’s get out of here.” He pulls me to my feet, which feel as stiff as stilts.

“You stay put, friend. You’ll have to clean that up and pay for everything at the checkout,” growls the dark voice behind us. As I look over my shoulder in a daze, I see the two men in cowboy boots carrying radios.

I’m getting dizzy. Everything is over. Everything. But River starts running and drags me with him. “Run!”

As soon as we turn the corner of the double shelf, he looks around and steers me into the next aisle, which runs parallel to the one with the salt faces.

An older woman with a walker approaches but doesn’t pay us any attention.

River’s gaze searches the gigantic shelves.

“Here!” He rushes forward a bit and climbs into a gap between a mess of cleaning buckets and packages of floor mops without letting go of me.

We end up crouching together on the linoleum with the bottom of the next shelf just above our heads.

“Lesson one for disappearing unnoticed; remain nearby where they won’t look for you,” River whispers to me, carefully pushing a package with a cleaning device in front of us.

My heart is pounding so hard, I’m afraid it will stop. If they catch us now, we’ll be brought before the manager, who’ll call the police. I’ll have to identify myself, and they’ll find out I’m still a minor.

They’ll call Dad, and then he’ll pick me up. Tomorrow, I’d have to go back to school where Chester and his friends are just waiting for me. My stomach clenches convulsively.

Steps approach, and a man curses. Through a tiny gap between the packages, I see a pair of black trousers at the entrance to the aisles. My fear turns to panic. I never want to go home again. I want to be with River forever! I’ve never felt more alive and real than I have in the last few days.

“They’re not here, boss,” a gruff male voice calls down the aisle. It sounds more like a mafia hitman than a businessman.