Page 29 of A Summer to Save Us

I can’t stop shaking. Maybe it’s the cold air or River, and not the fact that I’m up here completely unsecured.

He continues to look me straight in the eyes. “Now we’ll do something to make you forget the height. But you have to stand very still.” He leans down close to me. Moonlight bathes him in unreal light.

Oh my God! He has that look. One thousand-one, one thousand-two, one thousand-three .

“Just because of the height, okay, so you’re not afraid anymore.” He’s so close I feel the vibration of his voice.

I stiffen, my whole body shakes, and the line hums under my feet like a track under the wheels of a train.

“Don’t worry, Tucks,” he whispers gently. “Not of that. Never that. Understand?”

I nod. And then he kisses me. I feel his lips on mine, which are pressed together tightly. I cannot breathe. He smells of tobacco, Jack Daniel’s, and River McFarley—smoky, warm, and bitter. Comforting. Protective.

Just let go!

I open my mouth carefully, but I’m stiff as a board. I feel his tongue pushing into my mouth. Soft and gentle. It bumps into mine, which lies unused, like a forgotten object. You kiss like a dead fish! I’m dying, dying of shame.

River backs away and pulls my head up so I have to look at him. I would love to throw myself off the line. I want to turn my head away, but he holds me tight.

“You’re now secured. But we still shouldn’t make sudden moves. Do you want to try again, or is this okay in the meantime?”

I feel like crying when he ignores my ineptitude like he always does. Because he never insults or abuses me and is so incredibly, incredibly understanding.

He runs his index finger from my temple to my chin, and I don’t remember a touch that’s ever felt more beautiful.

“I think you’re still scared. How will it be when you’re on the highline?” He chuckles softly, dark and wonderfully smoky, and winks at me. Apparently, he doesn’t care if I can kiss or not, just like he doesn’t care if I speak. He’s obsessed with the bizarre .

Without taking his eyes off me, he leans down to me again. My legs are so shaky I wonder how I manage to stay upright. His lips hover over mine without touching them, and again, I feel like I’m dying—from fear. Because of the gentleness of the touch and the dangerous longing.

He puts his arms around me, making the line vibrate slightly. He pauses patiently, waiting until it calms down again.

“You can’t do anything wrong. It’ll happen by itself if you let it,” he murmurs and then kisses me, properly. He kisses me in the moonlight.

And this time, my body and everything inside me react on their own.

My head still tells me what I can’t do right, and I push Chester out of my thoughts.

I kiss River. I taste him, his warm, rough taste of whiskey and herbs, and in the silence of my world, a deep melody paints itself.

Kissing is like talking, only without the need for words.

Like laughing and crying, all in one room in the middle of my soul.

Shivers scurry down my back, into my stomach, and everywhere. Nothing in my life has ever felt like this, ever. I don’t need words for this. Not a single one.

River backs away too quickly. “So, is it getting better?” he whispers hoarsely. I feel his breath on my face and nod. He is so close to me. Longing beats in my heart. I want him to kiss me again—right here, where I don’t have to be afraid of anything more happening.

And as if he sensed it, he kisses me again, and I sink and float at the same time.

His arms wrap tighter around me, and the kiss deepens, filling me with feelings I can’t place.

Maybe that’s everything River is. Stormy and calm.

Depth. Height. Free fall. Risk. Caution.

Bliss and melancholy. Fifty states. “ Baby” and his smoky “ Hey .”

Moonlight kisses.

I never want to stop doing it. I want to raise my hands and bury my fingers in his hair, but I’m afraid to move. So, River holds me even tighter, like I might fall or disappear.

Suddenly, there’s something else in our kiss—something that doesn’t belong, something that makes me tense, but I don’t know what it is. It’s strong, too intense.

The slackline starts to wobble. River backs away, balancing himself with his arms, but that causes the slackline to sway even more. I pull my arms up abruptly.

“Head down, Kansas!” River shouts, and from my training, I know what he means. If you fall headfirst off the line, you won’t get tangled up in the leash. But I can’t voluntarily jump down head first. I instinctively make compensatory movements, even as I realize I can’t stay up.

River quickly lowers himself so that he is sitting astride the slackline.

“Catch, hold on to the line!” he shouts, but I’m already flying through the night as a thousand frightening thoughts run through my mind.

What if the knot gives way? What if the belt breaks? I don’t get any further because my thoughts are cut off by a hard yank of the rope. Helplessly, I dangle a body length below the slackline, bobbing up and down. For a moment, I hang in the safety harness in a daze.

The knots held. All is well. Nevertheless, my heart is pounding in my throat. All the magic vanished with the fall.

In the end, however, it wasn’t just magic. There was a feeling that scared me, something that didn’t fit.

Was it anger? Despair?

With trembling fingers, I reach for the leash.

River squints at me and lights a cigarette. “If I were mean, I’d leave you hanging there for the night,” he says, inhaling the smoke deep into his lungs. “So you could think about how to fall next time.”

The line is still moving, and I’m bobbing in the night. I’m a bit concerned that the knot will come loose, and my elbow hurts.

River is now sitting on the line like it’s a swing, peering off into the distance. He seems completely absent.

I unsteadily wrap one leg around the safety line like River showed me, then pull myself up and use the other leg to steady myself with the leash. However, I don’t have enough strength and sink downward. I can’t get up alone.

River is still looking out over the dark forest as if he’s a million miles away.

Resignedly, I remain hanging there and rest for a moment.

Silence surrounds us. Even the crickets are no longer chirping.

He’s probably regretting the kiss, while I still taste his lips on mine and wish he’d do it all night.

Not like the second time, but like the first. Soft. Tender. Questioning.

The next time I try to pull myself up using the safety line, he grabs my arm and helps me up.

We sit together on the slackline and peer into the night. The mood is strange.

“Hey!” River takes my hand, which I’m clenching. “A fist disappears when you open it. You should do that more often. Let go. Fall… I don’t know why you’re silent, Kansas, but you seem to find it easier to stay out of life than to give it your voice.”

I look at him, and he looks back, serious and worried. The moon is shining. Is there more to my silence now than shyness and fear of speaking?

“Maybe you’re silent because you no longer have anything to say to life.”

I reach into the pocket of my shirt. Miraculously, the crane didn’t fall out when I fell. I hold it out to River.

“I regularly throw Jack and cigarette butts down,” he says with a grin.

I look at the ground. I no longer want to jump, so there’s no reason to drop the crane, but I do it anyway, and the night swallows it without a sound.

A little later, River dismantles the slackline, which looks incredibly complicated due to the many knots and the long line. I keep thinking about his statement about my silence. Do I refuse life and people because none of it is reliable? Because I prefer to stay alone so no one can leave me?

My gaze moves to River, who’s putting the backpack in the trunk of the Porsche. I involuntarily touch my lips.

Frozen peas , I think with a smile. Fried rice with chicken and frozen peas.

Just as River slams the trunk shut, car headlights flash in the distance. A car has turned off the highway onto the forest road and is approaching quickly. Maybe it’s rangers who will yell at and fine us because, of course, it’s against the law to camp in the wilderness.

I reach for River’s cell phone, which he said I could use if my battery was dead, when I notice his eyes widen.

“They found me,” he whispers, his face losing color in a matter of seconds. “We have to leave now. Get in the car, quickly!”

Who found you? I start to type, but River shouts, “Not now! Come on!” He almost jumps into the Porsche that is parked along the side of the forest road and starts the engine.

I run to the tent and crawl inside to grab my phone.

“Damn it, Kans!” River shouts. Then he shouts, “Grab the sleeping bag too!”

Sounds like we need to stay somewhere else.

Where is the bag? I can’t find it. I quickly stuff everything lying around into my bag: T-shirts, two sweaters, the two newspapers, and finally, our cell phones.

I tuck the sleeping bag and whatever no longer fits under my arm, put on my flip-flops, and slip out through the tent flap.

Luckily, I put on a pair of jeans earlier.

I glance nervously toward the highway. The headlights of the strange car split the darkness like two blades.

With everything in my hands, I climb over the door into the car. My foot gets stuck, but River is already accelerating. I kneel on the seat, pull my leg into the car, and buckle up.

With the engine roaring, the Porsche flies over the bumpy forest road. I turn in fear. The headlights are rapidly approaching, and the situation reminds me of the day with the Camaro.