Page 34 of A Summer to Save Us

Oh yes, I’m sure women and girls are at his feet in droves, but it still stabs at my heartstrings.

I don’t want him going to bed with other girls.

I self-consciously stuff the condom back, remembering what my family thinks of me.

You go to bed with these guys for the attention . Or however James put it.

I fish my cell phone out of my backpack.

Even if I could charge it, it might not work because it was in the soaked backpack.

River’s cell phone, however, may have survived the short dip.

The two days we waited before turning it on are over, so I hook it up to its charging cable because the battery is probably dead too.

While I wait for it to start blinking, I write a list of things we need.

Charging cable for my cell phone

Something to eat—fruit and sandwiches

Drinks (tap water is also possible if necessary)

Laundry detergent

Jack Daniel’s and cigarettes for River?

Toothbrushes and toothpaste

I realize that if River continues to sleep, I’ll have to get these things myself.

The sun climbs higher and heats up the room, so I open the cracked window and pray it doesn’t shatter into a thousand pieces. Then I sit next to River on the bed and tug on his sleeve.

He doesn’t react. He’s sleeping so deeply again, as if he were in a coma.

Maybe he lied, and he is terminally ill. Fear constricts my chest. I shake him a little even though I want to scream at him. Did you lie to me, River McFarley? Are you dying? Are you dying now?

I get so caught up in this fear that I feel dizzy. I have no idea what to do, so I shake him harder, but he doesn’t budge. He just lies there like Sleeping Beauty in her hundred-year sleep.

Worried, I sit next to him. Should I get a doctor? What if he has a fever? I gently touch his sweat-drenched forehead, but it feels cool. He finally opens his eyes.

For a moment, he’s frozen, and then his gaze wanders around the room. He looks terminally ill, like just moving his eyes around is costing him his last strength. Only after a while does he discover me.

“Tucks,” he says with a serious tone. “Go slacklining. Practice some more for the end of summer, okay?”

I could shake him. I don’t want to practice for September. I don’t want to go to a highline at all. I want him to stop sleeping like the dead.

He closes his eyes again. Okay, if he doesn’t have a fever, what’s wrong with him? I’m starting to feel like I’m going crazy. The phone is still off, and when I press it a few times, nothing happens. Fantastic!

I pace up and down like a tiger in a cage.

At some point, I clean the room out of sheer nervousness and frustration.

Since I don’t have a cleaning rag, I use a fresh sock from River and motel soap.

I pat everything dry with toilet paper. After I’ve polished the shower and sink to a high shine, I sit next to River on the bed.

He’s taken off all his clothes but his boxers, and his eyes are open.

Will you stay awake now? I thought you never slept! I write on a piece of paper because the phone is still dead.

“Do I hear reproach in your voice, Connecticut?” River asks sternly but with a pained smile. He makes no move to get up.

I nudge him lightly in the side. Yes , I nod.

“You know, it’s different for me than for ordinary people. When I’m awake, it’s usually for many days; when I sleep, I sleep for a long time.”

Are you trying to tell me that you’re the only person in the universe who has a completely different sleep cycle?

He nods weakly. “Promise me something.”

Okay . I write extra small to save space since the pad only has a few pages left. And an eraser wouldn’t be bad.

“Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t jump without me. Can you promise me that?”

Can I promise him that? I have to swallow. I would never jump without you.

He smiles and closes his eyes as if that answer was the only reason he remained awake.

I sit there for a while and study him—his closed eyelids, his extraordinary mouth, his blond hair. The roots are darker, as if his hair was dyed, but maybe that’s only because it’s sweaty. The light blond strand has a tiny green hue. I gently brush it out of his face and tuck it behind his ear.

“Tucks,” he groans and rolls onto his side. He blindly gropes for my hand, and I put it in his. He hugs it reflexively and mumbles something I don’t understand. I squeeze his fingers.

“We have to find your mom,” he murmurs. “Item four on your list; Ask Mom why. We have to go to Vegas.”

Two days pass, and River is still sleeping. He hardly eats or drinks anything. When he’s awake, he looks like all the world’s problems are on his shoulders. My fear grows into a dull panic.

This morning, I eat the last of the beef jerky and realize a few things: one, summer has long since started, and two, I have to go to the nearest grocery store today.

When River didn’t get up this afternoon, I gave up hope that he could go shopping with me.

So, I have to do it myself. To be on the safe side, I put the pad and pen in my pocket so that I can communicate in an emergency.

Luckily, my jeans, which I washed with the rest of the shower gel, are already dry, so I don’t have to go shopping in River’s oversized pants.

“Hey,” Riv murmurs as I pull the bat blouse over my head. “So chic. Where you going?”

Shopping , I write on the pad.

He furrows his eyebrows. “Don’t do anything stupid. Promise.”

I promise.

“Pinky swear?”

I smile, walk over to him, and hook our little fingers together.

When I step outside onto the narrow porch, I spot a man unlocking a room. Everything inside me becomes frozen, just like it used to do when I was called on in class. I close my eyes and count to ten. When I open them again, he’s still standing there, staring at me.

Then I recognize him. It’s the hippie from the supermarket. He obviously recognizes me, too, because he grins and raises his hand.

“Hi!” he calls out, a little too loudly.

I wave back self-consciously and walk over the crunchy gravel with my head bowed. I need to get away before he asks awkward questions. Funny, there are no cars in the parking lot—he must be hitchhiking.

I hurry along the side of the road, and soon the houses begin.

Everything seems as deserted as the motel.

I hope it’s not a ghost town! Hopefully, there’s some kind of business in this wasteland.

I walk for a while but encounter no one.

Only one tractor loaded with hay bales drove by.

Shortly afterward, I see a sign in the distance: Berry’s Market .

Thank God!

I’m drenched in sweat, but not because of the heat or the warm sweater. I’ve never shopped anywhere alone.

You have paper and pencil; you can do it!

I once read that it’s encouraging to talk to yourself in second person. I’m not only afraid of standing in front of strangers in an unfamiliar situation, but I’m also afraid of being recognized. Now, I could kick myself for sending Dad the picture of my new look.

Holding my breath, I push the door open and wince at the tinkling sound.

The store is tiny and only consists of three aisles, a fruit section, and the cash register.

I look around and spot the newspaper rack, but my face isn’t on any of the covers—at least, not at first glance.

I breathe a sigh of relief and see a corpulent woman in curlers and a green apron, packing fresh fruit into boxes at the counter.

“Hey,” she mutters and inspects me as if I were a rotten grape that needed to be sorted out of the harvest.

I nod and try to smile, my heart pounding in my ears.

Please don’t ask me anything!