Page 38 of A Summer to Save Us

Bang! The door smacks shut. He looks at me grimly. His upper lip is swollen, and his cheekbone gleams with blood. “Seriously, Tucks?” he asks flatly. “Not even then?”

I know immediately what he means. He means my inability to scream.

My hands are still shaking. Everything is shaking. River wipes his face. “Not even then?” he shouts at me so suddenly and unexpectedly I flinch.

New tears well up in my eyes, and I shake my head several times.

Not even then!

I take out a sheet of paper and the pencil. Why are you...

I don’t get any further because River snatches both from my hands, tears the paper to shreds, and breaks the pencil as if it were uncooked macaroni.

“Not even then!” he yells at me. The next moment, he overturns the table and wooden chairs.

The same red vase as in the other room shatters on the floor, its shards splintering blood-red in all directions.

I back into a corner, sink onto the tiles, and press my fists to my mouth. This is too much.

Stop it!

Eyes blinded by rage, River grabs a chair and slams it against the wall so hard the wood splinters. One leg breaks off and flies onto the bed. He then sweeps the lamp off the bedside table.

Tears roll down my cheeks, my jaw throbs, and I place a hand on the painful area.

“You’re not serious, right?” he shouts, giving me a bitter look.

I can hardly breathe anymore.

Enraged, he picks up the pad, tears out the last pages, and shreds them. Pieces of paper fly through the air like confetti.

At this moment, he reminds me of my dad. It’s the same anger, the same rejection, the same resignation.

“You’re lucky I glanced out the window when I went to the bathroom!” He snorts now, rubbing his hands together to release a few scraps of paper. “Why did you just let yourself be dragged away like that? Why didn’t you scream?”

He might as well have punched me in the stomach.

He points at me with his index finger. “There are guys like this all over the world. How are you going to be safe anywhere?” He paces the room, then braces himself against the wall with both hands and lets his chin fall on his chest. “Was it like that at your school, too?” he finally asks without looking at me.

“Did they do that to you?” He still radiates anger like heat.

Full of fear, I stare at the white scraps of paper on the floor. They blur before my eyes.

Did they do that to you?

I start to cry again. I cry and cry and can hardly breathe.

I hear more sounds of destruction, but I’m no longer watching.

I wrap my arms around myself, rocking back and forth, but I can’t do anything to stop the tremors.

Nothing for the fear. My hands go numb, tingling like they’re in icy water. Breathe. All is well. Breathe .

Suddenly, it’s quiet.

I blink and see River throw the bloody T-shirt onto the mess on the floor and pull a fresh black one over his head. Somehow, he senses my gaze because he suddenly looks at me and stops moving. There’s rolled-up tissue paper in his right nostril, and his hair is disheveled.

If a look could be heard, his would be now. But this silence suddenly sounds gentle.

“Hey.” Suddenly, River is beside me and pulls me into his arms. “God, I’m sorry. Calm down, okay. I’m here, baby.”

I hold on to him, but I can’t stop the fear.

The fear of what happened today, the fear of home, the fear of school, and now the fear of River’s rage.

He rubs my arms repeatedly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.

Stay here, Tucks. Okay? Everything’s fine, I’m here.

” My teeth chatter. I’m so glad he’s himself again, so glad he’s calm again, and yet I don’t stop shaking.

I would really like to know what’s wrong with him.

River takes my face in his hands. “Look at me.” I try, but my eyes lose focus as images of Chester and Jack merge and images of River destroying everything appear.

“Look. At. Me.” Now he whispers. “I. Am. Here. I’m not angry anymore.

I was just so afraid.” The quietness in his voice, the gentleness, is what brings me back a little.

“Tell me how I can help you. Show me. With your hands, somehow...”

However, my fingers are shaking so much. I try to form letters, but I can’t get them under control. River holds them for a moment, warming them with his hands.

“Try again.”

I do something, but I don’t know if he can interpret it. My mind is still in a fog, like I’m on a ghost ship abandoned at sea.

“Okay, that’s a B, an E, an A. O. No? Okay, a U... Do that again. Not so fast, Tucks, I’m not that quick. T...” River murmurs the letters one after the other. “ Beautiful words . Is that what you want to say? You need nice words?”

When he pulls me back into his arms, I nod exhaustedly. The images continue to flicker, but now they’re in the background, like on a movie screen.

“Okay. You’ll get beautiful words...” He doesn’t seem surprised at all, as if it’s normal.

That’s what I love about him. He doesn’t see my behavior as out of the ordinary. He rocks us back and forth a bit, probably thinking. “Night angel’s song,” he suddenly says. “Do you like that?”

I nod even though I’m still shaking and cold.

“Okay... how about moon bird bright. Night wind woven. Moon twilight blue.”

Moon twilight blue. The most beautiful words I’ve ever heard. In fact, the images start to fade. I bury my nose in his shirt and feel his warmth. Everything is fine; he is here. Nobody will hurt me, and he’s cooled down.

“Hey, I have more. Just give me a little time... moon shadow whispers. Night sparkle music. Silver star dark, moon-milk shimmer.”

I repeat all the words in my mind, feeling the magic of them fill me with calmness.

River holds me tighter against his chest, and I feel his heartbeat against my ear, his deep breaths.

Cautiously, I place my hand under his shirt, feel his warm, smooth skin, and place my fingers over his heart.

He flinches, probably because my hand is icy and his skin is so hot.

Da-dum. Da-dum. His heart beats calmly and evenly under my hand, settling me in a way I never thought possible.

“Someone once told me that some words are like music,” he says softly.

“And somehow that’s true. Words have their own sound, their own vibration.

You can whisper them, and their syllables spark and tickle your stomach.

You just have to allow it.” He gently strokes my hair with one hand and twirls a strand around his finger.

“Starfire surf, dream magic nebula, starward.” I press my fingers a little harder against his chest, and he understands.

“You particularly like starward.”

I wish I could ask him who told him about the words—that they can be like music. Maybe June.

Over the next few hours, River whispers many beautiful words to me, and at some point, they actually blur into a form of music, and it feels like he’s singing.

I forget everything around me. Only he counts.

Him and these words. They’re like a protective shell that entwines us. They are our night magic cocoon.