Page 45 of A Summer to Save Us

T hat evening, we make it to Littlerock, a town of eight hundred people in the middle of a barren valley. There’s a motel that we check into and three restaurants. One owner is on vacation, the other is closed due to a death, and the third, the Knotty Oak, is hosting a karaoke competition.

Somehow, half the town seems to be gathered there. There’s a line to get it, but we still stand in it because River says he’ll go crazy if he doesn’t get a piece of meat between his teeth soon.

I take his appetite as a good sign, a kind of transitional phase between not sleeping and hardly eating and just sleeping.

As we wait, I stare nervously at the floor.

There are lots of chattering strangers around us, and I feel the old fear in my veins, but River grabs my hand.

The feeling sinks as easily as a full vessel drifting to the bottom of the sea.

He’s always there. He always sees when I need help.

And even though everything is warped, getting darker, and coming to an end that scares me, I’m happy in a strange way.

Every second with River feels like my blood has turned to liquid gold.

There haven’t been many nice moments in my life lately; it’s always been more about holding my breath and worrying about what’s going to happen next.

River revived me so I can breathe again.

Always be River McFarley .

Earlier, I briefly deactivated airplane mode and checked my cell phone.

My dad wrote that he had to check with Clark Davenport because he couldn’t remember the other son’s name.

Only then did I realize what conclusions my question could lead to.

If Dad has to ask Clark Davenport, they might get the idea that we’re traveling together, no matter what lies Chester says.

And River definitely doesn’t want our families to know about our trip together.

The question’s been solved , I answer as River buys a few chocolate bars at a desert gas station.

After waiting five minutes, we make it to the bouncer, who’s letting everyone in anyway. The Knotty Oak is a quaint establishment where all the furniture is made from rustic oak. River and I squeeze into a corner table with four older people, and I feel the curious eyes of the locals on us.

“New faces in Littlerock.” The bearded man nods at us. “What brings you to a place like this in the middle of nowhere?” He looks at me, and I automatically return the smile. My heart beats faster, but I don’t feel the usual panic.

Across the table, River puts his hand on mine. “My girlfriend doesn’t speak,” he says, looking me straight in the eyes as if to make sure it’s okay. I nod cautiously. “We’re taking a trip through the Southwest, checking out the national parks and Las Vegas.”

Lost Arrow Spire whispers in my head, with a stopover at Mom’s.

Each of the four has something to say about Las Vegas, so my speechlessness goes unmentioned for now.

“A friend of my brother gambled away the house and farm there. Black Jack, a devil’s game!” The older lady with bright pink painted lips and the typical ’50s curls looks at River admonishingly.

“We don’t gamble, ma’am, don’t worry,” he says with a charming smile, and I feel him winning over the ladies at the table.

I bet he could captivate anyone if he wanted to.

Even though he’s wearing a simple white T-shirt and jeans, like most people here in Nevada, he stands out from the crowd.

The way he laughs, so confident and nonchalant, and his movements—even the way he turns his head—all seem like he knows he has charisma yet doesn’t come across as arrogant.

Sometimes, I really hate myself , I hear him say, and in his darker moments, I would argue it’s true.

But at the moment, I don’t see any of it.

It’s only now, as I’m thinking this, that I realize that I’ve rarely seen River interacting with others.

He’s currently blowing the strands off his forehead and giving me a smile that sends a hundred fires through my veins.

I smile back, feeling the longing to touch him, to bury my hands in his hair and kiss him.

He winks at me and seems happy and exuberant. “Are you okay, baby?”

I nod, wishing he were always like this. Just like now, without thinking about highlines and starry night-eternities.

As we study the menu, River looks at me questioningly, and I point to the filet mignon.

He orders two, along with a large salad, a beer, and a Coke, and I feel the curious glances from both couples again.

River talks to them the entire time and finds out that the bearded man and the lady with curls own the supermarket on the edge of town, while the gray-haired couple runs a gas station.

It’s almost like he’s talking to people he knows, and I’m relieved that he’s more talkative again.

It seems to me that the friendly people and the sociable atmosphere lifted a spell.

We’re no longer completely alone with ourselves.

“May we ask why your companion doesn’t speak? Do you have an injury, my love? Did she perhaps have an operation?” The gray-haired lady with the grandmotherly smile peers at me with interest.

I shake my head. I don’t run away, and I don’t panic.

“Maybe she experienced something bad. An accident?”

I look to River for help, and he looks at me expectantly. I know if I don’t say anything, he’ll answer for me.

The people of Littlerock are definitely not tactful, though I’m not mad at them.

I shake my head again, pulling a pen from my pocket and writing on the napkin because I forgot my notebook.

There was a bad event. I don’t want to say anything more about it.

I don’t have to write the whole complicated story down for them. Selective mutism, complete mutism.

The two women nod at me somewhat benevolently and pityingly, which is okay. At least they don’t look at me like I’m an alien.

I sit back and watch the action as River continues talking to them.

The Knotty Oak consists of two areas: the restaurant and a larger room with a bar, bar tables, and a stage.

I even spot a piano. From the conversation with the older gentlemen, I learn that the village band, For Heaven’s Sake, is tonight’s entertainment and that the bearded man’s son is the bass player.

I look from the stage to River and catch him staring longingly at the podium during the conversation.

Of course, he also plays. According to what he told me, he played all night in New Orleans.

He hums all day or sings softly to himself while slacklining.

He definitely misses it. I have no idea when he last played or why he came back to Cottage Grove.

He said he hadn’t seen his family in a long time, but he must have been home just before he met me on Old Sheriff.

After all, his father wanted to have him declared insane.

I look at him thoughtfully, seeing him as if he’s in a dreamlike bubble. How he laughs, gestures, and speaks. All sounds and his words blur together. I’m completely relaxed at this moment, even though I’m among people and have a thousand questions.

I love you, River McFarley is all I can think, and my heart beats faster at the thought of feeling all of him. Maybe he notices that, and that’s why the air crackles with every furtive or non-furtive glance, as if magic were igniting itself.

After the first singers try to join For Heaven’s Sake on stage, River and I move to a bar table.

In front of us, between the bar tables and the stage, teenagers have gathered as well as several couples ranging in ages from twenty to ninety-nine.

I like the fact that all ages celebrate together here.

A man in his mid-thirties wearing a heavy metal T-shirt is currently belting out “Livin’ On A Prayer” by Bon Jovi.

The crowd roars even though he doesn’t hit a single note.

If River finds his singing bad, he doesn’t show it. I just see him occasionally holding his breath or wincing at the wrong note.

During “I Want To Know What Love Is,” a number of couples suddenly start dancing, tightly embracing like newlyweds.

“Come on!” River doesn’t wait for my response and leads me to the dancers.

He puts his arms around my waist and pulls me to him, and my hands go to the back of his neck.

I feel the warmth of his skin under my fingers and the fine film of sweat because it’s so hot in here.

His hair tickles the back of my hand and sends goosebumps scurrying up my arms.

“Hey,” he says roughly, leaning down toward me. His face is close to mine. “Is it okay in here?” His breath breaks against my lips, and I nod, as if paralyzed.

How could anything be wrong when I’m with him?

The stars could fall from the sky, and all the volcanoes on Earth could spew lava at the same time; I wouldn’t care.

As long as I hear his breathing, his rough hey , and smell his scent of leather, forest, and herbs, I know I’m always in the right place.

I close my eyes, feeling his fingertips on the back of my neck, a gentle hand, curved and light.

A million magical words flutter through my mind, but they slip away when he kisses me—not as tenderly as usual, but not in a way that scares me either.

And again, I fall into sweet, humming darkness.

Into bright light. Maybe I’ll fly, and maybe I’ll die.

Everything else is meaningless. I bury my fingers in River’s silky hair and dive into the blackness.

The world blurs, and all opposites dissolve.

Time and space. Up, down. It’s just me and River and this buzzing in the distance.

If I had one wish right now, I wouldn’t want my speech back but for this moment to last forever and never go away.