Page 50 of A Summer to Save Us

T hat day, we start toward Las Vegas, but when the Yamaha shuts off several times, we go slacklining off a narrow strip of grass on the edge of the steppe, somewhere between Littlerock and Ely.

“You’ll be ready soon,” River says lightly as I balance on the line. He sits at the other end, smoking and watching me like a hawk.

For what? I jump down and hold out my phone to him.

He raises his eyebrows. “For the highline, baby.”

I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that I’ve reached this point.

“Slacklining helped you find your center again. You may not have realized it, but with each passing day and week, you’ve been walking the line toward your goal.”

You helped me find my center again. Not a line!

River smiles strangely, like he knows a lot more than I do.

I didn’t text Dad that I spoke. Or James.

And, of course not Arizona either. Tonight, I dreamed about her.

Basically, I dream about her every night, I think, but tonight was different.

In my dream, we were talking, and it felt real and warm, like it could actually happen.

Maybe one day it will, and we’ll find each other again.

See you later, alligator.

After a while, crocodile .

I miss you, Ari. The Ari you once were .

When I have words again, lots and lots of words, I can explain everything to her.

Then she’ll realize that I didn’t lie. Nevertheless, I don’t say anything to my family because it’s not yet proper speech.

I stuttered a few words. I know that the way back to silence is easier than the way back to speaking.

I would just have to let myself fall into the silence.

But that’s not what I want now. I want to speak, but I also want to get rid of the stupid fear of doing so.

I don’t want to break out in a sweat or feel my heart pound with every word.

I don’t want the overwhelming panic and numb hands.

Of course, I also realize that River is right. The more I talk, the less afraid I’ll be. It was the same with eating and drinking. That’s how it is with everything. Maybe also the line. You just have to do things.

I turn off airplane mode and write my usual message to Dad that I’m okay, without commenting on what he said about Tanner Davenport. Then I write to Mr. Spock.

Stardate: starry night eternal. System: Delta Quadrant, somewhere in Nevada. Please contact me! How are you doing?

Just as I’m about to turn on airplane mode, a message lights up.

I reflexively click on it and hold my breath as I spot Chester in the thumbnail of a video message.

Just the look in his water-colored eyes turns my stomach.

I glance at River, who’s dismantling the slackline, and take a few steps across the dry desert sand.

Except for the narrow oasis on the almost dry river, everything here looks identical—herbaceous sagebrush bushes, orange-yellow sand, a few cacti.

At night, a sky full of stars. Living or dead.

A light breeze blows my hair into my face, and I slip the hair tie from my wrist and tie a braid, then click play.

Chester’s face comes to life, and he looks bitter.

“So, Montgomery! Your dad showed us the photo. You’re hanging out with Tanner?

Well, I should have guessed that when you both suddenly disappeared!

Girls always like sick losers.” He snorts, and I have to close my eyes for a moment so that the sight of him doesn’t make me sick.

I hold the cell phone a little further away from me.

“You know I only meant well for you back then. I would have looked after you at Kensington. I offered it to you.”

Sure, of course! You would have ‘integrated’ me, and I should have shown gratitude in a special way! Always after school. Motherfucker.

He looks at me seriously, almost worriedly. “Do you know that I’ve been looking for you every day?”

Most likely for your Porsche. And you told my dad a bunch of lies.

He sighs and runs his hands through his hair. “You have to come back, Kansas. Tanner is sick; he’s truly disturbed! He’s going to hurt you! So far, he has hurt everyone he’s had contact with.”

And you haven’t? I want to shout. I’m about to throw my cell phone onto the desert floor when he continues talking.

“He was in the clinic for a long time, and his friends say he’s taking pills.

He doesn’t know what it feels like not to be on a trip.

Do you know why he was expelled from boarding school back then?

Because he snuck out every night to have wild orgies.

He got drunk and had sex with hundreds of girls.

He might even have some kind of contagious disease.

.. I don’t want to scare you, but being around him means danger.

Come back, Kansas, and we’ll start over.

” He smiles without warmth. “The two of us. Then I’ll leave you alone at school, I swear. ”

I can’t listen to it any longer without throwing up, but he said what he had to say because this video also self-deletes after playing. I quickly switch on airplane mode.

“Hey!” River puts a hand on my shoulder from behind, and I jump. Shit, I didn’t even hear him approach.

“Hey,” I whisper, completely confused, pocketing the phone and turning around. His eyes shine in the desert sun, and the semi-warm wind blows his hair off his face.

He was in the clinic for a long time, and his friends say he’s taking pills .

Oh, I hate that Chester’s words are stuck in my head. But I know how easily he distorts the truth.

Come back, Kansas, and we’ll start over!

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” River takes my hands and places them on his chest. “Is there any bad news?”

I feel his heartbeat against my palm, that calming rhythm, and shake my head no. I don’t care what anyone else says. I don’t care what some guy named Tanner Davenport once did. This is River McFarley. Maybe Chester is lying about that, too.

River saved me, and I’ll only believe what I see with my own eyes and forget the rest.

That evening, the Yamaha conks out shortly before Las Vegas, and we find ourselves without a wheeled vehicle in the middle of the desert and two lonely mountain ranges to the right and left. So, we push the bike for two hours toward Lund and stay in a motel on the outskirts of the city.

That night, after a long time, I dream of Chester again.

In the dream, he’s pushing my face under the water.

As I struggle to get free and the air bubbles around me, I hear him shouting, “We’re starting over.

The two of us!” His voice fills my mind with a scarlet color that flows down my throat and into my lungs. His sweaty hand slides under my shirt.

When I wake, I’m drenched in sweat and breathless. The area next to me is empty; the pillow and duvet look as unused as they did last night.

“River?” My voice is soft, as if I’m afraid Chester might be lurking in one of the dark corners of the room. Exhausted, I push my damp hair out of my face and look around.

River isn’t here.

I take my phone and put it into the top pocket of my sleep shirt, then wrap myself in the blanket and walk to the bathroom with a bad feeling.

Please, don’t let him hurt himself again!

The emptiness of the bathroom yawns at me, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Indecisively, I stand there not knowing what to do. The chill of the nightmare lies like a film of ice on my skin. If I ever have to return to Cottage Grove, Chester will make my life miserable—unless River is by my side.

He’s probably outside, smoking.

Wrapped in the warm blanket, I go to the front door and tentatively open it. At first, the night seems quiet. All I hear is the wind blowing across the vast landscape between the mountain ranges, a gentle, steady roar occasionally accompanied by an eerie creak from the motel’s old beams.

I realize that River isn’t sleeping once again.

I unintentionally think of Chester’s words as well as my dad’s warning.

This lack of sleep may be a sign of illness.

Or the sign of ongoing drug addiction; amphetamines can do something like that.

Speed is a drug that can keep you awake for days, but I’ve already suspected it.

Maybe it’s totally naive not to get help and not tell Dad our whereabouts.

What do I do if River cuts himself so deeply that any help comes too late?

I thoughtfully wipe my damp forehead with one hand, step onto the narrow porch in front of the rooms, and breathe in the cool air.

Countless stars cover the sky, and the white band of the Milky Way hovers like a veil above me.

I look around. Our room is the second to last in the row.

The motel is like an island in the wasteland, with the broken Yamaha next to a wooden beam flanking the porch and supporting the overhang.

Okay, so River isn’t out here smoking either.

The creak of timber and a voice drift over to me. River. He must have gone around the corner to make a phone call.

Why?

I tiptoe along the porch so I can hear him better.

“But I have...” I hear him protest and then remain silent.

I creep even closer. The wood creaks as if he’s pacing back and forth. I pull the down comforter closer around me and hold my breath.

“I’ve always— always —let you know where I was... even when I was miserable as shit, I called you from the motel. Even if the drunk owner wanted a fortune for it.”

He was on the phone when he was sleeping so much? How? And when? And why didn’t I notice?

River interrupts my thoughts as he huffs in annoyance.

“Of course, I turned off the GPS then... That wasn’t part of the agreement.

You were following me around like I needed a fucking babysitter, for God’s sake!

What should I have done?” His steps quicken, like his inner unrest is increasing. “I just wanted a few weeks...”

I feel terrible for eavesdropping, but if I honestly want to help him, I need information.