Page 52 of A Summer to Save Us

T he next morning, River pushes the Yamaha to a repair shop, where a mechanic named Eddy replaces the spark plugs before we continue toward Las Vegas.

The desert valleys of Nevada transform into a vast plain, with nothing but dry clay soil and sagebrush.

Dust swirls around us, settling in our hair and every crease.

My fragile feeling of happiness continues, even if I notice that River is looking around more often today.

I blame it on his late-night phone conversation.

After all, there was an ultimatum, and it may expire in these hours.

Although he hasn’t told me, I think he’s supposed to meet his friends somewhere.

As I understand it now, they had previously located him using GPS on his cell phone.

He had downloaded an app so that he could be alone for a few weeks, but they still knew where he was.

But then he must have turned off the GPS or deleted the app.

And after that, his phone was wet and turned off most of the time, so they could never locate him.

But why did he allow it to begin with and then suddenly change his mind?

Maybe they got on his nerves, or he did something he shouldn’t have done— no girl!

Why no girl? What does he do with girls? I try to recall his friends’ words as they chased after us at the lake, but I can’t remember. All I know is that they said I would fall in love with him—which is what happened—and that he only leaves behind broken pieces—which didn’t happen.

I wonder why his father wants to find him so badly now when he didn’t care months or years ago. In my heart of hearts, I know there must be something more to it. One more truth that I don’t know. And maybe I don’t even want to know. Maybe River will tell me everything when he’s ready.

When we stop at a gas station just outside Las Vegas, he looks around again, but there’s just a bus refueling at the fuel pump for trucks, with CityVoyager Tours logo emblazoned on its side.

Still sitting on the Yamaha, my legs on either side of the ground, I take off my helmet and hang it on my forearm.

What will we actually do once we find my mom and that item on the list is checked off? I type.

River winks at me. “Then all you have to do is say ‘ I love you’ to someone. Then we’ll find a highline in Yosemite.

” He says it so naturally, as if it’s something that shouldn’t be questioned.

However, I now realize that I have a trump card in my hand with I love you .

As long as I don’t say it, the list isn’t completed.

“Hey, we don’t have to jump, Tucks.” River lovingly ruffles my hair.

This is something that belongs to him. And every time, it reassures me, as if he’s saying, It’s okay, baby, don’t worry .

The way he says we don’t have to jump, like it’s just a matter of choosing a flavor of ice cream.

You don’t have to eat walnut ice cream; you could go for pistachio. ..

And if we don’t jump, what will we do? I type.

River shrugs and takes off the helmet. “We’ll see when the time comes. Maybe I’ll beat the truth out of Ches first.”

I just shake my head. He doesn’t know what happens next; he has no plan at all. I watch thoughtfully as he disappears into the little building to pay, the helmet casually in his right hand. I rub my temples. The Nevada sun beats down on the top of my head, eroding my ability to think.

Why no girl?

Still alive for you, June .

I can’t find the answers, not without River.

I quickly check my cell phone to see if Mr. Spock has finally written back. Apparently, there are no cell towers here. Damn! I also wanted to google something about depression and lithium.

I put the phone away and watch River, who first browses the candy and then strolls past the magazine rack.

Like at Knotty Oak, a group of girls targets him.

They put their heads together, and a blonde with a bright red giant lollipop waves her hands excitedly in the air while she talks to her friends.

Sighing inwardly, I turn away, looking at the old-fashioned gas pumps, the dusty ground, and the flicker of heat on the horizon, and consider talking to myself when I suddenly hear River calling.

“Start the engine! Quickly!” I glance in his direction. He’s just pushed open the door, a look of wild panic on his face. Did he steal something?

Behind him, I see the girls. One has her mouth open like a frog catching flies, the other is waving her lollipop in the air, and the third has cheeks as bright red as the lollipop. There are a few boys milling around behind them.

“Tucks! First gear, left foot!” River shouts, his boots kicking up dust. Instantly, I think of his dad and his friends, and I slide forward. I do something with my left foot, turn the key with flying fingers, and press the start button.

“Accelerate! Right lever!”

I do as he says, and the engine roars as the machine lurches forward. One of the girls shouts something, but I can’t make it out.

“More!” River is almost to me. “Now! Now!”

Oh my God!

I do something, and the Yamaha shoots forward again.

At that moment, River jumps on, and we almost lose our balance as the bike leans to one side.

River is able to catch it by putting his foot on the ground.

A cloud of smoke surrounds us, and the exhaust stings my nose for a few seconds. I twist the throttle like a madman.

“Wait a minute!” a girl’s voice calls out. “We just want...”

I can’t understand the rest because the Yamaha starts to lurch while we bump over the curb onto the highway.

“Watch out!” River’s helmet slips from his hand, and at that moment, a truck speeds by us, and the hot wind burns my face.

“Now! Now drive!”

I’ve never driven a bike like this before, but I manage to keep the thing on track, even if I’m definitely using the wrong gear.

What was that about? I want to shout, but it’s not possible.

So I drive a mile and bring the Yamaha to a stop with shaking hands.

I turn to River, indignantly.

His face is red and dusty, his expression a mixture of anger and disbelief.

He says nothing. He just gets off and runs three steps away from me, putting his hands on his thighs like he’s run a marathon.

Whatever happened, it must have thrown him completely off balance.

I carefully turn off the bike and walk toward him. My helmet is still hanging on my forearm because I didn’t have time to put it on.

“W-w-what’s going on?” I choke out, feeling contempt for still stuttering and being unable to come up with a sensible sentence.

I hear River taking a deep breath, apparently trying to calm down. When he turns, a fake smile is plastered on his face. “I need a new helmet,” is all he says.

I could scream! He digs the sunglasses I bought at the little store in Woods Crossing out of the backpack and hands me mine. “Put them on. The sun’s totally aggressive.”

I reluctantly obey, even though I hate that he’s acting like I can’t count to three. He knows that I know something is wrong. He doesn’t want to be recognized, that’s what it looks like!

Maybe the guys in the store were his friends who somehow found out where we were?

I don’t ask on my cell phone, and we ride on. It’s strange that he doesn’t just go back to pick up his helmet. I guess the situation is more serious than he lets on.

In Coyote Springs, wearing sunglasses and a scarf made into a bandana, he buys a completely overpriced helmet from a rental car dealer, even though we’re almost in Las Vegas.

You don’t want to be recognized? I ask as he hurries back to the bike with long strides.

“Didn’t you want to speak three sentences a day?” he asks gruffly in return and simply pulls the visorless helmet over the bandana.

I tug on his sleeve, and he stops and turns to me. “What is it?” He sounds impatient and has never been that way, or rarely, in all these weeks.

Who are you? Again, there is this dull fear in me that I could lose him. That there is something so bad that we can’t overcome it.

“River McFarley. Tanner Davenport. Take your pick!”

“Please,” comes out of my mouth unexpectedly.

He looks at me through his sunglasses, looking like a young pilot, cool and distant. “What do you want, Kentucky. What? We’re in a hurry, so don’t mess around!”

Angry, I take a deep breath. I shouldn’t mess around?

He should talk. Maybe his mood is currently changing again.

In my mind, I try to calculate how long he might be awake.

Perhaps there is a fixed rhythm to these periods and they can be calculated ahead of time.

Are you having a bad phase? I type because I can’t do the math quickly and River seems so impatient.

After reading it, he roughly pushes my arm with the cell phone out of his reach.

“See, that’s why I didn’t want to tell you.

Because then you’ll blame everything on this supposed illness that I don’t even have.

” He leaves me there and walks to the Yamaha, so I pick up the backpack that he left outside the shop.

Talk to me, damn it! I want to shout at him, but who am I to say that?

“Have you googled anything about it yet?” he asks when I reach him.

I shake my head and shoulder my backpack.

“You shouldn’t either. You should probably keep your cell phone off for a few days. Don’t read the newspaper, don’t watch TV—nothing.”

Perplexed, I look at him. “W-why?”

He gets on the Yamaha without giving me another glance. “Because I don’t want you to. Because I don’t want you to see something I don’t want you to see! Not yet!”

Hello? I am completely baffled. What shouldn’t I see? What the fuck has he done? And why not yet?

“Come on already! We don’t have time!”