Page 65 of A Summer to Save Us

I have to get to Yosemite National Park.

Now! And I need help. When I dial Dad’s number, I feel like a traitor.

I’m doing something unforgivable by consigning the guy I love to his worst nightmares: the pills, the doctors, the clinic.

But I have no other choice. He saved me, and now I have to save him.

But I can’t do it alone. He’s actually too sick to know he needs help.

As the dial tone rings, River’s words from last night float through my mind like whispering leaves.

No matter what happens, you have to believe me. I love you. That’s the truth, the only thing I want you to remember .

And there’s another thing I know with absolute certainty.

His love wasn’t fake. He just never wanted it.

He didn’t want it because it made his guilt even stronger.

And now he wants to jump before he has to think about it any longer—before his love stops him from breaking his vow. Still alive for you, June .

I’m still crying when my dad answers. I’m crying so hard I almost can’t speak.

“Kansas?” my dad asks, confused. “Kansas, is that you?”

“Dad!” I choke out. “Dad, please help me!”

“Oh my God! Kans...” I hear the shock in his voice, his bewilderment at my words. “Where are you, for God’s sake? We’ve been looking everywhere for you and Tanner.” In the background, I hear James and Arizona speaking to Dad.

“Strip,” I choke out and look around. “On the Strip in front of the MGM.”

“Is she talking, Dad?” James almost screams into the phone. Dad says something and obviously covers the speaker because I can’t understand anything for a few seconds. “Honey, what... what happened?” he now asks.

“River needs help,” I cry out while people stare at me. “I think he wants to kill himself. You were right. He’s sick.”

Dad doesn’t reply. I want to ask him not to notify the Davenports because River hates them, but it’s his family, and they have a right to know, so I say nothing.

“Dad, I have to go to him. I think I’m the only one who might be able to help him!”

“Do you know where he was going, sweetheart?”

He calls me sweetheart, just like he does with Arizona. I cry even harder, feeling as if I’m shedding an old skin like a snake, like I can finally be the person I used to be again after a long time. “I have to go to him. Promise me you’ll take me to him first!”

“I promise you, Kansas.”

“Pinky swear, Dad!”

“Over the phone, yes.” He laughs briefly. My dad laughs. I can’t believe it.

“We’ll pick you up in the car—James, Arizona, and I—and then you can tell us what’s going on.”

“Zozoo,” I say incoherently, “we need his number.”

“I’ll get it.”

I end the call and can’t believe what just happened. I spoke to Dad, and he called me sweetheart. He listened to me and paid attention to me as if I was actually important to him. Just as important as Arizona.

Dad rented a car last night so he could look for you easier , James types to me.

They all flew to Las Vegas on the Davenports’ private jet, which is how they arrived so quickly.

As I get into the bright yellow Toyota Camry, I feel strange. This is my family, yet they seem foreign to me now that I’m speaking. It’s as if they’ve changed too, which, of course, is completely idiotic.

“Hi,” I say anxiously as I get in. James is driving, and Arizona is in the passenger seat, so I get into the back seat next to Dad.

As soon as I slam the door shut, James drives off.

Dad looks at me uncertainly, as if he doesn’t know how to deal with me. “Kans... what happened? Where’s Tanner?” he asks cautiously, as though one wrong word could immediately trigger another episode of silence.

I fasten my seat belt. “He’s heading for Yosemite National Park—at least, I think so.

” My voice trembles, not because I’m inhibited, but because I’m scared.

I’m growing colder with every passing second.

“Dad, River has been talking about highlining all summer. Slacklining at high altitudes, that is. He’s going to jump from a highline on Lost Arrow Spire.

” I glance out the window, but even if he were standing there, I wouldn’t recognize him.

“For God’s sake, Kansas, are you sure?” My dad sounds completely horrified.

For a moment, I stare at my reflection in the window. My face is puffy from crying so much, and my hair hangs in a tangled mess. I feel so strange. I’m so scared. I turn. “Dad, you promised you’d take me to him.”

“It’s an almost six-hour drive to Yosemite.” Dad frowns. “And I have to tell Clark.”

With a sick feeling in my stomach, I look out the window again, hoping to spot River somewhere among the tourists.

I hate the thought of the Davenports being let in on the secret, but I also know it’s inevitable.

But if we hurry, we might even get to Yosemite National Park before River and catch him.

We have a car, and he might have to take the bus or hitchhike.

And if the rangers are alerted, they can definitely look out for him.

There aren’t many ways to get to Lost Arrow Spire unnoticed.

Exhausted, my head sinks against the window as I listen to Dad speaking to Clark Davenport on the phone while images and feelings from last night come flooding back—a tender I love you on my bare skin, entwined bodies almost as if they had grown together, whispered words, deep kisses, River’s cool hands on my heated skin, his rapid breathing, and the feeling of being inseparably connected to him yet not being able to hold on to him.

Loving him and losing him. I pray I get to the rock before him and stop him.

I’m silent most of the time, and James, Dad, and Arizona don’t talk much either, even though their thousand questions hang in the air of the Toyota. Why did you run away? When did you meet River? Did you know who he was from the beginning? When did you start talking again?

I’m glad they’re leaving me alone. Arizona still seems aloof; she hardly looks at me, but strangely enough, I don’t care.

Maybe it’s because I’ve realized that my world and my universe are much bigger than I thought.

There are so many things right now that are more important, and if she thinks I wanted to hurt her on purpose, that’s her problem.

At some point, James stops at McDonald’s for burgers and a truckload of fries for everyone, even Dad. Although my stomach is churning, I mechanically stuff two cheeseburgers and a portion of fries with mayo and ketchup into myself. I google Lost Arrow Spire.

Luckily, James’ charger cable fits my phone, and after it starts working again, I use Zozoo’s number and text him to get in touch with me.

I also look up the hiking routes to the famous climbing rock.

I’ll need all my strength because it’s near the Upper Falls at about one mile above sea level.

It takes four hours on average with decent hiking boots, so I ask Dad and James to stop at a sporting goods store along the way.

Dad not only buys me hiking boots with treaded soles, but aslo a water bottle, a backpack, and thick socks—for James, because he’s going to accompany me.

Dad pays for everything wordlessly. I think he’s just happy I am back.

Arizona, on the other hand, continues to ignore me and acts as if the whole trip and rescue mission are boring as hell. As if it’s not Asher Blackwell that she’s idolized for a year and a summer. As if it wasn’t even about saving a human life.

We drive on. I continue dialing River’s number, but he doesn’t answer. But, since the call goes through, it is neither in flight mode nor switched off because then only the voicemail would answer. I send messages.

I love you!

Get in touch!

Come back!

Nothing happens. They aren’t checked off as having been read. I receive no sign of life, and there are moments when I’m afraid that he might have thrown himself off one of the posh hotels in Las Vegas, but that wouldn’t have gone unnoticed.

Since we didn’t take any breaks other than quick stop at 7-Eleven and McDonald’s, we arrived at Yosemite National Park’s entrance at around 6 p.m. My stomach is in knots.

The sun is setting, and the first orange streaks appear in the blue summer sky.

I can’t possibly set off for Lost Arrow Spire this evening—Dad would have a fit.

He calls to reserve several rooms at the Majestic Yosemite, a hotel where tours to the Upper Falls start, and again, unfortunately, he also informs the Davenports.

I feel more and more like a traitor, but my fear is stronger than my guilty conscience.

River is ill, that I’m becoming more and more aware of.

He’s not merely slightly depressed, he’s completely confused, extremely sad, and deeply desperate.

He probably actually is bipolar. I’ve read that stressful events can be a trigger for those with a genetic predisposition.

The report also said that many creative people suffer from bipolar disorder.

Thank you for the tragedy. I need it for my art .

Recalling Kurt Cobain’s quote makes me think of Mrs. Elliot and her aphorisms about the meaning of life.

So, me and kissing?

We drive through the famous Yosemite Valley, I peer fearfully at the high granite walls to the right and left that enclose the lush green valley like walls.

They seem threatening and deadly to me, not fascinating or breathtaking as they are always advertised.

In my mind and as if through dark colors, I see River standing on the slackline and hear him whisper.

Slacking is freedom, Tucks. On a highline, everything loses meaning.

It’s more than you can ever imagine. Heart pounding.

Wind and fear. Sweaty hands. Once you’ve been up there, you feel like you’ve just been asleep until then and you are waking up at that moment .

Maybe that’s what he wants—to wake up. Maybe he believes he’s still asleep. Maybe up there, between the wind and the clouds, he’ll finally feel free of his alleged guilt.