Page 74 of A Summer to Save Us

T his year’s winter is breaking the record on the minus scale.

The media are reporting that Minnesota is the nation’s icebox.

The jet stream is apparently responsible for the icy polar air from Canada, and it’s supposedly not abnormal.

Nevertheless, you hear something here and there about climate change and the ice age. A real doomsday mood prevails.

In the attic, Arizona and I unpack our thickest hats, gloves, and boots, and even find our old Santa hats.

We eat a chocolate kiss with our hands clasped behind our backs, then take a selfie with our heads together—just like when we were five—and send it to James.

He sends back an eye roll because he’s a bit jealous of our togetherness now.

Everything has changed.

I’m now going to Jackson High. I have a lot of work to catch up on, and I have more classes than everyone else.

But at least it distracts me from River as well as the fuss that’s being made over me.

I’m a fixed star here, but most girls just want to be friends with me because I kissed Asher Blackwell and more.

And some boys, on the other hand, hardly dare to talk to me because they don’t like to compete with an icon.

But whatever it is, it’s better than sitting in a cupboard in the basement at lunchtime or hiding in a smelly toilet, better than being punched and or submerged in buckets of water.

Most of the time, I hang out with Arizona and her friends.

After school, we often go to Dan Applebee’s Burger & Grill—the former trendy hangout in Kensington Hills, which is now owned by the Jacksons.

I know that, despite all the attention, I will always be a satellite at heart, a moon, but that’s not a bad thing.

There are people like Dad and me who are simply more serious and quiet, who don’t have to shine all the time and stay in the background.

And there are people who talk a lot yet say nothing.

That’s what Tom said in Woods Crossing—the hippie guy who read my cards.

Now, a few months later, I know from the news his name wasn’t really Tom, but Ben.

Ben Adams. That explains the gun, of course.

I actually called the police and told them about the incident in the motel.

I told them that Ben Adams helped me. Obviously, I didn’t just call because of him, but because I wanted to report Jack and John, even if there is only my and Ben Adams’ testimony.

It all still seems surreal to me. Somehow, this whole crazy, terrible, and beautiful summer was shaped by the power of masks.

Hardly anyone was who they truly were—not even me.

And yet, in the end, I found myself again.

Somewhere in the middle of the silence and the words, the sadness and the happiness.

Or maybe on the highline, between heaven and earth, above the abyss, when I was closer to myself than ever before.

Today, I’m not going to Dan Applebee’s with the others. Instead, I have Arizona drop me off on the outskirts of town. “I have to do something,” I say as I get out in the parking lot below Old Sheriff.

“Can’t I come with you?” Arizona asks.

“No, I have to do it alone.”

“Is it because of him?” She looks at me from the driver’s seat, the engine still running.

I nod.

“Kans, you’re not doing anything stupid up there, are you?” For a moment, tears gather in her eyes. This sentimentality is new, as is her constant worrying about me. Strangely, it feels good.

I smile at her and shake my head. “Of course not.”

“I could wait for you here.”

“No, I need time. I’ll walk home. I... I just have to say goodbye properly, you know. Ceremonial and all.”

“Okay.” She says that a lot, too. Everything I do is suddenly okay. She smiles. “See you later, alligator.” Suddenly, she seems almost exuberant.

I raise my hand. “After a while, crocodile.” Parting words—I really hate them.

“Don’t forget, James is getting the Christmas tree today.

” Arizona pulls her hat over her ears and turns up the car heater.

“We’ll decorate it together—the tree, not James.

” She grins. “I even made a moose for the top. And don’t you dare say anything against him.

Not a word about how Mom always insisted on a star. ”

Mom. That woman is so far removed from my life, it’s like she never played a role.

For a while, I considered flushing her photo down the toilet, but I ended up giving it back to Dad.

He didn’t seem particularly surprised, like he knew I had it.

Just like he knew about the kitchen table.

I don’t know how much easier everything would have been if we’d talked to each other sooner.

“Kansas Montgomery!”

I blink. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re not listening to me!”

“I’m sorry, Ari. What is it?”

“I told you that James and I named the moose Mr. Specks.”

“Mr. Specks... fine.”

“Kans!” Arizona looks at me from the driver’s seat, slightly hurt. “You could at least smile.”

And I do, for her sake. Because she goes out of her way to do crazy and funny things, knowing that’s what I liked about River.

“A homemade moose named Mr. Specks on our Christmas tree. That’s definitely going on the Strange page, Ari.”

“Definitely!”

We’re not merely collecting words and sayings these days, but situations, too.

I slam the door and give a brief wave. I slowly trudge across the parking lot in my thick snow boots, right past where River had parked the Porsche.

I can’t help but think of Chester. Of course, the investigation against him was dropped after Senator Davenport pressured the relevant authorities.

However, no charges were brought against James either.

I don’t know if I should be relieved. Chester deserves just punishment, but maybe everything would have been blown out of proportion by the press, and the Davenports have been punished enough.

In any case, my dad quit his job six weeks ago—if you can even say that about a cardiologist. Luckily, there were no major problems, and next spring, he wants to open his own practice in a neighboring town.

He suspects that Clark Davenport now knows the whole truth about what actually happened at Kensington.

He believes Clark Davenport found evidence of the torture on Chester’s phone.

Dad, however, wasn’t sure if he understood Mr. Davenport’s hints correctly.

At least I’ve heard that Chester is now attending St. Benedict’s, where River also went.

The boarding school for students with mental health issues.

At least something has been done.

I wrap the scarf tighter around my neck because the wind is whistling so coldly along the collar of my jacket. With every step I climb uphill, I banish Cottage Grove, my family, and Kensington from my thoughts.

Only this concerns me: River and me. A part of my life that I have to let go of—but will never forget.

It is the last time I’ll go to the railway bridge.

It’s a farewell and a new beginning. And now that I’ve reached the top, it suddenly seems to me as if all the important moments of my life have taken place at dizzying heights.

As I walk the last few feet toward the bridge, it’s as if no time has passed since last June.

I stop for a moment and find him in my memory. His dark blue eyes, his laugh, the white-blond strands of his hair.

River .

I still remember the day I met him here so well. I can almost feel the warm spring wind on my skin again, even though it’s so cold today.

I approach from the east side, like back then.

And, like back then, I leave my bag at the edge of the bridge and walk alone along the middle of the tracks.

The rotten wood is dusted with freshly fallen snow that looks like powdered sugar.

I hear the crunch of my steps and breathe in the damp, cold air.

Willow River rushes beneath me. Its current still defies the sub-zero temperatures, but it’s only a matter of time before the cold freezes the water.

I walk on and suddenly find myself standing in the exact spot I wanted to jump from months ago.

F-L-Y-I-N-G.

That’s what you did , I think. You flew . And suddenly, I find part of my anger in the roar far below me.

Oh, yes, I’m angry with you, River. Infinitely angry. Because I still don’t understand, and I never will. Perhaps it’s not even possible. And, of course, I’m not only angry. Part of me is full of love. Full of gratitude.

I pull the bracelet with the black crane off my wrist and take a deep breath.

Don’t cry a river for me, baby , you would say to me, and I would smile. Because, like everything you said, it can have several meanings. My heart is so heavy. But it’s also light. Opposites, baby .

Did you often feel like that when you lost June? Were there days that the minutes felt as if they were like lead and days air? Weightless because you thought about all the beautiful things?

I let the origami bird dangle over the abyss on my index finger.

Origami will probably never be my thing, but you said you should always let something symbolically fly every time you don’t jump.

So, I bought some jet-black paper from Mrs. Wilson’s craft store and folded the crane.

Okay, it’s pathetic, but you can’t see it.

You know, I was thinking the other day that life is like origami.

When you unfold things, it gets complicated. You never get it back exactly the same.

If you hadn’t come then, I would have jumped. I’m certain of it. So, you honestly did save me, even if you say it was the other way around.

For a moment, I peer into the abyss. The river sounds gentler now, almost as if it’s whispering your name incessantly with each foamy bubble.

Ri-ver. Ri-ver. Ri-ver .

The ribbon slips gently from my finger, and the crane spins endlessly downward. Because it is so tiny in this vast natural setting, I don’t see it as it’s swallowed by the dark blue waters.

It is simply gone.