Page 29 of Into the Deep Blue

It’s a thirty-minute drive to the park, and his dad’s one-hour time limit is dangerously close to expiring. When I pull into the lot, I spot his dad’s truck parked on the grass at the far end. He’s done a number on it. There’s a massive dent over the right rear wheel and a ton of scratches. What did he do? I park next to it and call his dad. It goes to voicemail.

“Hi, Mr. Bennet, it’s . Found him! He’s okay. You don’t need to call the police. We’re just going to talk for a bit, so he’ll call you later. Bye.”

That should buy me some time, but my panic rises because I still don’t know what I’ll find out here.

The heat at the park is magnified. It’s late August heat—a thousand sticky, breezeless degrees.

I head for a trail map, water bottle in hand, and try to figure out the most direct route to the falls, except there isn’t one waterfall here. There are ten by my count. Ten? A dozen routes are plotted out on the board, twisting and turning in bright-colored lines. It’s so misleading. It looks like a trip through Candyland when the actual trail is more like a haunted nightmare—dark path, creepy trees, mosquitos, and who knows what else. The upside is that I’m not May, so the odds of me running for my life in my underwear are next to zero. I glance at my phone. Nick still hasn’t texted me back. He could be anywhere. I’ll have to hike the whole damn thing.

It’s two miles to the first falls, if you can call it that. It’s barely taller than I am and trickling the smallest stream of water. Clearly, people know this. No one is here. I wish I could say I’m having some profound connection to nature, but really I’m dodging the bugs flying into my face every two seconds. Why couldn’t Mrs. Bennet have been a fan of the ocean like Mom?

I hike on to the next one and find droves of families, roasting hot dogs and marshmallows over a firepit. No Nick.

Access to the third is closed, and there’s still no sign of him at the next two. The falls are breathtaking, though—the roar of the water enough to temporarily numb my anxiety. I imagine filling tiny boats with my cats and watching them fall over the edge, disappearing into the mist below.

I hike my way from one to the next, and soon, my white sneakers turn dark from the muddy trail. At the viewing area of the South Falls, I stand next to a couple of hikers joined in an embrace. There’s still no sign of Nick, and panic washes over me. I should call his dad. I should call my dad.

Then I see him.

He’s on the other side of the gap, sitting on the cliff near the edge, a bottle between his legs. His shirt is tied around his head like a bandana, and he’s soaked from the mist. He looks so small, so alone. Seeing him this way feels like the ultimate invasion of privacy.

He raises his head and spots me.

“Fioooonnaaaaaa!!!”

It’s a battle cry. He’s wasted. Nick hoists the bottle in the air.

“Haffa drink.”

He stands and stumbles forward, dangerously close to the precipice, before catching himself and swaying back. He smiles, pleased with himself, as if not falling is a major accomplishment.

I move away from the overlook, searching for a way to get to the other side. He mirrors my movement, stumbling on the rocky ledge with every step.

“Sit down!”

I yell across the void.

“I’m coming. Just stay.”

I fully resort to dog signals.

“I’m pouring you a drink,”

he yells back. He makes a grand gesture of pouring a capful of whatever that is and immediately throws it back.

“I’m pouring you another drink!”

This is a nightmare. I search for a path leading to the top of the falls, but there isn’t one. There’s only a trail about an inch wide, and it looks more like the Rainforest. Branches scrape across my legs and arms as I push overgrown swaths of brush out of my way. There are a million cobwebs—do they regenerate by the second? And puddles of mud so huge they might lead to the multiverse.

Up ahead, I spot a bridge, and bridge is a generous term. It’s a series of narrow wooden planks with wide gaps in between, fastened by rope with two thick cords as handrails—open concept as far as bridges go. Some would call it rustic. I call it insanity. I hesitate. Balancing on a rock firmly grounded in the ocean is nothing compared to dealing with a swaying, unstable foundation hovering over rapids.

Imaginary Nick says.

“What are you talking about? It’s a bridge, Fi. It doesn’t get any more stable than this. It has actual handrails. What you did at the ocean was insane.”

Imaginary Nick would even walk to the middle and jump on it to demonstrate.

The bridge sways as I step onto it. Don’t look down, but I have to. There could be broken boards. It’s nauseating watching the water rush under me in a dizzying fury. With light, swift steps, I hurry across, my hands grazing over the ropes. But whatever pride I feel for reaching the other side turns into instant irritation. Nick.

A grassy path leads to the waterfall. The ground slopes steeper, and the grass becomes slippery. I carefully edge my way down.

“!”

he calls out, still sounding surprised. Even drunk, he can see I’m struggling with the slope of the trail, and he extends a mud-covered hand to help me down. He notices the mud and wipes his hands on his wet jeans. He’s a few feet below me, so I have to sit on a rock and jump the rest of the way. I crash right into him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.”

He steadies me with a hand around my waist.

“There’s a path, right over there.” He vaguely gestures to someplace behind me.

“Of course there is,”

I say, not finding this nearly as amusing as he is. Now, my shorts are wet. He reeks of booze, so I step away and take in the makeshift camp he’s set up. There’s a bag of chips and his good headphones, which are soaked and definitely ruined.

“What are you doing here?”

he asks, overly happy.

“Looking for you.”

“Great!”

He stumbles back and picks up the bottle on the ground.

“Welcome to Casa Nick. Have a drink.”

I drag his backpack over and sit on top of it.

“No, I’m good.”

“Come on.”

He plunks himself next to me and shakes the bottle under my face. I take it, tilting it back against my closed lips. He’s too drunk to know the difference.

“I’ve been texting you.”

“Yeah?”

He pats his pockets and scans the cliffside.

“I don’t know where my phone is. Holy shit. Where’s all my stuff?”

He runs his hands through his hair, dislodging the shirt tied around it and paces across the cliff.

“I’m sitting on it! It’s literally under my ass.”

He eyes the bag like he’s not sure it’s the right one and finally settles next to me. The falls roar in front of us.

“We were worried about you.”

“We? Who’s we?”

“Your dad called me.”

He laughs, his head falling back, then looks at me again.

“You’re funny. That’s funny.”

A small audience on the other side of the falls is watching us.

“Isn’t it beautiful here?”

he says, oblivious to them.

“It is.”

“It smells so clean, right?”

he says, drawing in the deepest breath.

“I wish I could smell this all the time.”

Then, as if it dawns on him.

“Wait. You hate this. You hate nature.”

I nod.

“Still true.”

“You hiked for me?”

He claps a hand against his chest and sways back from his force.

“Mmmhmm.”

He reaches for the bottle, and I cringe as he takes another drink. It’s already a quarter empty. I have so many questions, but he’s a mess, definitely not the right time to ask, so I swallow them.

He hands me the bottle, and I try to distract him.

“Yeah, I took the scenic route.”

He faces the direction I’m pointing, and I spill the rest of the alcohol into the ground beside me. When he turns around, he sees the empty bottle pressed against my lips.

“Did you drink all that?”

he asks, surprised.

“Oops.”

He takes it from me and slides it away.

“No, it’s okay. It’s all good. Maybe I’ve got another.”

I tug at his pant leg, pulling him back.

“Why don’t you have some of this.”

I draw my water bottle from my bag.

“Mmmm. Yummy.”

He’s not impressed and pushes it away. The cutesy act isn’t working, so I get serious.

“Come on, Nick, just a sip. You need water.”

He takes the bottle and chugs the water, handing it back to me empty. A ray of lucidity shines through.

“How’d you know I was here?”

“I tracked you.”

He nods.

“You know, Alex has that, too.”

He rakes a hand through his damp hair.

“I signed the papers. So, she got what she wanted. She could be here. I mean, she should be here, right?”

He hangs his elbows over his bent knees.

“My dad . . . my dad should be here. I bet he only cares about his truck right now. None of them are here. But you’re here, you know?” He blinks away the tears pooling in his eyes. “And you shouldn’t be. You lost your job because of me.”

“You know?”

May must have told him. He wipes his nose with his wet sleeve. Our eyes meet, but he doesn’t say anything.

“It wasn’t really because of you. It was because of them. It’s their loss.”

“But it was still because of me.”

His voice breaks.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dragged you into my bullshit. You should go.”

“Hey, I’m not leaving you,”

I say, nudging his shoulder with mine.

“Mostly because I don’t know how to get back.”

He coughs out a snotty laugh, and his pain melts into me. I want to fix it, take it away, but I can’t. I clasp his hand in mine.

“Why aren’t they here?”

He turns to me, his eyes spilling with tears.

“I don’t know.”

He looks out to the waterfall, and his shoulders heave with heavy sobs.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He’s not talking to me anymore. I pull him onto my shoulder, partly because he needs someone to hold him, mostly because I don’t want him to see that I’m crying, too.

“This is bullshit. This is BULLSHIT,”

he yells over the roar of the falls. His words echo against the cliffs.

I want to tell him he’ll be okay, that his mom loved him, and so do the rest of his family. But I hated it when those things were said to me, so I just hold his hand. I can be here.

He rests his head on my shoulder, and we watch the water fall and the hikers come and go until the sun dips lower and streaks of fiery orange spill across the sky. Someone yells from the other side that it’s getting late, and we should leave. And all I can think of are the hundred-and-one ways we’ll die in this forest. Before we get up, I spot something shiny and black among the stones. It might be a piece of obsidian, so I tuck it in my bag to keep as a memory.

The walk back takes twice as long and is ten times as miserable. Nick throws up like a dog marking trees. A cool breeze sweeps through the trail and the bugs come out in droves. I struggle to decipher the markers on the map while wrangling a drunk guy on my arm. It’s like being out with a toddler, a distractible, exceedingly heavy toddler.

When I get him back to my car, I’m covered in mosquito bites. He tries to give me the keys to his truck, not understanding that I can’t drive two cars at the same time. It’ll have to stay here for now.

It’s seven, and I have a ton of texts from Dad. His big dinner is ready and where the hell am I? I text:

Sorry

Home in 30

***

Going to Starbucks seemed like a good idea, but Nick won’t even look at the coffee or touch the bottles of water. The smell, combined with the wet mud on his clothes, is so strong that he throws the coffee out the window, then opens the door at a red light and throws up again.

“You need to go to a hospital,” I say.

His eyes are closed, and his face is caked in dirt.

“I’m fine.”

He mumbles.

“Let me sleep.”

His head falls against the window. He’s passed out.

I don’t know what to do with him. Waiting it out in a parking lot crosses my mind, but I need an all-night solution. I have no choice; I have to take him home.

The second I walk through the door I’m hit with the warm scent of roasted potatoes. It’s instant nostalgia. Dad’s in the kitchen, gliding from one pot on the stove to the next. Nineties rock fills the air, and a glass of red wine is on the counter. He worked so hard to make this dinner, and I’m about to ruin it.

I lean against the archway.

“Smells good.”

He nearly jumps out of his skin, then turns down the music.

“Didn’t hear you come in.”

“Sorry, I’m so late.”

“Actually, you’re just in time.”

My keys are still clutched in my hand as I try to find the right words for Nick is wasted in my car.

Dad can tell something’s up. He pulls the dish towel from his shoulder and wipes his hands.

“What’s going on, Fi?”

“You’re going to kill me,”

I blurt out.

He moves closer.

“For what? What happened?”

“There’s a small situation. A Nick situation.”

“Did he get arrested?”

“No!”

Dad’s body goes slack with relief.

“But he’s passed out in my car.”

Dad goes to the window and sees a comatose Nick in the passenger seat.

“I left his door open. For air.” I mumble.

Dad sighs and heads outside, still wearing hi.

“Breaking Bad”

apron, with me trailing behind. He takes in the spectacle of Nick splayed out in the car.

“He may have drunk a bit . . . ”

He darts his eyes to me.

“You think?”

“Just a little. He’s a lightweight.”

I shrug, sheepish.

“I didn’t know what to do with him.”

The old lady across the street is nosily watching us from her porch rocking chair, and Dad waves at her.

“You did the right thing.”

He lugs Nick out of the car, heaves him over his shoulder, and carries him inside.

“Grab the blanket.”

He points to a plaid throw draped over the recliner.

“Lay it over the couch.”

It’s a scratchy throw, but I don’t think now’s the time to mention that, so I hurry past and do as instructed seconds before Dad dumps Nick on top of it. He’s still out cold.

“Get a bowl for the floor.”

“His dad’s truck is still at Silver State,”

I say, coming back with a plastic bowl.

“I need to call him.”

“Why don’t you let me do that?”

Dad offers, which I am more than happy to do.

“But first, I’d like to eat before I get any more irritated.”

I place the bowl on the floor under Nick’s face. He looks so peaceful even though he’s a disaster. I want to touch him, but Dad’s right here, and that would be weird.

“So, that’s it?” I ask.

“That’s it.”

Dad goes back into the kitchen and pulls some plates from the cupboard. I stand in the archway between the rooms, watching Nick passed out on the couch while Dad hums to the music. The house feels like a cozy YouTube ambiance video sprung to life. Nick shouldn’t fit in this picture, but he does.

The plates clatter on the table behind me.

“I’ll get the silverware,” I say.

We slide into an easy rhythm while his music quietly plays. He even does a slight side shuffle toward me. Mom called it his dancing-bear move. It’s a glimmer of light, of life, filtering through, and it catches me so off guard I have to swallow back my tears.

He takes a sip of wine, and his face turns serious.

“Hang on. You weren’t.”

He looks from his wine to me.

“With Nick today? No! I would never do that and drive.”

I scrunch my face up at him.

“I’m not stupid.”

Dad’s gaze returns to Nick on the couch, as does mine. I want to believe he wouldn’t either, but I don’t know.

I don’t know anything for sure.