“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?” heasks 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 tenderI love youon 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 tohim. 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’snot 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.
The Majestic Yosemite is a hotel for well-off people like professors, doctors, and lawyers. It’s a stone palace in which wooden elements fit seamlessly. The lobby’s furnishings are impressive, with glittering chandeliers, baroque velvet armchairs, antique wooden tables, and a gigantic fireplace with a crackling fire. Obviously, Dad won’t let me leave, as I expected, since it’s almost dark now.
Since I can’t stand being in the same room as Arizona, I pace like a madwoman through the reception area, the hotel’s own candy store, and the bar, followed by Dad or James, who don’t take their eyes off me for a second. Every ten minutes, I send River messages, but he doesn’t reply. All the messages remain unread. Maybe his phone is still in the planter.
At some point, I sit in front of the fireplace and stare into the flames without seeing them. James, who is on “Kansas patrol,” sinks next to me on the velvet sofa.
