One Moment (3 page)

“Right. I remember that, too.”

“And the Jumping Rocks. Standing on the rocks with Joey, the water all around. He kissed me.” I smiled, practically feeling the flutter of his lips against mine. But when I opened my eyes, he wasn’t there. It was Adam, his eyes wild, his lips pressed tight. “He kissed me.”

Adam nodded. “What happened after that?” he asked. “After you reached the top of the trail?”

The sky had been there. Leaves hushing and shushing.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Adam asked. “Mags, it just happened, like—”

“I don’t know!” I yanked away from Adam, pressing myself into the tree, trying to find my way through it and to the other side. “I-don’t-know-I-don’t-know-I-don’t-know-I-don’t—”

“Okay, okay,” Adam pulled me to him. His chest was sticky and warm, and he smelled like summer. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me anything.”

“I can’t,” I said. “I can’t remember. Just the kiss. And the screaming.”

Adam grabbed my hands as I jerked away. He looked me in the eyes again. “Mags. You have to pull it together, okay?”

I nodded.

“We have to go back down.”

“I’m not jumping,” I said, tasting the terror in my words. “I can’t jump.”

“We’ll take the trail down. Pete went to get help, so when we—”

“Help?”

“For Joey.”

“Why does Joey need help?” I asked, feeling something inside me coil up tight.

“Oh, Mags.” Adam pulled me to him again, squishing my nose against his shoulder. It hurt. Everything hurt.

“I want to leave,” I said. “I want to go home.”

He rocked me, back and forth.

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. “What’s going on, Adam?”

“Let’s go down. We’ll figure everything out.”

“Did I—I mean, I didn’t—”

“How about this,” Adam pulled me up, shoving the leafy arms of the brush away, and tugged me to the trail, “you just keep quiet. Let me do all the talking.”

I nodded. Wiped my nose and realized my whole face was wet. Was I crying?

And then we were moving through the woods, back to the top of the cliff. Toward the screaming, which was softer now, but not gone like I needed it to be.

“I can’t,” I said, pulling away, wanting to run again. “I can’t go down there.”

Adam grabbed my arm, his fingers wrapping around my skin like a vine from one of the trees surrounding us, and wouldn’t let me go. “We have to.”

“I’m taking her to the car,” Adam said as we stepped from the bridge of rocks to the other side of the bank.

Shannon’s eyes were wide, glossy, and Tanna’s arm, which was wrapped around her waist, looked to be the only thing holding her up.

“Are you okay, Maggie?” Tanna’s braids dripped. Trembled with her body.

Shannon scraped her hands through her hair. She looked around, her eyes searching for something that wasn’t there.

“I don’t under—”

“She’s not hurt.” Adam squeezed my arm. He hadn’t let go. Not once the whole way down. “But I’m getting her out of here. Pete can lead the paramedics back. Okay?”

“Go through the grove,” Tanna said, her eyes darting toward the circle of trees behind her. “Not past the …”

Adam nodded.

I looked at them all, the way their eyes had turned dark, their faces shadowed with something that had nothing to do with sunlight.

With one swift breath, I pulled away, yanking my arm from Adam’s grip so quickly that he didn’t have time to respond. And then I was running again. But this time, not away.

At first I looked at the water, expecting to see Joey floating on his back, spitting a glittering fountain up into the air the way he had earlier. I thought of him popping up, winking, and yelling,
Gotcha!
Because that’s the kind of guy he was. Always joking. Playing. Trying to make someone laugh.

But he wasn’t there. Not in the water.

The towels were still laid out. The one Joey and I had shared. Tanna’s. Adam’s.

I found Joey, too.

That stopped me.

He was lying there.

Motionless.

One arm flung wide.

I was confused, trying to figure out what had happened to Shannon’s yellow towel. Because it was gone. Replaced by another that I had never seen.

Or was it?

No. Just different, soaked in something dark and sticky.

“Joey?”

As the word escaped my mouth, I felt Adam yanking me back, twisting me around and pulling me tight against him so that the only thing I could see was the sway of the treetops.

“We have to go, Maggie. You can’t be here.”

“But, Joey—”

“He’s gone, Mags.” Adam’s voice was hoarse. Broken. “I’m so sorry, but he’s gone.”

“You’re lying!” I tried to push Adam away, to break free of him, but he was too strong. And my body wasn’t working right. I was shaky, and unstable, and dizzy all at the same time. “He’s right there!”

Adam spun me around and I jumped up on him, digging my elbows into his shoulders and neck. It was the only thing I could think to do. And it worked. From over his head, I caught one last glimpse of Joey.

That’s all it took.

I might not have understood everything at that point. But Joey’s head didn’t look right. It was misshapen. Concave at the temple.

And I knew Adam was telling the truth.

A shriek hit the rock wall, bouncing around several times before I realized it had come from my mouth. Adam yanked me down, jerking me toward the trail. Swiping our backpacks from their perch against a tree, he flung them both over his shoulder.

“They’re coming. We have to go.”

“Who’s coming?” I asked, trying frantically to string everything together so it would make sense while, at the same time, trying to push it all away. It felt like I was swimming through the scene, like I was in an underwater movie that I couldn’t control. But then I heard them.

Sirens.

They were getting closer.

“You’re not ready to talk to anyone, Mags,” Adam said firmly.

My hip bumped hard against a large tree as I tried to twist out of his grasp again, the rough bark scraping at my skin.

“You have to come with me.” Adam turned back, flashing me a frenzied look. “Please.”

There was something in his face, his eyes, that kept me from resisting. It was like Adam was the only real thing left in my world. And I trusted him. I had since second grade when he helped me up after I’d fallen from a swing on the playground. Everyone was laughing at me because they’d seen my Hello Kitty underwear, but Adam, who was way cool even for a second grader, had told them to stop, and they’d listened. He had, after all, just beat out every fifth grader in the schoolwide Hula Hoop contest.

If he wanted to take control now and tell me what to do, I needed to listen.

We moved through the trees, silent but for our rushed breathing and the soft crunch of our footsteps on the trail.

The sirens got louder. Closer.

We reached the end of the trail at the same time that the ambulance pulled into the parking lot. Adam stopped, backing into me, the zipper from my purple backpack biting into the skin of my arm.

“What’re you doing?” I asked. “We have to—”

“Shh!” In one swift movement, Adam turned, wrapped his hand over my mouth, and pulled me into the line of trees, ducking us behind the largest, which stood only a few feet from the trail.

Pete yelled over the cries of the siren. I heard words like
cliff
,
jump
, and
ledge
. There were steady shouts back and forth as the paramedics realized they’d have to hike into the woods to reach the injured person they were there to help.

And then I heard the worst thing of all. The word I’d been trying to claw from my mind since the moment I’d seen Joey lying still on that towel.

“We tried CPR,” Pete called out as he started down the trail, racing just ahead of two uniformed men who were carrying a backboard and large bags filled with medical supplies. “I think he’s dead.”

3

The Whole Spinning World

The quilt my grandmother made for my parents when they were first married covered my legs. I sat on the plush couch in my living room, imagining all the things that could be damaging the fabric her fingers had lovingly sewn together: greasy sunscreen, algae from the water at the gorge, cigarette ash, beer I’d spilled on myself when Tanna cracked a joke and made me laugh too hard. But those were the easy things.

There was also sweat, vomit, and blood. Rubbing off my skin. Soaking into the blanket to forever become part of its makeup. Tainting the patch of yellow flowered fabric from the dress my mother wore on her first day of school, sullying the blue-striped swatch that came from my grandfather’s favorite flannel shirt, contaminating the oldest square, a piece of scratchy gray wool from my great-grandmother’s fanciest Sunday dress.

“What are you saying?” My mother’s voice came from the entry, her words high-pitched and staccato quick, stabbing every inch of me.

Adam answered, but his voice was so hushed I couldn’t make out his reply.

A choked sound escaped my mother.

And I knew that she knew.

I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping the fabric of the blanket in my hands as if it had the magical power to transport me back in time. Not far. Just to late last night. After Dutton’s party. When Joey stood on my doorstep, glowing in the faint light of the moon, his brown hair mussed, his thick hands engulfing mine.

“Tomorrow’s gonna be awesome,” he’d said with a grin. “And Monday night at Shan’s, even better.”

If only I had known then as I’d stood there with him. Joey was all out of Monday nights.

I sucked in a shaky breath and tried to remember every detail of our last moments alone—the crickets crying out to the cool spring air, a gentle breeze that carried the tangy scent of the earth, the feel of Joey’s cotton shirt, soft against my cheek as we wrapped our arms around each other.

He’d stopped me as I pulled away, looking right into my eyes, placing a finger under my chin and tipping my head back slightly. He smiled in that crooked way of his.

“You happy?” he’d asked. “With me, I mean?”

An easy laugh worked its way from my lips. “Couldn’t be happier,” I’d said. And then I had leaned in, closing my eyes, tasting him before our lips even met. It was lazy and sweet, our last real kiss. So unlike our very first. I felt safe and sure, because I knew everything that mattered, I felt it deep inside. Joey was mine.

Joey tugged his favorite Adidas baseball cap from his back pocket, pulling it on as he walked back to his black truck, which he’d parked cockeyed in the street. He stopped and looked at me one last time, tossing his hand in the air before hopping into the driver’s seat. I stood watching as he drove away.

Shannon, who sat in the passenger seat, tipped her head against the glass of the window, her silver barrette straining for release. Joey turned the radio on, and Pete, in the truck’s bed, nodded his head to the beat of a sleepy song that I couldn’t quite make out. The music streamed through the back windows like strands of thick velvet ribbon, trailing into the deep blue-black of the night. I watched until the taillights turned the corner at the end of my street, wishing for nothing in particular. Because I didn’t know that I needed to.

If only there had been some kind of sign. If only
something
had made me insist we change our plans. If only I’d kept Joey away from the gorge. He would be safe.

With me.

But now he was gone.

My whole body ached with the thought that I would never see him again.

Never. Again.

“So you just
left
?” my father asked.

Adam’s muffled answer rushed from his lips.

Something inside me broke open. I bent forward, bringing the blanket to my face, burying myself into its history, smothering the awful sounds that poured from my body.

It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. It can’t be real.

I squeezed harder. My eyes. My fingers on the blanket.

I shoved my mind out of the room, away from the moment.

Taking a deep breath, I thought of towering trees, the way they swayed in the breeze. But that took me right back to the gorge. Next I saw a flash of pinwheels, multicolored, spinning and spinning and spinning in the front garden of the house on the corner, the last turn before the gorge entrance. But that made me wonder if Joey had seen them, if those twirling colors had been one of the last things his eyes took in. So I envisioned a night sky, so big it could swallow any problem, whisk it away. But then I remembered the evening Joey and I lay on our backs in the bed of his truck, staring up as shooting stars streaked across the dusky canvas above us.

That was the first night.

I couldn’t believe we’d just had our last.

But more than anything, I couldn’t believe I’d just left him at the gorge. He’d been hurt. And I’d abandoned him.

I had to go back.

I swung my legs over the side of the couch, yanking at the quilt, tearing it off my body. But my bare feet were caught in the fabric, tripped up by all the history it contained, and I slid to the ground in a shivering heap.