Invested. Like I was a stock or a bank account. I blew out a loud breath, my hair tickling my ears. I didn’t think there was any way to get through the summer without telling someone, anyone, the truth. And it might as well be the one person I was related to. “My mom is in rehab. My dad’s word was exhaustion . . .”
“Which is really just the old person’s code word for depression.”
“Exactly.”
“I hate that. Let’s not cover up mental health issues, you know? Your mom is a star for getting help. She shouldn’t be made to feel like she’s hiding something. If anything, she’s strong. A fighter.”
I liked thinking about my mom being strong. Maybe I could be too. One day. “Thanks for saying that.” I crossed my legs beneath me, ducking slightly so I didn’t bang my head on the top bunk. “So, she apparently can’t call me until her therapist clears her, but you saw from the letter that she thinks that’ll be soon.”
“That’s great news.” Hannah smiled at me.
“And, well, my dad’s in jail. Tax evasion.”
She nodded, eyes wide. “My parents told me that part. And I saw the news articles. Some guy they went to high school with, and who lives in DC, clipped them out of the actual paper and mailed them to Dad.”
“That’s just wrong,” was all I could say. Some friend that guy was.
“I know.”
“So yeah, he’s there. He got me this job before he left, through your mom I guess, and here I am.”
Hannah studied my face. “And where would you rather be?”
I snorted. “That obvious, huh?” She smiled. “I was hoping to be at home. With my best friend. Doing normal summer things.”
“I’m sorry you hate it here.”
“I don’t hate it here,” I said softly. Sweetwater had its perks, namely Marcus. And it would be a cool experience to include in a college application essay. I didn’t know anyone else who’d ever done a summer job like this.
“Good. So, are you going to write your mom back?”
“I probably should.” But what would I say? Hi, Mom, I’m sorry you’re depressed and it’s probably because Dad’s a criminal. Wish someone had told me earlier. Get well soon! XOXO, Ashlyn. Probably not. But, if she was getting help, maybe that meant that things might be different in the future. “What would you write?” I asked Hannah.
“Me? Well, my mom, the social worker and over-sharer, always says that honesty is the best policy. Cliché, I know, but she might as well have it cross-stitched over her bed. I guess I would just say that I miss her and I love her. You do, right?”
“Of course I do.” My voice sounded so small.
“Then tell her. She probably needs to hear it now more than ever.”
Hannah made it sound so easy. She had no idea we were not the type of family who shared our feelings. We had been going through life treading water in my dad’s wake until near-drowning.
Hannah ripped a piece of paper out of a lined notebook and handed it to me. “Here. Just do it.”
Reluctantly, I took the paper, crawled up onto my bunk, and used my quote journal as a makeshift writing surface.
Dear Mom,
Thanks for your letter. It was really nice to hear from you. I’m glad to know things are going well and that you’re feeling better. Sweetwater is fun. I’m doing a whole bunch of jobs and staying busy. Everyone here is very nice and Hannah is showing me the ropes. I miss home. I’ll tell you more when we talk. Here’s the number, in case you need it again.
Love,
Ashlyn
I folded it up and hung my arm over the bed. “Here. I did the thing.”
“Good for you.” She snatched it and threw it on the dresser. “We’ll mail it tomorrow.” Hannah leaned her head out over the bed and looked up at me. “And for what it’s worth, I am sorry. About all of it.”
I offered her a weak smile. “Me too.”
Chapter 11
My calves were burning by the time we got to the top of the hill. Well, Baxter called it a hill, but it felt more like Mt. Everest to me. The heavy harness Baxter had strapped each of us into before we got on our way didn’t help. Now I knew what the cords and pulleys he was carrying yesterday were—a magical safety device that would prevent me from plunging to certain death. The harness wrapped around my thighs and waist, with an additional strap that would connect me to the actual zipline.
When I got to the top, huffing and puffing and ready to blow a house down, I was surprised to see exactly how high we were not.
Ruth chuckled at me. “Not much of an athlete are you, my dear?”
“Not at all,” I replied honestly. Physical Education had been my least favorite subject in school. My dad, always nitpicking about my grades, even found fault with the time it took me to run the mile each year. Tatum and I first became friends because we were the last to finish our warm-up laps every day. That was about the only positive thing I had to say about the class. “I’m more of an academic, I guess.”
“Then it’s a good thing Deb has you working in the office and keeps the rest of us out in the yard,” Ruth said with a twinkle in her eye.
“Oh, yeah, my four years of French and regional Quiz Bowl champion medal really help when I’m making Deb’s coffee and refilling her candy bowls.” I rolled my eyes, and Ruth cracked up. “The ridiculous thing is, my dad thought this would be a good résumé builder. That it might get me a good letter of recommendation for college. Pretty sure being an errand girl with a side of gym sanitation isn’t going to look very impressive.”
She patted me on the back in a maternal way that made my heart constrict. I’d sent the letter to my mother in between making copies of worksheets for Amos and wiping down the cooking competition kitchen after Deb’s morning session—crème brûlée. I had no idea why she couldn’t clean up after herself. Much like her desk, Deb left a trail of chaos behind her. I almost stepped on a knife that somehow ended up on the floor, blade up. Sweetwater had a shiny blue post box on site, near the admin office. I felt better as soon as I slid the letter through the slot. Just a little bit, but it was there.
Baxter stood in front of the whole group. “Each zipline consists of a platform you’ll step off, the line you’ll be crossing, and another platform where you’ll land. Ruth and I will take turns hooking your harness on the line on the first platform and catching you on the second,” he instructed, with an air of authority I hadn’t heard in his voice before. “Never leave the platform unless one of us gives you the go-ahead.” He demonstrated how to position our hands so we didn’t get rope burn. “Just do what we tell you and you’ll be fine. Safety is key.”
“That’s right,” Ruth piped up. “No goofing off up there. One at a time. And watch your feet. Don’t be the person who walks off the platform.”
“Has someone actually done that?” Marcus asked, his hand in the air as if we were in a classroom.
“You’d be surprised,” Baxter said. I pictured Deb, our careless leader, teetering on the edge, hands splayed and arms circling, trying to keep her balance. Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence she had something else to do while the rest of us newbies were “taking the tour.”
Besides Marcus and me, Mallory was there, of course, as were a cook, two servers, and the groundskeeper who didn’t live on campus with the rest of us. Ruth and Bax double-checked our harnesses to make sure they were secure. Baxter jangled the latches on mine and tugged on the cords.
“All set,” he said.
“Thank you.” I met his gaze, which lasted a moment longer than it should’ve. Or maybe I was just self-conscious. In addition to the awkward contraption of ropes and metal on our bodies, we also wore helmets, bigger and bulkier than the ones worn to ride bikes or skate. I resisted the urge to push my hair behind my ears, certain I was sweating so badly under the helmet that it was plastered to my head. When I regained my composure, I noticed Marcus watching Baxter work on my harness. His eyebrows were practically touching. Is he jealous? I looked away, amused
. Bax moved on to adjusting Mallory’s harness. When he looped back around to Marcus, he had to ask him three times to relax so he could make sure the harness was fitted properly.
“You’re too stiff, man. It won’t fit right and you could get hurt going down the line.” Marcus finally loosened up a bit. I hid a smile behind my hand, pretending to itch my nose.
Ruth lined us all up. “I’ll go down first and catch the rest of you at the bottom of the first line. This is the shortest. It’s just practice. There are four lines in all. The third one is the longest and the highest, so get ready.” She winked, hooked herself to the line like the expert she was, stepped off the platform, and sailed off into the woods.
“Nothing to it,” Baxter said with a reassuring nod. “Ruth will be at the next platform. Remember, don’t move your hands out of position, okay? No one wants rope burn. When you get to the end of the line, you’ll feel a jolt. Don’t worry. That means we caught you.” Baxter guided the first person, the cook, to the line and off they went, one by one. Waiting my turn, Marcus moved back a spot or two to stand next to me. He put his hand on the small of my back, almost possessively. I couldn’t say I didn’t like it.
“Do you want to go first?” he offered.
I looked down the line as Mallory whizzed away from us. “No, you go ahead.”
“Want to watch the expert at work?” He winked.
“Something like that.” Coward, my dad’s voice sounded in my head. He’d said that the first time one of my Quiz Bowl competitions was being televised live and I’d dared tell him I was nervous. Don’t be a coward. It’s just local TV. It means nothing. His words decimated me. I’d been so proud of getting that far in the competition. And when we won, he told me my collar had been crooked, instead of congratulating me.
It wasn’t so much that we were high off the ground. It wasn’t even a feeling of being unsafe—my harness had been checked and rechecked by Sweetwater’s trained zipline experts. It was having the courage to throw caution to the wind after years of criticism and second-guessing. What I was about to do—walk off the edge knowing there was no ground under my feet—was in direct opposition to my dad’s calculated, risk-managed, step-by-step way of doing life. I’d never been presented with such a situation before. My heart was racing, my palms were damp, yet a smile crept slowly onto my face.
The next thing I knew, Marcus was gone. I gasped. It was my turn.
“You probably shouldn’t go down the line with your mouth wide open like that. You might catch a bug.” The edges of Baxter’s mouth quirked up.
I shut my mouth with a snap. “Sorry.”
“Nothing to apologize for.” He directed me to step up on the raised section of the platform so I’d be high enough for him to attach my harness to the zipline. Just then, Ruth’s voice came crackling over Baxter’s walkie talkie, giving me the green light to go.
“Ready to fly?”
“Fly?” My stomach dropped, even though I hadn’t moved yet.
“Just let go, Ashlyn.”
So I did. I stepped off the platform, and for one endless moment, I was falling. And then flying. The wind rushed over my skin as I soared through the trees, my feet dangling below me. I wanted to live in that feeling. Exhilarated. Unashamed. Free. And just as quickly as it began, it was over. After the aforementioned jolt, as Ruth caught me at the second platform, she reeled me in the last few inches by hand, and I put my feet down on solid ground.
“Did you like it?”
“Yeah. I did.”
“Of course you did. How could you not?”
Seconds later, Baxter appeared on the platform next to us and we repeated the whole pattern, this time with him going first and Ruth sending us off. Again, I went last. Though my courage meter went up a few notches after the first trip through the trees, I wasn’t sure I wanted the others to see me, just in case something went wrong or I looked silly. And just as before, a shot of adrenaline coursed through me. The combination of terror and excitement made my head spin. Now I understood, a little bit, why someone might want to skydive or bungee jump. I wasn’t going to be trying those activities any time soon, but I got it.
On the third line, Ruth was sending again and Baxter was catching. Marcus was describing what it felt like to do this in the jungle in Costa Rica, but my mind was elsewhere. Waiting for the next ride. Waiting for the rush of wind in my hair and the moment of anticipation before the world fell away. For the third time, I was the last to go, watching my coworkers grow smaller and smaller as they flew away from me.
“This is the best one, Sweets. Long and high. And as soon as you get to the platform, Bax will send you down the last line right away, no waiting. Our colleague, Joe, is down at the bottom and will help you get this armor off.” Ruth nodded and I stepped to the edge. Although I now had two zips under my belt, this felt much higher. Much . . . riskier. When my dad’s voice tried to bulldog its way in, I just closed my eyes and tipped myself off the platform.
I couldn’t bring myself to open my eyes and watch my flight. Maybe it was the residual fear. Maybe the flood of adrenaline. Maybe it was Marcus’ recounting of a family vacation. Maybe it was the feeling like I was still so new and green and out of place here. I was never going to be the kind of girl who felt truly comfortable in the woods. Or, maybe it was the whole mess my family was in, hovering over me at all times. Whatever the reason, I started crying. Right there on the line, I let the floodgates open. As I approached the platform, eyes still closed, I forgot what I was supposed to do to be caught. And maybe my face startled Baxter as I approached the platform, because there was no now-familiar jolt at the end of the ride. Instead of getting reeled in like I had on the previous zips, I felt myself slowly sliding backward, and that’s when I opened my eyes.
What just happened? Terror pierced my heart as I met Baxter’s pale blue eyes.
The good news was he didn’t look anxious so it was possible that I wasn’t in mortal danger. My fear dissolved into confusion. What now? I finally slowed to a stop, hanging out several yards from the platform, at what felt like a thousand miles above the very safe ground. The awkward news was that we were all alone. Everyone else had gone ahead, as Ruth had indicated. Just me. And Baxter. And the rope between us.
“I’m so sorry,” I called, my cheeks flaming with embarrassment.
“No, it wasn’t you,” he said, voice gruff, but not in an unkind way. “Totally my fault.”
I drifted a few inches further away. I gulped. “It’s fine. So now what? Do I have to pull myself in?” The gloves they gave us to wear so we wouldn’t get injured were thick leather, I’d be protected, but I was almost a hundred percent certain I wasn’t strong enough to pull myself along the line all the way to the platform. I made a silent commitment to actually use the gym next time Deb assigned me to clean it.
Baxter scratched his head. “I’m going to come out and get you.” He told Ruth on the walkie talkie to wait until he gave her the signal, that he’d be just a minute, and began hooking his own harness to the line.
Get me? How the heck was that going to work? My science teacher in seventh grade had this fun contraption on her desk that demonstrated inertia. Little silver balls suspended on clear thread rammed into each other, transferring energy back and forth. If Baxter slid out toward me, would he slam into me and send me back the other way? He was a pretty big guy, muscular and solid, and I could stand to put on a few pounds thanks to the not-so-amazing Blue Valley cafeteria food. If he timed it right, I might make it to the opposite platform. “So. I should . . . ?”
He nodded. “I’ll come to you. Just . . .” He blinked a few times like he was trying to work out a plan. “Stay there.”
Where else was I going to go? I was grateful that Baxter seemed to know what he was doing, but it didn’t take away the feeling of helplessness. There was nothing I could do but wait. Of course you’ve gotten yourself into this mess. You’re wasting everyone’s time, said invisible Dad. I winced, watching Bax, the expert, b
egin his rescue. Once he checked again that he was secured properly, he put one hand on the line, and slowly let himself down toward me. Overwhelming relief that there would be no slamming into me and sending me backward flooded my insides. He reached me in a few seconds, his gloved hand sliding carefully down the thick, metal rope, the muscles in his biceps flexing with the strain. His harness bumped against mine with a metallic clank.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Sure, just hanging out,” I said. I tried to laugh but my face burned. With shame? Fear? Anger? It was exhausting feeling so much at once. All the time.
Baxter either didn’t notice my emoting, or he was too polite to say anything and make it worse. “I’m just going to grab your harness here,” he said, putting his hand below the part that connected me to the line, “and pull.” With what had to be superhuman strength, one hand on my harness and another on the line, he tugged us both along with just one hand, inching us toward the platform. I was too stunned to speak, otherwise I would’ve complimented him on his abilities. Baxter was fascinating to watch—his face still and focused, like he had just one goal in life and that was to get us to safety.
When we were just a few feet away from our target, and the line actually began sloping upward a little, he cleared his throat. “So, I need to be able to use both hands now.” His blue eyes searched mine. “Is that okay?” I didn’t understand what he was asking. He blushed. “I need to wrap my legs around you.”
Chapter 12
Tree trunks. A vise. A boa constrictor. Professional wrestlers. What are things that aren’t as strong as Baxter Clark’s legs, Alex? Ding, ding, ding.
No Place Like Here Page 8
