“Get some sleep,” Cougar says. “Hopefully Cass will be capable of moving on in the morning.”
Even in the orange glow of the fire Cass’s skin looks wan, paper dry. Her breathing is shallow like her heart isn’t pumping hard enough or her lungs are giving up. I lie down between Jupiter and Gus. The rain continues to incessantly pound the earth. My raw nerves hum.
Too much rain and the rivers will flood, making travel by water impossible.
What does that mean for Cass?
The drone of insects soon mingles with the sounds of sleep. But I can’t even close my eyes. My dad’s words are a closed fist hitting again and again. But it’s not just what he said that’s keeping me awake.
If you want to have any type of relationship with me after I turn eighteen, you won’t try to stop me.
That was my threat when my mom stood between Cougar and me. I couldn’t imagine forgiving her lies. But I’ve never worried that if I’m less than perfect, my mom will stop loving me. Commander Samantha is a survivor—tough as nails, blunt, caustic at times. But she stayed. Cougar is a different animal.
“Are you up?” Gus whispers.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” He rolls onto his side, our faces inches apart.
“His loss.”
Mine, too.
“You know that movie American Gigolo?”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
“I didn’t want to do the remake. It was total trash—a way to make money off me being naked. My mom insisted. Told me I was being disloyal if I didn’t take the job. It was my biggest payday, raised my rate. She bought a Tesla SUV to drive my brothers around in and a condo on the beach in Mexico.”
“Do you hate your mom?”
“Sometimes. Do you hate Cougar?”
I chew on my lower lip, sifting through thoughts. “I don’t know. That’s the first time I’ve actually seen who he really is, deep down, you know? To me Cougar was always larger-than-life. But he was willing to embarrass me for great ratings. That’s so...small.”
My heart droops like a flower without water. I recall the photo I found in the attic of our apartment—the one in the hospital, after I was born. My mom looked like there’d been a huge mistake and she was waiting for someone to correct it. Cougar stared out the window like he wanted to be anywhere but there. I say what I’ve always known, deep down. “Cougar never wanted a child. And if he had to have a kid, he wanted one that was a reflection of him.”
“You can’t be sure of that.”
I meet Gus’s gaze. “He named me Danger.” A wave of inadequacy washes over me followed by the realization that I no longer want to be like my dad. It’s an enormous loss and my body throbs like a part has been torn away.
“What was it like? After you lost your eye?”
Instantly my mouth goes dry. “It...it wasn’t just the pain. Shadows scared me. I thought they hid monsters. Before? Monsters didn’t exist. I tripped over curbs, down stairs. For a while, I couldn’t figure out exactly where they were. Mirrors seemed like extensions into other rooms until I bashed into them. I burned my fingers on the stove because the flame was closer than it seemed. Anything athletic was mortifying. Every accident, nightmare, failure led to more fear.”
A tear escapes, dribbles down my cheek. “Will I ever be more than I am right now?”
Gus tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers linger. “You already are.”
“What song do you hear?”
“Havana. ‘Sanctuary.’ ‘Find sanctuary in this house,’” he whispers, “‘when cold seeps into bone. All doors open to her touch. There is no love when you’re alone.’”
Gus leans in, kisses me. No one is recording the moment for millions of viewers. The kiss feels...authentic. He kisses me again and I kiss him back. I’m searching for something to hold on to. I’m not sure what Gus needs but when we finally stop kissing, he holds my hand for the rest of the night.
DAY FOUR
28
Cass dies late in the morning. She slips away quietly, like even in death she’s doing her job—smoothing the way, eliminating problems. The absence of another living person, like a stone thrown in still water, ripples through the group. We sit in a circle around her body, diminished, as the rain, unrelenting through the night, turns to drizzle.
Gus finally asks, “Should we each say something? When my dad died we didn’t have a funeral. Friends and family came to a park, stood up and told stories about him.”
Jupiter runs a hand across tired eyes. “Yeah. Okay. Thing is, I didn’t know her well. But it was clear that Cass loved her job. On set she worked harder, longer and later than the rest of the crew. She drove herself and everyone around her to give more.”
“I didn’t know her well, either,” Gus says, “but she was dedicated to making Cougar’s show the best.”
What Gus doesn’t say is that Cass was willing to trample my feelings to do that. I’m very sorry she suffered and that she’s gone, but I can’t pretend that I really liked Cass. Mostly, I’m sad for the experiences she’ll never get to have—love with someone who loves her back unconditionally, marriage and children if she wanted them, or a kick-ass career directing TV shows and films with tons of awards.
“Cass told me she had no real life outside the show,” I say. “She didn’t have an apartment in LA. She couch-surfed when she wasn’t on location.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “She said she was putting in the time so one day she could be a director.” I get up, pick a handful of pale pink flowers, crouch by Cass’s side and place them on her chest. They smell sweet, like honeysuckle. “You were worthy of someone’s love,” I say. “Sleep with the angels.”
Cougar kisses her forehead, blue eyes gleaming, but tears never fall. Jupiter waits for him to say something, but he doesn’t. He just covers Cass’s face with a T-shirt. It’s not much of a funeral and there will be no burial, but it’s what we can do. That a life can end so quickly, that a person can be summed up in so few sentences, makes me want to cry. Instead, I organize my few belongings. The rest of the group follows suit.
“Do you remember me saying that?” Cougar asks as he stows the camera. “When I’d tuck you in at night?”
“Yeah.” I’m unable to look at him without wondering if the way my blue eye tracks slightly off bothers him. Do you hate Cougar? Maybe. But for the moment, disappointment overwhelms every other emotion. I’m not sure I can forgive who he really is, or his choices.
Cougar rubs his left shoulder. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Still being nice to your old dad even though Jupiter says I’m a prick? Maybe I did a few things right, huh?” He glances at Gus and Jupiter for support but they’re silent. “We leave in five. Daylight is burning.”
I walk behind a bush, peel off my sweatshirt and swap leggings for shorts. The blister on my heel looks angry but no red lines travel up my leg. Hopefully we’ll get rescued before infection sets in. But I’m not sure of anything anymore.
“Everyone have water?” Cougar asks.
We nod. The heavy rains have washed the sweat and grime from our bodies and filled the containers yet again. At least it’s good for something. Cougar begins to clear our path with the machete. I hesitate. Look back. Cass’s body is so small and horribly vulnerable under the little shelter.
Conjure the life you dream of leading. That’s the first step to making it happen, Cass whispers.
A life where I could’ve helped you would be a good start, I silently tell her.
Gus asks, “You okay?”
My sigh is ragged. “No. Three people have died for a TV show.” Gus’s eyes meet mine. Being looked at, really looked at, by a guy who I can’t help but like, is new for me. For the first time, I want to be seen by someone even if I’m not perfect. Maybe it’s because I might die out here, too.
We follow Cougar through th
e rain forest, careful of every step, boots slipping on earth made slick by the rain. When we come upon a small stream, my dad goes to fist-bump Gus, but Gus just nods. It should make me feel good. Gus has my back. Instead I feel kind of sorry for my dad. He’s paler than yesterday, and he’s taking more breaks. The pressure of leading is taking its toll.
Cougar says, “I keep my promises. It won’t be long now.” Turning to clear the lianas blocking our way, he suddenly stops, machete midswing. There’s a giant wasps’ nest, at least a foot wide by two feet long, hanging from the limb of a tree inches from his blade. “Back up. Slowly.”
Jupiter asks, “Why can’t we go around it?”
“That’d take whacking through trees and vines, making vibrations. It’d alert the wasps that there’s a threat.” When we’re a good distance from the nest, Cougar says, “Ask a local guide in the Amazon what he’s most afraid of and he’ll say those wasps.”
Jupiter shakes his head. “There’re worse things in here.”
“If you piss off a single Amazonian wasp near its nest, it will call out the entire hive for an attack. Thousands will instantly mobilize. They’ll swarm your body, stinging again and again. Get enough stings and their toxin will kill you, or you can have a systemic reaction called anaphylaxis. Either way, you can die. Got it?” he asks, looking at each of us.
“Got it,” Gus says. “But we need to stay with the stream, right?”
“We’ll run parallel to it,” Cougar replies.
But, of course, we lose the stream. It’s the hottest day yet. Sauna hot despite intermittent rain showers. I’m slick with sweat and twist my hair into a tight bun to get it off my neck.
Cougar stops us by a low shrub with thick branches and serrated, hairy leaves. Hanging from the branches are what look like yellow peppers.
“Solanum sessiliflorum. Cocona fruit. They come in red and orange, too.” Cougar holds up the fruit. “Remember the shape.”
He splits one open and hands out slices. It looks halfway between an apple and a tomato and tastes sour. We eat a few each, fill our packs and move on.
A few hours later, my dad starts vomiting. The acrid stench threatens to make me barf, too.
“Ate too much cocona,” Cougar says.
No one else is sick.
Cougar wipes his mouth. “Let’s go.”
Jupiter asks, “How about if I lead for a little while?”
I’m surprised when my dad hands him the machete. He waves Gus and me by, then pulls out the camera, holding it at his shoulder to document our progress.
“Your mom ever tell you about our first date?”
A few days ago I would’ve hung on to my dad’s every word. Been grateful. Now? It’s like being thirsty but knowing if you drink, the water is probably poisoned. “Rock climbing.”
“Yosemite. I was teaching a beginner class, she was my student. It was six guys and Samantha. She’d never climbed before but she was better than all of them from the start. Truth is, she was as good as me two months into our relationship. Watching Sam climb was a thing of beauty. She was graceful, but it was more than that. She was so smart, thought out each move, real economy of motion.”
I’ve never seen my mom rock climb. It was another thing Samantha had to give up.
“I was a summer fling for her. I remember worrying that she was going to move on. She was premed at Berkeley. Never met someone so driven. Commander Sam. Nothing stood in her way. Me? I’d never gone to college. I had no plan besides a beautiful girlfriend, gas in my van and climbing big walls. No way me and your mom were going to last.”
“Then she got pregnant,” I say without looking back at him.
“Yeah. She was stuck with me. Sam is the reason I even came up with COUGAR. I needed to show her I could be more than a beautiful loser living in his truck.”
“She became a nurse to support us.”
Cougar says, “Yeah. But as soon as I had some cash reserves, I offered to pay for Sam’s medical school. She refused—couldn’t get off her high horse, had too much pride.”
I didn’t know this and let the information settle. It’s possible that it was easier for my mom to blame Cougar than to pursue her goals. Maybe she was afraid she didn’t have what it took to be a doctor, or her dreams changed. “Mom was young when she lost her parents, only a few years older than I am now. She might’ve realized nothing in life is guaranteed and wanted to be around for my childhood.”
“She was a kid having a kid.”
The implication is clear. Samantha didn’t want me. Cougar’s words are meant to turn me against her. That might’ve worked a few days ago, but not anymore. “That doesn’t mean she didn’t grow to love me.”
Cougar demands, “If Saint Samantha loved you so much, why didn’t she take the child support I offered? Make your life easier?”
I put together what I’ve already grasped with the new information. “Here’s what I know, Dad. Right or wrong, Sam thought you were reckless, and if she said no to the money, she could say no to you wanting to see me. Turns out she didn’t need to do that, though, did she? You weren’t interested in spending much time with your kid. And you know what? She probably had some pride, too, something you should understand. She needed to prove we were okay without your help. Yeah, sometimes she probably used me to punish you. But she gave up becoming a doctor, and I don’t know if you were a convenient excuse or not, but it made her bitter.”
“Sam sure didn’t make a relationship with you easy.”
I whirl and we lock eyes. “Maybe not. But you should’ve been there anyway.”
The memory of my fight with Sam after I discovered the unsent letters floods back...
I was there before, during and after the surgery. I’m the one who got up every night you screamed in your sleep—the parent who held you, read to you, taught you how to adapt to a new normal and get over panic attacks. Cougar didn’t deserve those letters!
The last piece of the puzzle slides into place. For a second I consider keeping it to myself. But neither of my parents ever tells the whole truth and I don’t want to be like them. “I’m not saying what Sam did was right. But beneath the pride and anger, I think she wanted me to see her as the hero. Not the guy scaling waterfalls and climbing mountains, the TV star rubbing shoulders with celebrities, but the woman who stayed behind and did the really hard day-to-day stuff for her daughter.”
“And you forgive her for all of that?” Cougar demands.
“I don’t know.” My eyes burn. Whether or not I forgive my mom, I’ve never fully appreciated her. “What you said in LA about wanting to get to know me? Was it a lie?”
Cougar says, “I gotta take a leak.” He diverts into the brush.
Clearly, this is too much honesty for my dad. Of course it was a lie. I walk away.
Before I see it, I hear it: leaves rustling, a branch snapping. My skin instantly tightens. The hairs on my neck rise. A red-and-black-striped snake slithers out from the deadfall. Its body glides under my right foot, raised, midstep. Coral snake. Deadly. “Shit.”
Gus turns around, gaze moving from my face to the snake. “Danny. Don’t move.”
Jupiter asks, “Where are you guys?” He tromps back to see. “Holy hell.” He raises the machete, hand shaking hard, and slowly advances. A twig breaks beneath his right foot. Grimacing, he keeps coming. The snake, sensing movement, turns to face him.
“Stop,” I whisper. “Coral snake.”
Through clenched teeth Jupiter says, “I’ve got this.”
He’s not quicker than a striking snake. He takes another step. Gus does, too. Cougar rustles along the path behind me. He’s whistling. Instantly, I can see how this is going to end. I stomp my foot down on the snake’s head. Fangs puncture just above the top of my hiking boot.
I’m dead.
29
Cougar darts forward, plung
es his hand into a bush, extracting the snake by its tail. He whips it against a tree, then lunges, pinching the hissing reptile behind its neck. “Machete,” he says. Jupiter hands it to him. Cougar lops off the snake’s head.
All I can think, sprawled on the dirt, pain shooting up my leg, is that my dad wanted to kill the snake that killed me. It’s not the declaration I’d hoped for, but it’s something. Gus drags me onto his lap, arms wrapped around my body. It’s an ending fit for a movie. I wait for the poison to hit. I hope it’s not too horrible a death. Jupiter grips my hand like if he holds it tight enough he can stop the venom from invading my body. My dad crouches in front of me, the still-wriggling snake’s body in one fist.
Glaring, Cougar says, “I should let you suffer.”
“Stop riding her for one freaking second,” Gus shouts.
“She did it on purpose, so you and Jupiter wouldn’t get bitten,” Cougar says, shaking his head. “Dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever seen, bar none. But it’s not a coral snake. Those have a thin yellow stripe between the red and black. Remember this rhyme: red and yellow, evil fellow, but if red touches black, you’re all right, Jack. Got it?”
My dad rolls down my sock, revealing two deep punctures oozing blood and ringed a blue black. Seeing them ratchets up the pain.
“Hurts like a motherf-er, huh?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Cougar pulls a T-shirt from his backpack and rips a thick strip of material free. He ties it around the punctures, then uses duct tape to make it snug. “Snakes have an anticoagulant in their saliva so the wound keeps bleeding unless you apply pressure.” He clears his throat, spits. “I’ve seen some stupid shit but congratulations, this takes first prize.”
I notice that the stubble on my dad’s chin is gray. He looks his age, strangely vulnerable. “You didn’t answer the question I asked. Was it a lie, what you said in LA?”
Cougar clears his throat, spits, then says, “Growing up means understanding that you can want something, really want it, but be incapable of getting it.”
The Speed of Falling Objects Page 16
