Right from the Gecko

by Cynthia Baxter

  “Don’t you think we should keep going?” I asked halfheartedly. I hadn’t given up hope that somehow, amid the canyon’s twenty-seven million square feet, we’d find a magic door marked EXIT. By this point, I’d come to believe that scenario was the only way we’d ever survive the ordeal.

  “We could find someplace that’s easily visible from the air,” Nick suggested. “Someplace shady.”

  “Let’s walk a while longer,” I said. Trying to make it sound as if I’d adopted at least a little of his optimism, I added, “We might as well enjoy the view while we’re waiting to be rescued.”

  As if to emphasize what a great idea I thought it was to keep moving, I resumed striding along the rough path, this time taking the lead. But I hadn’t walked more than five or six feet before I took a step and, before I understood what was happening, felt the earth beneath my right foot crumble.

  “Ahhh!” I yelled as I stumbled. It felt as if everything was suddenly moving in slow motion as I sank down a slope. Because I was so badly off balance, my right leg twisted under me. “Owww!” I added as I slid downhill, my butt and my shins scraping against the sharp-edged shards of volcanic rock that were scattered everywhere.

  “Jessie!” I heard Nick cry in the background.

  My eyes opened wide with terror as I continued plummeting downward. Right in front of me stretched the canyon, opening up wider and wider as if it couldn’t wait to swallow me up.

  And then I felt all the air in my lungs shoot out of my body as I abruptly made contact with a small bush, its branches pushing against my chest as if someone strong but clumsy was performing the Heimlich maneuver on me.

  Everything suddenly seemed strangely still. I couldn’t breathe, my ankle was in excruciating pain, my butt felt as if someone had shredded it with a paring knife, and my entire leg, the one that was still folded beneath me, was scraped raw. But at least I’d stopped sliding.

  “Oh, my God, Jessie!” Within seconds Nick had scrambled down the incline far enough to reach me. Clinging to another one of those small bushes with his left hand, he reached for me with his right. “Are you okay?”

  “I think so,” I gasped. By that point, I was back to breathing and speaking, and my ability to feel pain seemed to be increasing every second. “Ouch! My ankle is killing me, but otherwise I’m fine.”

  With Nick grasping me by the wrist and dragging me upward, I managed to climb back up to the path by putting all my weight on my good foot. The other one, meanwhile, was so badly twisted I couldn’t put any weight on it at all. I had to hold my leg in the air like a wounded animal.

  When I finally got to the top, which returned me to the same spot I’d been in when I fell, I felt as if I’d achieved something really worthwhile. But my feeling of triumph only lasted about two and a half seconds. My ankle was absolutely throbbing with pain. In fact, I recognized that if I’d been the type who cried easily, this would have been a good time to do so.

  However, being practical by nature, I realized it wouldn’t do me any good to lose even more moisture than I already had. Now, more than ever, I would need every drop of water I possessed, even tears, to get through this ordeal.

  Aside from still being horribly thirsty, I would have traded my clinic-on-wheels for a hose to wash off the fine red dirt that now covered most of my body. I had rust-colored dust in my hair, in my eyelashes, even under my fingernails.

  I swept the dust off my right foot and studied my ankle.

  “How bad is it?” Nick asked anxiously. “Do you think it’s broken?”

  “Let’s just say that my tap-dancing career may well be over,” I muttered.

  “Jessie, I can’t believe you’re joking around!”

  “Sorry.” I examined the injured spots, wincing whenever I touched it. From the way it looked and felt, I suspected it was just a bad sprain. Good news, I supposed, even though I was still going to find it close to impossible to walk.

  Now we’ll never get out of here, I thought, blinking hard in a last-ditch effort at holding on to those tears.

  I glanced up at Nick, feeling truly sorry that I’d gotten him into this situation. If I hadn’t been so nosy our first day here, barging into the ballroom at the Royal Banyan to see what all the singing and cheering was about, right now I’d be sitting by the pool or snorkeling instead of languishing in a hot, dry canyon with a useless foot that felt as if someone had just tried to snap it off.

  I would have forgiven him for anything he might have said to me at that moment, no matter how terrible his accusations. Instead, he looked around and said, “I don’t suppose you saw that other bagel down there, did you?”

  I actually laughed. It felt good, as well as very strange.

  Unfortunately, our moment of levity lasted exactly that long: one moment. “What do you think we should do now?” I asked Nick. My own decisions had turned out to be such bad ones that I no longer felt I deserved to take on a leadership role.

  “I don’t think we have much choice,” he replied. “If you can’t walk on that ankle, we’ll just have to wait for someone to find us.”

  I nodded. My eyes were burning and my throat was so thick I didn’t think I could speak. As if I hadn’t done enough by getting us into this awful situation in the first place, now I had made it even worse by getting hurt. If we’d ever had a chance of getting out of here on our own, it was pretty much gone.

  And even though I felt horribly selfish for even thinking it, I was glad that in one of the worst hours of my life, at least I had Nick at my side.

  Darkness came early, just as I knew it would. By that point, thirst and exhaustion had become old news. In fact, they both paled beside the hunger that now gnawed at my stomach. Nick and I sat huddled together on a large ledge we’d found three or four feet below the path, not far from the place in which I’d taken that fateful step. While it wasn’t exactly cold now that the sun was gone, the air felt uncomfortably cool and damp, especially given my sweat-soaked, red-dust-covered clothes.

  We’d tired of talking about our situation long before. In fact, I was pretty sure we’d entirely run out of things to say to each other, not to mention the energy with which to say them, when Nick suddenly said, “You know, Jess, you and I never really talked about what happened the last time we came to Hawaii.”

  And this is a good time? I thought irritably. We’re stranded in a canyon in Kauai without water, food, sunblock, flashlights, Ace bandages, maps, or any chance of ever getting out of here, and you decide it’s time for a heart-to-heart we’ve put off having for nearly a year and a half?

  “I’m talking about the time I surprised you when I asked you—”

  “I remember what you asked me,” I replied, surprised by the way he’d been on the verge of breaking our unwritten rule of never directly addressing the actual event. As a result, my words came out a lot sharper than I’d intended. But it wasn’t only Nick’s timing—or even the subject itself—that was responsible. The incessant pain in my ankle was also to blame for turning me into the person most likely to get voted off the island on one of those reality shows.

  Nick was silent for a long time before he said, “You really hurt me, Jess.”

  The rawness of his confession instantly rendered the pain in my ankle irrelevant. “I know I did,” I said in a much softer voice. “And I’m sorry, Nick. Really sorry. I know it’s kind of late to be saying this, but—”

  “You don’t have to apologize,” he insisted. “I understand that what happened was simply the result of where you were at that point. Besides, I probably shouldn’t have surprised you like that. I had this idea in my mind that you’d fall into my arms, like we were in some movie or something, and the two of us would go off hand in hand into the sunset….”

  I had to admit, the guy really was quite a romantic. I supposed it was a good thing that at least one of us was.

  “But I think we’ve both come a long way since then,” he continued. “Don’t you?”

  “Definitely,” I ag
reed, not sure where he was going with this. But I’d read Lord of the Flies and seen the movie about those poor people who were stranded in the Andes and had no choice but to resort to cannibalism, so I figured I’d better do everything I could to stay on his good side, just in case. After all, we were talking dire straits here.

  “I’ve really enjoyed these last three months,” Nick went on in a strained voice. “The two of us living together, I mean. I really love you, Jessie.”

  “I love you too, Nick,” I said sincerely.

  “You know, you might not want to admit it, but just by agreeing to give that a try, you were making a commitment.”

  The C word. I should have known it would pop up sooner or later. The only good thing was that just hearing it sent enough adrenaline rushing through my entire body to seriously ease the pain in my ankle.

  Nick continued, “Do you think—if we ever get out of here, that is—that maybe you and I should get married?”

  “Is that an actual proposal?” I asked lightly.

  “Yes,” he replied. He pulled away just enough to turn and face me. His voice sounded anything but light. In fact, even in the dark canyon, I could see that his eyes were filled with a startling intensity. “That’s exactly what it is. Jessie, I love you. Will you marry me?”

  This time around, he didn’t blush or stutter. Instead, Nick was asking me this all-important question from a place of complete confidence, sincerity, and love.

  In fact, this entire scenario was a far cry from his fumbling attempt at cementing our relationship the last time we were in Hawaii. And it had nothing to do with the two of us being stranded in a canyon that we’d probably never manage to get out of alive.

  It wasn’t only Nick who was different. I realized I was different too.

  The main thing that struck me was that I wasn’t suddenly overwhelmed by a surge of panic. Then again, I couldn’t ignore the fact that, at the moment, the chances that I’d ever see the inside of a wedding dress seemed slim indeed.

  I don’t know what was responsible for the way I felt. But I really did mean it when I said, “Yes, Nick. I’ll marry you.”

  And then, as we sat halfway up from the bottom of a huge hole in the earth, miles from civilization, with my ankle throbbing and my clothes smelling and my pores clogged with red dust, he leaned over and gave me the longest, sweetest kiss of our entire life together.

  When he finally pulled away, his eyes were glassy. “Hey, Jess?”

  “Yes?”

  “Now that that’s settled, you do think we’ll get out of here, don’t you?”

  I didn’t answer. In fact, I held up my hand in a silencing gesture.

  “Did you hear that?” I asked, blinking. I was almost afraid to say the words, figuring the sound I’d just noticed was merely the result of sun poisoning or red-dust poisoning or some other dreadful syndrome that was about to finish me off.

  “No,” Nick replied thoughtfully. “I mean, I don’t hear anything. What does it sound like to you?”

  “It’s a rushing sound. Far away. It sounds like…like water.”

  He listened for a few seconds, cocking his head in the same way I was cocking mine. It was something I’d learned from my dogs, who were true hearing experts. “Hey, wait. I do. At least, I think I do.” He scrambled across the rocks, ducking out of sight and disappearing somewhere below.

  A few seconds later, he reappeared, poking his head over the edge of the flat rock that had become our home away from home. This time, he was wearing a huge grin.

  “A stream!” he announced. “It’s about fifty feet below us. And running alongside it is a bona fide hiking path. I can help you down, and we can follow it and maybe get out of here! Or at least I can, and I can get help.”

  “Thank you!” I cried, although exactly who I was thanking wasn’t clear to me. It could have been Nick, it could have been some higher power—heck, it could even have been Pele, although I found it hard to believe a female deity would ever put two ordinary people like us through such an ordeal.

  I crawled across the rock, telling myself the excruciating pain would soon be over. Sure enough—on the other side, down at the bottom of a hill, was a stream with a path next to it. Nick helped me make my way down along the rocks, which didn’t seem nearly as treacherous now that I knew we’d actually stumbled across a way of getting out of this canyon.

  As soon as I reached the rushing water, I stuck my ankle into it. It was surprisingly cold, instantly making my ankle feel a hundred times better.

  “Hey, check this out!” Nick pointed to what, to me, looked like nothing more than an unsightly mess that someone had left behind. Then I realized the implications of what I was looking at.

  “Campers!” I exclaimed.

  “Even better: really sloppy, inconsiderate campers.” Gleefully, he held up a bottle of water that was still half full. “Look! They even left some of their gear behind!”

  Either that or they were eaten by giant lizards that no one knows inhabit this canyon, I thought. But I didn’t care what had happened to the last group of adventurers who’d come this way. I was too giddy over the sight of that bottle of water.

  Nick tossed it over to me, then continued taking inventory. “Granola bars!” he cried. “And beef jerky! Take your pick!”

  He could have been offering me filet mignon and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. I grabbed a granola bar and wolfed it down in about six seconds flat.

  “Early tomorrow morning,” Nick said, “as soon as the sun comes up, we can follow this path and find our way out of here.”

  “We could also follow the trail of granola bar wrappers,” I added, giddy with my newfound sense of hope.

  By this point, the cold water from the stream had melted away most of the pain in my ankle. I glanced around, trying to find something I could bind it up with. Nature’s version of an Ace bandage. I didn’t see anything that looked suitable, especially since ideally I needed something with some elasticity. I racked my brain, trying to imagine something that was lightweight and stretchy, yet still strong….

  Got it, I suddenly thought. Necessity really is the mother of invention.

  I began taking off my T-shirt. Nick, meanwhile, stared at me as if I’d gotten delirious from weather exposure.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, sounding alarmed. As I pulled my sports bra off over my head, he added, “You’re not going skinny-dipping, are you?”

  I wriggled back into my T-shirt, this time braless. Grinning, I dangled my bra in front of him. “I found a way to wrap up my ankle so I can walk on it. Now that the swelling is going down, I think I’ll be able to manage.”

  “You’re a genius,” he returned. “Then again, I’ve always said you were somebody who plays your cards close to your chest. Or plays your chest close to your feet. Or something like that.”

  “Ha-ha,” I said. I was amazed that we were actually joking around. Funny how access to a few basics like food, water, and a way out of the Canyon of Death could make things look so much brighter.

  I wrapped up my ankle with the sports bra, twisting the stretchy straps over the top of my foot to hold it in place. Then, holding my breath, I took a few tentative steps. It worked. I could walk.

  “Good as new!” I announced. “In fact, I’m beginning to believe that we’re actually going to get out of here alive.”

  Nick looked surprised. “Did you ever doubt it?”

  I decided to save my honest answer for another time. “Let’s try to get some sleep,” I suggested. “I have a feeling tomorrow’s going to be another long day.”

  The following morning, Nick and I sat in silence as we drove back to the Royal Banyan Hotel, with me in the driver’s seat and him sprawled out beside me. By that point, both of us were too grubby, too exhausted, and too stupefied by our arduous adventure to make conversation.

  On a Saturday morning, Maui was strangely quiet. There were fewer cars on the road than usual. It was difficult to believe that Nick and I had alread
y put in a long day. As soon as the sun’s first tentative rays had begun illuminating the canyon, we started walking, following the river. I had to admit, the jagged red walls of the cliffs rising up alongside us, glowing like hot coals as the golden sunlight hit them, were beautiful. So were the signs that other hikers before us had followed this same route. While we didn’t find any more caches of water and granola bars, we occasionally came across a piece of the shiny wrapper from a candy bar or even a footprint. It wasn’t much, but it went a long way in encouraging us.

  When we finally made it to the mountain road, I knew the worst was over. We kept walking, marveling over how much easier it was to tread upon pavement. My makeshift Ace bandage worked wonders. Even so, the sun was getting pretty hot by then, so we were pleased when a man in his pickup truck stopped for us. He even made his golden Lab move to the back so Nick and I could take her place in the front seat. Just like her, I stuck my head out the open window, luxuriating in the cool air and the warm sunshine and the knowledge that we’d survived.

  The driver dropped us at the airport, where we booked seats on the next flight to Kahului Airport. I was thankful that Nick and I both routinely carried our credit cards, even on sightseeing expeditions. But when it came to buying out half the food at the concession, we stuck with cold, hard cash. Coffee and a couple of fried-egg sandwiches went a long way toward restoring both our energy and our good humor.

  In fact, as we drove along the now-familiar roads of Maui, grateful to be back in one piece, our night on Kauai felt like something that had happened long, long ago. But that didn’t mean I was planning to forget it.

  Or that I wasn’t more anxious than ever to find out who had arranged for Nick and me to be stranded at the bottom of a canyon.

  Chapter 15

  “The more I see of men, the more I admire dogs.”

  —Jeanne-Marie Roland

  By the time Nick and I rode up in the hotel elevator, all I could think about was a hot shower. As for our discussion about getting married, it remained unacknowledged and undiscussed now that we’d been thrust back into our real lives. As far as I was concerned, the entire episode was simply the result of our shared fear that we’d never again see Betty or Winston or any of our friends and relatives, much less a justice of the peace.