“It could make things worse, but I do know what I’m doing.” I grab the vine Gus found and tie it around Jupiter’s waist. “Dad, Gus, get him under his armpits.
“Be tough,” I tell Jupiter. “This is going to hurt.”
32
Wrapping the vine around my abraded hands, I pull with everything I’ve got. Jupiter bites back screams as we drag him up the slippery hill. I try not to think about all the stuff that can go wrong, but worries crowd my mind—unsanitary conditions, a paralyzing nerve injury or a fragment of bone puncturing or severing a major blood vessel, shock and everything I don’t know. Oh, and there’s one other thing. I’ve never set a leg before. I’ve never even watched someone else do it.
My knowledge comes from a case study in one of my mom’s journals about a skier who broke his femur in the backcountry. His friends used ski poles to set his leg, then tied him to their skis, slid him down the mountain. The guy ended up dying. My mom said it was because the femur is extremely vascular. He lost a ton of blood both from the break and then from the jagged bone slashing through muscle when it was set. A blood transfusion would’ve saved him, but he didn’t get one in time.
If Jupiter needs a transfusion...
I push away that fear but new ones flood in. I’m not even sure I remember all the details of that case. What if I forget the most important parts? The old Danny flutters to the surface. Defective. Inferior. Embarrassment. I can’t do this. But I’m not that girl anymore. WWDD? I have a chance, even though it’s small, to save a friend. I’m going to try.
We drag Jupiter to the base of a kapok tree. A deep indentation in the buttressed roots shields us from the downpour.
Jupiter’s lips tremble. “Am I going...to die?”
I give his shoulder a squeeze. “Here’s what I need,” I tell my dad and Gus. “Two pieces of bamboo, one the length of Jupiter’s body from his armpit to his ankle, the other from his groin to his ankle. Try to cut the end that’s going to rest against his groin as smooth as you can.”
“Thanks for that,” Jupiter groans.
“Hang in there. You’ll feel much better once your leg is splinted.” That’s what the skiers said when they were interviewed following their friend’s accident. That they thought he was okay because after they put his leg in traction, the pain went way down. He still died. I shake my head, focus. What am I forgetting? “Dad, we also need a crosspiece at the bottom of the splint.” He’s looking at me like I’m a total stranger. “Go!” Gus and Cougar disappear into the rain forest.
I tear open the leg of Jupiter’s shorts so the wound is totally exposed—a swampy mess of torn skin, gristle, bone. “Jupiter, this next part is going to hurt like hell. But then you’ll feel ‘right as rain.’”
His voice is dry, raspy, as he struggles to talk despite the pain. “I didn’t...take you for a Matrix...fan.”
“I’m full of secrets.”
Tears leak from his eyes, dribble down his temples. “Yeah, who knew...you’re an...EMT?”
“Nothing wrong with being an EMT or a nurse, but I think I’m going to be a doctor, maybe a surgeon.” The idea surprises me but there’s no time to consider it. I put my rain poncho over Jupiter, hoping to trap some heat because he’s starting to shake. We’ll need a fire. My dad will have to work some serious magic to get it going.
Gus and Cougar return and kneel by Jupiter. Cougar measures a length of bamboo and Gus holds it while he trims one end square and notches the other. Cougar asks, “What’s next?”
I place a splint under Jupiter’s armpit, the shorter one between his legs, and tape the crosspiece across the notched ends. “We need to apply traction.”
Gus crawls to Jupiter’s feet. “Tell me what to do.”
“Hang on,” Jupiter cries. He sounds terrified.
Fresh wells of blood continue to flow from the wound. There’s too much blood. “Jupiter,” I say, channeling no-nonsense Commander Sam, “Gus is going to straighten your foot, then pull your ankle until the bone that’s sticking out of your thigh slides back into place. He’s going to hold it like that while I tape the splint.”
Jupiter, his teeth now chattering, says, “I don’t...think that’s...a...good...idea.”
“Sure it is,” I say. “It’s the best idea. One, you can’t have a broken bone sticking out of your leg in the middle of nowhere. Two, you won’t be in as much pain. Three...” I nod at Gus and he pulls. Jupiter screams. “More,” I say, watching the shattered bones slide through the torn skin. “Good, now hold it there.” With Cougar’s help, I tape the splint, making sure it’s tight but not so tight that the circulation is cut off.
“Almost done,” I say. But Jupiter’s broken leg is a little bit shorter than the other one. One end of the broken bone still pushes against the skin. I ask, “Can you pull harder?” Gus tries but nothing moves. How do I—
“Danny,” Cougar says, “maybe you should call it good?”
“Shhhh.” I search for an answer. “Does anyone have a belt?”
Gus says, “Jupiter does.”
Cougar pulls the webbing belt out of Jupiter’s shorts and hands it to me. I crawl between Gus’s arms, tie a loop around Jupiter’s foot and the crosspiece. “Get me a short stick.”
Cougar is back in seconds. “This work?”
“We’ll see.” I put the stick through the loop, then take a breath to steady shaking hands. “Okay, Jupiter, I’m not going to lie. This next part will be awful.”
“He passed out a while ago,” Gus says.
I twist the stick, drawing Jupiter’s foot down the final inch to the crosspiece. When his legs are even, I reach down and push the bulging bone back in line, until the broken ends grate against each other. Cougar tapes Jupiter’s boot into place. “Done.” I crawl back to Jupiter’s head, rest my hand on his clammy cheek. “You okay? Jupiter? Wake up. Please. Jupiter?” I rub his sternum really, really hard.
Jupiter moans. A moment later, he cracks open one eye. “Is it over?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Does it hurt as much?”
“‘Right as rain,’” Jupiter groans. “Sweet Jesus, that was...freaking torture.”
“I’m sorry.”
Jupiter rolls his eyes toward Cougar. “Watch out, man, your kid...might get her own...show.”
Cougar is filming again. I need to cover the gash in Jupiter’s leg. It’s still bleeding, but not nearly as much. Using the least dirty T-shirt we have, I make a pressure dressing, duct-taping the folded cotton around Jupiter’s wound. “Finished.” My gut clenches. I race behind a tree, dry heave because my stomach is empty, rinse out my mouth with rainwater, then return. “Tomorrow we’ll work on making him crutches.” I refuse to consider that Jupiter may not make tomorrow.
Cougar lowers the camera. He shakes his head like he’s just seen a unicorn. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”
I didn’t, either. “Mom left medical journals around the house.”
“You read them.”
A compliment from Cougar still makes me glow a little. “We need shelter, fire. Jupiter is in shock. In a hospital they’d wrap him in heated blankets, have his feet elevated and he’d be given a blood transfusion, IV fluids.” I gently prop Jupiter’s feet up on Cougar’s backpack. “One out of four isn’t enough.”
“I can do a shelter, but a fire?” Cougar asks.
“You’re Cougar Warren,” I say. “Make it happen.”
“Has anyone noticed that my daughter is getting extremely bossy?” Cougar asks. “I blame it on the company she’s keeping.”
I watch Cougar stand, one hand on his side like he has a bad cramp. He heads into the rain forest.
“Kid,” Jupiter whispers. “Hate to ask, but I need you...to take a message to my...mom and little sister.”
“Shut up,” I say.
Gus takes Jupiter’s hand. “What do you want
us to tell them?”
“That there’s no one else I would’ve wanted for a mom. She made the best cheese soufflé in the world. I did steal a Hershey’s bar from Mr. Chevy’s store... I’m sorry if I miss her birthday, but I’ll light candles wherever I end up. And tell Venus... Tell her that I’m proud of her. She’ll...make a kick-ass chef.”
“I’ll tell them, but I don’t think it’s going to come to that. Not with Danny around. Can I steal your doctor for a sec?”
Jupiter says, “Sure, kid.”
Gus pulls me to my feet, leads me away. We stand beneath the umbrella of a low palm tree as the rain continues to hammer down. There’s a smear of mud on one of his cheeks and his hair is plastered to his head. It’s like the Amazon has taken off his sheen and there’s a more real, way more attractive person beneath the polish.
Gus rests his hands on my shoulders. “I’m beyond proud of you.”
“I didn’t... We won’t know if—”
“For all of it. For forcing Cougar to help Jupiter, dragging him up the hillside, knowing how to splint his leg—”
“You helped.”
“Shut up and take the compliments.”
We’re lost in the rain forest in a torrential downpour. Jupiter might be dying. There’s something wrong with my dad. WWDD? “Thank you.” I go back to Jupiter to make sure he’s not bleeding through the makeshift bandage, then tuck the poncho tightly around his body to trap in heat.
Jupiter says, “Gus is a good guy.”
I blush. “I think so, too.”
“But he’s famous. That world? They...have different rules.”
From the tightness of Jupiter’s features, I can tell he’s still in a lot of pain and desperately wish I could take it away. I meet his gaze. “I know.”
“Tell Cougar...I want triple hazard pay...for this shit.”
“If he doesn’t give it to you, I’ll tell the media that Gus saved your life while Cougar watched from the shore, crying like a baby.”
Jupiter chuckles. “Seems like you’ve figured out Cougar Warren.”
Growing up means understanding that you can want something, really want it, but be incapable of getting it. “Maybe.”
“You’re a far cry...from the little girl I met...at the airport, Just Danny.”
“I’m seventeen now.”
Jupiter reaches for my hand. The small movement makes him wince. “No matter what happens...you saved me, Danger Danielle Warren. Like I said...when we met, don’t undervalue kindness. It doesn’t...come...naturally to a lot of folks.”
“Rest,” I say.
And please don’t die.
33
“You try.”
Cougar hands me Mack’s fire-steel and a nest of leaves, grass and moss he kept dry in a plastic bag. My hands shake as I work for a spark. Nothing happens. I keep trying. Once, twice, ten times. Nothing. Tears prick my eyes.
Cougar taunts, “Don’t be a wimp.”
“Screw you.” I shave off resin from the fire-steel’s handle, placing bits in the nest along with a page from Jupiter’s now very short book. When I finally get a spark, I pick up the nest, blowing gently like I’ve seen my dad do on countless episodes until white smoke billows. It makes me cough but I keep blowing. When a little flame appears, I place the nest on the ground. Carefully, I put the dry twigs and sticks Cougar dug from the base of thick bushes on the nest. As I work, my dad shaves the outer layer of wood from bigger branches, their insides dry enough to keep the fire going beneath the shelter we’ve taped together using the kapok tree and Cass’s poncho. The fire grows until it’s crackling and gives off enough heat to warm us.
Jupiter’s voice is a weak trickle. “Way to go, Danny.”
One side of Cougar’s mouth crooks up. “If you use up all of Mack’s resin, and it doesn’t stop raining, we won’t be able to make many more fires.”
Jupiter is shivering hard. We put him closest to the fire, then boil rainwater so he can drink warm fluids. Slowly his teeth stop chattering. The hot water warms the rest of us, too. Hope floats to the surface. Jupiter might be okay. He eats some fruit and leftover grubs. Without the allspice the grubs taste like bile with a greasy finish. Despite hunger pangs, I give Jupiter mine.
The rain stops just like it started—all at once. When the canopy sways, a sliver of the moon is visible. It’s like we’re trapped in a cocoon and a tiny hole has torn open to reveal the outside world.
“Song?” I ask Gus.
“‘Fire.’”
I look over at him. “Nelson Sheer is not from the ’70s.”
Gus winks. “Sue me.” He chants, “‘Fire hollow out my soul, polish the sharp edges, build me from the ashes, talk me off the ledges—’”
“‘I was dead before you woke,’” I sing. “‘Blind but now I see. Shine your light upon me. Make me wild and free...’”
Gus’s eyes widen. “You’ve been making me sing when you have that voice?”
Jupiter says, “Sing more...please.”
Memories flood back. Before the accident, I sang all the time. To my stuffed animals, with the car radio, in church on the rare occasions my mom took me. After the accident, I stopped. Was it because singing drew attention and I wanted to hide? Or did I just stop believing that I knew how?
“Please,” Jupiter repeats.
“‘Father, cut the bonds away. Mother, let me roar. Sister, watch me dance in light, say goodbye to dark of night...’” Cougar joins me, effortlessly harmonizing. His voice is rich with a slight rasp. “‘Fire hollow out my soul, polish the sharp edges, build me from the ashes, talk me off the ledges. I was dead before you woke, blind but now I see. Shine your light upon me. Make me wild and free...’”
“You have a lovely voice,” Cougar says. “You get that from me.”
I look over at Jupiter. He’s finally asleep. Taking the video camera from my dad’s hand, I turn it on him. “Favorite possession?”
Cougar massages his chest. “Don’t have one.”
Gus presses, “Come on. You must have something.”
“Not really. Some fancy interior designer decorated my house with paintings by up-and-coming artists whose names I don’t know. I’ve got a Porsche. Cass picked it out. My clothes all come from sponsors like Armani, Tommy Ford. I don’t collect watches or sneakers.” He shrugs. “Maybe my knife. I’ve had it since before you were born.”
“What about you?” I ask Gus.
“My dad’s flight logbook,” Gus says. “I found it a few years after he died. My mom couldn’t deal with getting rid of his stuff, so she boxed everything, stuck it in the basement. Clothes, shoes, glasses, you name it. The logbook wasn’t from work. He had a Piper Cub he flew for fun. There were little notes beside some trips. One said he’d given me control of the plane, dual controls, of course. I don’t remember it but the note said, Gus flew for the first time. So proud.”
Gus smiles. He’s so much more beautiful than when I met him. He takes the camera from me and asks, “Favorite possession?”
“Well, I don’t have a Porsche,” I say, chuckling, “but even if I did? It wouldn’t be my favorite thing, either. I’m like my dad in that way.” Saying we have something in common isn’t as bad as I thought. “People, I guess.” But my answer doesn’t fit quite right. I turn thoughts over like stones. My mom tried to bend Cougar to her will. It broke them both. She’s trying to do the same with me. That’s why I reflexively push back. Trix tried to force me into her shoes, and it damaged our friendship, maybe ended it. Cass wanted to make Cougar love her as much as she loved him and he broke her heart.
Cougar is watching me. Understanding settles on my skin. But instead of weighing me down, it makes me lighter. “The thing is, people can’t be possessed.” I meet my dad’s gaze. “That’s what I’ve been trying to do with you. Make you what I need. But that can never work.” Truth.
“You’re not like me,” Cougar says, his voice gruff. “That’s a good thing.”
Gus smiles—he’s kind, gorgeous, mesmerizing. I can’t make him mine, either, no matter how much I want what’s between us to continue. He’s traveling a different path.
“So is there anything?” Gus asks.
Before this trip I would’ve said The Phantom Tollbooth, because it was the most important, thoughtful gift my father ever gave me. It symbolized that he cared. And now? “The Phantom Tollbooth,” I say. But the reason has changed. My mom sat by my bedside and read it every night. Despite everything, she told me it was a gift from my dad.
Gus says, “My dad read me that book when I was little. Remember any lines?”
I sift through my favorite quotes. “‘What you can do is often simply a matter of what you will do.’”
Cougar grumbles, “Sounds like something I’d say. Guess your mom did okay picking out that gift for me.”
That night we sleep around Jupiter, hoping our bodies will help keep him warm. We take turns feeding the fire. When it’s mine, I rest two fingers on the inside of Jupiter’s wrist, making sure he’s still with us.
“Danny,” Jupiter whispers.
“Yes,” I say, placing my palm on his forehead. It’s warm. Does he have a fever already?
“You didn’t ask me about...my favorite possession.”
“What’s your favorite possession?”
“The book I brought.”
“The Stand? Sorry to say it’s not much of a book anymore.”
“S’okay, I know...most of it by...heart.”
“Why do you love it so much?”
Flickers of firelight illuminate the ghost of a smile. “It’s about ordinary people working together...to accomplish the extraordinary.”
I kiss Jupiter’s brow. “Sleep with the angels, my friend. Tomorrow we’ll accomplish the extraordinary.”
DAY SIX
The Speed of Falling Objects Page 19