34
It’s not raining and Jupiter is still alive in the morning, but his skin is hot with fever. Infection has set in. He needs antibiotics. My already-sinking hopes burrow underground as I watch my dad struggle to his feet. There’s no denying that something is really, really wrong with him. His face is ashen. His right arm presses against the left side of his stomach. He’s shuffling.
I follow Cougar into the forest. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” He glances down. “Hey, hey. Look at that.” Crouching, he puts one hand next to a massive paw print in the mud. “Jaguar.”
Icy fingers slide down my spine. “Should we... Do we run?”
Cougar shakes his head. “We’ll probably never see him. They move like ghosts. As long as you have fire and travel with another person, you’ll be okay.”
A shadow passes over me and I shiver. “You mean, we.”
“What?”
“As long as we have fire and travel as a group we’ll be okay.”
Cougar stands and looks away but I catch his wince, reach out and touch his abdomen. He groans.
“Show me.”
“Kid, leave it alone.”
I summon Commander Samantha’s bluntness. “Now.”
Cougar lifts up his shirt. There’s a massive bruise on his left side between his upper abdomen and lower chest. It’s such a dark purple that it’s almost black. I close my eyes and picture the body’s organs. “Do you remember what hit you?”
“The ground.”
He’s trying to be funny, but this is no joke. There are so many things it could be. They swirl around my brain—spleen, bowel obstruction, intestinal injury, kidney damage or infection, broken ribs that have punctured an organ. I don’t have the knowledge or skills to figure this out. Powerlessness tastes like dirt.
Cougar says, “I can see the wheels turning but don’t bother. It’s my spleen. A few years ago I was in a car crash and injured it. Felt the same way—pain in my left shoulder and stomach. I spent three days in the hospital. No surgery, just bed rest and monitoring. Superhot nurse, though, so it wasn’t a total loss.”
“No one told me.”
He grins. “The nurse was just a passing fancy.”
“I’m not talking about your sex life.”
“We kept it out of the papers. Cougar Warren doesn’t get hurt, let alone die from something as lame as a bruised spleen.”
“What was the pain like compared to now?”
“It’s been there since the crash, but today? On a scale of one to ten, it’s a thirty-seven.”
I push gently on his abdomen. It feels spongy, like it’s full of blood. “Your spleen might’ve ruptured this time.” Rescuing Cass, pulling me up the ravine, the Herculean effort to save Jupiter, any one of them could’ve made him worse. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Danny, it’s who I am,” Cougar says. “And saving people? We have very different reasons, but you do it, too.”
Our eyes meet. “A ruptured spleen means you need—”
“Emergency surgery.” Cougar chuckles. “You going to show me up, do that, too?”
I manage a little smile. “Not in my wheelhouse.” If my dad has ruptured the capsule covering his spleen, blood is pouring into his abdomen. His spleen needs to be sutured or removed to stop the bleeding before he dies. He could die.
“Buddy, I’ll be fine.”
It’s impossible to stop my chin from trembling. “You can’t... I don’t want to... We can’t do this without you.”
“You know what happens when you take your hand out of a bucket of water?”
I meet his sky blue eyes. “What?”
“It doesn’t leave a hole. The water level just goes down a little.”
“That doesn’t sound like Cougar Warren,” I manage to say.
“It’s not. It’s John Warren.” Cougar runs a hand over his face. “Can you make a raft?”
My skin starts to shrink. “I’ve watched every one of your episodes, most three or four times, but that doesn’t mean I actually know how to actually make one.”
“Do you or don’t you?” Cougar demands.
“I...do.”
“You and Gus will leave today. Follow the river. When the water gets calm, build a raft. Either you’ll find help or eventually help will find you.”
My dad and Jupiter don’t have time for eventually. A panic attack surges forward. My lungs contract, ribs press agonizingly against organs. What he’s proposing is impossible. Gus and me, alone in the Amazon, is a recipe for disaster. We’ll get lost, or worse. My heart constricts. It hurts to breathe.
“Danny?”
I start to hyperventilate. I can’t... He’s going to... This isn’t...
My mom’s voice cuts through the static: What scares you?
The list has changed. Failure, pit vipers, Jupiter and Cougar dying, never getting to a place where I can forgive my parents for their weaknesses, not choosing my own path, the absence of knowledge.
Sam demands: What do you like?
Jupiter’s kindness, grilled snake, Cougar’s strength, my mom’s determination, making fire, the sound of frogs at dusk, the taste of Gus’s lips.
Samantha presses: What do you want to be?
I will be strong, brave, intelligent, driven, kind, the solution.
The weight crushing my chest lifts. My skin stretches and oxygen flows. The spots clouding my vision scatter, then vanish. Cougar is watching me. “I’m okay.”
“Then I’ll go find something for breakfast.”
He walks away, no longer shuffling, putting on a good show. He has to be in agony. I’m baffled by the mental and physical strength his effort requires. I doubt any surgeon would believe it’s possible. But my dad is Cougar Warren. “Try for something more than a tiny lizard,” I call after him.
“Bossy,” he tosses over his shoulder before disappearing into the forest.
I’m not sure how long I stand alone beside the paw print of a jaguar. But when I’m ready, I square my shoulders and head back to camp. When Cougar returns hours later, he has a headless orange boa constrictor draped around his neck. It’s at least five feet long. “Break out the video,” he commands.
Gus pulls the camera out of its case, films Cougar holding up his prize. “Pretty amazing,” Gus says.
Cougar grins. “I know.”
Then he falls to the ground. He’s so much smaller than a kapok tree, but the earth shudders anyway.
35
After I tell Gus about Cougar’s injury and the new plan, he helps me clean the snake. We’re silent as we work, lost in our own worries. While I grill the meat, he goes in search of the fruits my dad taught us were edible. How long, I wonder, has Cougar known we’d be left on our own?
You can only eat them when they’re wrinkled.
Remember the shape.
You know what happens when you take your hand out of a bucket of water?
Gus returns with an armful of passion fruits. He pauses, waiting to see if I want to talk, but I don’t. He starts collecting kindling. We’re not sure how long we’ll be gone. Jupiter and Cougar need enough food, water and firewood to survive.
“Don’t burn that meat,” Cougar calls.
He’s lying beside Jupiter, who is recovering from an aborted attempt to stand. Using a crutch, Jupiter could only go about five feet before almost fainting. There’s no way he can hike through the rain forest. Neither can my dad. After he passed out, I wasn’t even sure he was going to wake up. He did, and tried to get up but couldn’t. Witnessing his struggle is like standing at the edge of a pool and watching him drown.
From the corner of my eye I see Cougar try to get to his feet again. He makes it to his knees, sways, then lies back down, glancing around to make sure no one noticed his weakness. I barely know my dad. He’s
been a fictional character most of my life. What hurts more than the possibility of his death is the missed opportunity to share even a little bit of our lives. Everything Cougar does goes to feed his ego. That’s a sad way to live. But I still want to know my father and have the time to forgive him.
Gus drops a pile of wood by the fire, using the machete to take off the wet bark and cut kindling. “More?”
I nod. The rain has stopped, but who knows for how long. My dad doesn’t have the strength to collect more wood. Plus, Jupiter is still at risk for shock and now Cougar is, too. My heart thuds faster. My dad was wrong. Without his hand in the bucket, there’s a gaping hole. I can’t fill it.
I sit down beside Cougar and give him a piece of grilled boa. He takes a bite, makes a show of chewing and then says, “A little overcooked. Next time a minute less over the fire. And it’d taste better if you’d wrapped it in allspice.”
“Sure.” I tuck most of the remaining pieces of snake in a giant leaf, put it between my dad and Jupiter. Gus brings them boiled water, fruit. We watch them drink, eat, not sure what to say or do next. Cougar tosses me the fire-steel. I drop it.
“Nice catch, Pigeon.”
He’s never called me that name. But I get that he’s pushing me out of the nest. “Did you know that pigeons have the ability to fly up to fifty miles per hour?”
Cougar’s eyes glitter. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. And they can always find their way home because they have a spatial map in their heads.” I wait for him to say something but he doesn’t. “Young pigeons wait in the nest for their father to arrive before they take their first flight.”
Cougar meets my eyes. “Better late than never.”
There’s a massive lump wedged in my throat. “Yeah.”
Cougar says, “Kids, the plan is to follow the river. When it gets calm enough, cut down bamboo, lash it together with lianas and make a raft.”
Gus says, “Got it.” He offers Cougar his hand.
My dad tugs Gus down so he’s kneeling beside him. “Remember, my kid knows more than you do. She’s watched all my shows. Listen to her. And don’t get her killed.” He hands Gus the bottle of bug repellent.
Gus says, “You guys keep it.”
Cougar shakes his head. “We already have fire. The smoke will keep away most of the skeeters. You’ll need the strong stuff if Danny can’t get flame.”
It’s my turn to say goodbye. But how do I do that? Maybe Gus and I will make it, find help. But maybe we’ll get lost, hurt, or die, or return to find Jupiter and my dad dead. There are no guarantees.
Cougar hands a bright yellow T-shirt to Gus. “Before you take off, tie this around a tree branch that can be seen from the river. That way you’ll be able to find us, bring help.”
He says the word help like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Of course it does. He’s Cougar Warren. He doesn’t get rescued. He’s the rescuer. I kneel beside Jupiter and hug him, the heat rising off his skin reminding me there’s not much time. “We’ll be back soon.” When I turn to my dad his eyes are closed. Maybe he doesn’t want to say goodbye, either. It takes all my will to stand. I hoist his backpack and walk away.
Cougar calls, “Danger Danielle Warren.”
I turn and study the man who was always a giant to me. He struggles to stand, barely five foot ten, his face gaunt, clothes hanging off a body breaking down, no longer bending to his will. I love him more for those weaknesses than I ever did for his strengths. “What?”
Cougar squares his shoulders, blue eyes bright. “Looking forward to telling the world about my death-defying white-water rescue, how I splinted Jupiter’s leg and then stayed behind to keep him alive. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“That’s my buddy.”
I wait to cry until Gus and I no longer smell the fire’s smoke. He holds me tight but I only give myself a few minutes with my face pressed into the crook of his neck. Gus ties the yellow T-shirt onto a branch hanging over the edge of the steep ravine to our left. I hope we’ll be able to see it if...when we return.
Gus says, “They’re going to be okay.”
We both know that’s probably not true.
36
I cut trail for hours, hacking down vines, branches and prickly thorns, clearing our way, keeping the roar of the river on my left. I swing the machete long after Gus offers to take a turn, ignore the ache in my arm, step by step forcing a path through the rain forest, using physical exertion to push away thoughts of my dad and Jupiter. This is the only way I can help them now.
By nightfall, slick with sweat, we’ve kept the river in sight but it’s still running too high for us to raft. It hasn’t rained all day, so that’s something. We slide down a short hill and dunk into a pool of clear water that’s overrun the banks, collecting in the deep depression of a rock worn smooth. The sweat and grime of the day wash away.
I lie on my back at the edge of the pool, a flat rock beneath me, and let my hair fan across the water’s surface. Gus does the same. The insects aren’t as bad down here, only occasionally buzzing in my ears. Along this section of river, the sky is a narrow ink-colored satin ribbon following the water’s curves, sprinkled with stars.
“What’s that one?” I ask, pointing to a collection of twinkling dots.
“It’s the Southern Cross.” Gus puts his hand over mine, tracing the kite-shaped pattern. “It’s part of a bigger constellation called Centaurus, the ninth-largest constellation in the sky.”
“Is there a story about it?”
“A centaur is a mythical creature, half man, half horse. See his front legs?” Gus asks, drawing my index finger to the left. “They’re marked by the two brightest stars. See?”
The touch of Gus’s hand, his skin skimming mine, makes it hard to focus. “Do you still miss your dad?”
“Yeah,” Gus admits. “He didn’t just show me the stars, he’d tell me lots of Greek myths, too. I used to like the story about Chiron. He was the son of a Titan named Cronus, who seduced a sea nymph. When Cronus heard his wife coming, about to discover the two of them in bed together, he turned himself into a horse. The sea nymph got pregnant and her son, Chiron, came out half man, half horse.” Gus laughs. “I used to imagine that I could’ve been a superhero if my mom had slept with Superman, Aquaman or, best of all, Spider-Man, instead of my father.”
“You were a weird kid,” I say.
“I’m still weird. But that’s a secret. My team has coached me well. I’m disarming, self-deprecating, cool, always smooth.” He smiles but his eyes remain serious. “I am the perfect picture of a young, talented movie star.”
For the first time ever, I realize how much easier it is when no one expects anything special from you. That maybe I’ve cloaked myself in pigeon feathers to avoid disappointing everyone, including myself.
Gus turns sideways. The light casts his face in silver. We kiss. Moving closer and closer until there’s nothing between us but the thin cotton of T-shirts and shorts. Life isn’t a promise. Rescue isn’t imminent. My father and Jupiter may die. I could be lost in this place forever, abandoned to the elements like Mack and Cass. But Gus’s lips on mine are a reminder that I’m still alive, a brief respite from all that’s happened.
Gus says, “You’re beautiful.”
In this moment, as his hands explore my curves...I am.
Gus’s kisses grow longer, deeper. His hands slide beneath my T-shirt, circle my breasts. He trails kisses down my neck, soft lips tracing the line of my collarbone. My body heats from the inside out. I reach down, fingers in his hair, and draw Gus back, meet his gaze. “You can be anyone you want to be.” Gus’s face instantly changes. It’s like the lights go out. Abruptly, he rolls onto his back, stares at the sky. What just happened? “Gus? Did I...? Is something...? What’d I do wrong?”
He won’t look at me.
“It’s nothi
ng,” Gus says and gets up. “I’m just totally exhausted. We should make camp, eat a little and get some sleep. Long day tomorrow.”
I pull down my T-shirt, shoulders hunched, and follow him up the slope. In silence, we tie the remaining poncho between two narrow palms in case it rains, make a bed out of bamboo and palm fronds, then eat some of the leftover snake. The meat sticks in my throat. Finally, I say, “You don’t get to do this.”
Gus drinks some water. “Do what?”
“Shut me out.”
“What are you talking about?” Gus asks, his face a placid mask, tone neutral.
“What happened by the river?”
Gus lies down, his back to me. “I told you. I’m just tired.”
My throat tightens. “Talk to me. Please.”
“Fine,” Gus sighs. He sits up. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but you’re not my type. Now will you let it go?”
Defective. Inferior. Embarrassment. NO. “Your type? What’s that? Sexy models? Famous actresses? Singers who win Grammy Awards? Or just hot girls who know exactly what to do in bed?”
Gus snaps, “All of the above, plus anyone who gets me in Famous Magazine, is a magnet for paparazzi, raises my rate, interests top studios, attracts famous directors and makes me the envy of all the fans who pay to see my movies because they want to be me. Do you finally get it?”
My body is hollow, like every emotion has been carved out leaving a brittle shell.
Guys always tell you who they are up front.
GP isn’t so precious that he can’t get through a little plane flight.
I’m an actor... I do what’s asked.
The suspicion that the Gus I first met, the shallow celebrity, might be the real Gus hits. But even as I think it, it doesn’t ring true. It makes me even angrier that, for whatever reason, he’s resorting to this. “Don’t worry. As soon as we get out of the Amazon, you won’t have to slum it with me ever again.” I lie down, my back to him. I can tell he’s just sitting there, staring at me.
“Danny?”
I don’t answer.
“Shit. Danny... I didn’t mean... It has nothing to do with you. Okay? It’s just, what you said? About me being whatever I want to be? I can’t do that. And the way you looked at me, like you totally believed I could?” Gus’s voice breaks. “You have that luxury. I don’t.”
The Speed of Falling Objects Page 20