Valley Girls

by Sarah Nicole Lemon

  And then the rope slipped.

  Thwisssssss, it sang. Straight from between her legs. To the ground.

  Rilla froze. Hands open. Eyes wide.

  That did not just happen.

  Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.

  She’d dropped the fucking rope!

  “Rilla?” Petra yelled.

  “I dropped the rope!” Rilla screeched. “Oh my god. I dropped the rope.”

  Oh my god, I dropped the rope.

  She closed her eyes. It was getting truly dark now. And here she was stuck on the wall. How could she screw that up? What had—? Her mind raced through the steps of cleaning the anchor.

  Fuck.

  She’d forgotten to pull up a long stretch of rope and tie it to her harness. That way, if she’d dropped the end, the rope would still be tied to her. Rilla swallowed, her throat so tight it ached. After all that effort, she’d gone and done the dumbest thing ever. Gumby indeed. All she wanted to do was get down and go home. But she was stuck.

  “Hang tight, Rilla. We’re sending someone up.”

  Rilla buried her face in her bleeding hands and groaned. This couldn’t be more embarrassing if she’d sat down and tried to come up with a way to epically embarrass herself. She’d dropped the rope.

  The wind blew and clouds gathered on the darkening sky. Chills ran up her arms. The sweat dried while she waited, trying not to think about what they were talking about below. Suddenly she remembered she was supposed to babysit. She was going to be late if she didn’t get down quickly.

  It couldn’t get worse until it did.

  Caroline appeared below. Climbing smoothly and quickly.

  Of course they sent Caroline.

  Rilla scooted over, giving Caroline space at the anchors. A second rope was tied to her harness. “Hey,” Caroline said with a smile. “Lose something?”

  Rilla blushed and looked at her feet. “Stupid, I know.”

  “It’s fine. Shit happens.” Caroline clipped herself into the anchors, threaded the second rope through the anchors, and tied Rilla in.

  Rilla let her, feeling mortified and like a child who needed her mom to tie her shoes.

  “She’s on belay, Hico,” Caroline yelled. “Double-check everything. You’re tied in. Your rope is fed through the anchors.” Caroline’s finger ran from the knot to the anchors.

  Rilla nodded, following.

  “Now, unclip and he’ll lower you. One at a time, just in case,” Caroline shifted away.

  Rilla pulled herself toward the wall, unclipping the draws she’d been using, so her weight sank into the rope.

  “Tell him when you’re ready to lower,” Caroline said, tying a knot and clipping the rope to her harness in preparation to thread herself through the anchors and be lowered. The very action Rilla had missed.

  “Lower, Hico,” Rilla yelled.

  In the twilight, she dropped. Hanging her head in shame.

  Nineteen

  Rilla burst into Ranger Stafford’s house twenty-five minutes late, still bleeding from a hundred scrapes, and breathing hard. “Sorry I’m late.” She gasped.

  They were waiting on the couch. Ranger Stafford in his nice jeans and polo shirt. Mrs. Stafford, with her arms and legs crossed, side-eyeing her husband.

  “Thea’ll be right there if she needs her,” he said.

  “I promise. I’m responsible. I just got stuck on a climb . . .” She trailed off, realizing dropping a rope was not going to help reassure them she was responsible. “Long story.” She leaned on the counter and gulped back her breath. “Where are the twins?”

  “They’re asleep. And hopefully, they’ll stay that way.” Mrs. Stafford unfolded her legs and stood. “Okay. I guess . . .” She looked over Rilla and frowned a little. “Thea’s off tonight?”

  Rilla didn’t know.

  “Yes,” Ranger Stafford said. “Rilla will call right away if she needs anything.”

  Mrs. Stafford nodded. “Okay. We’ll be back in a few hours. We were going to run to town, but I don’t know if that’s a good idea with this weather coming.”

  Ranger Stafford grabbed his ball cap. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

  Mrs. Stafford sighed through her nose.

  “We’ll just head over to the Lodge for a drink tonight. Shouldn’t be long.”

  “All right. Have fun!” Rilla held the door. “We’ll be great.” The wind gusted as Rilla shut the door, and she nearly lost her grip before getting it closed.

  The sudden silence seemed deafening. She turned and looked around the house—it was exactly like Thea’s, and also totally different. The same layout, carpet, and furniture. But interspersed with baby toys, half-folded laundry, and family photos. All that waited for her in this house with silent sleeping twins was the brutal, fresh memory of her shame.

  Groaning, Rilla sank into the couch and covered her face with her arm. What had she done? She’d ruined everything. Walker probably knew by now, and he’d never want to talk to her again. How was she supposed to show her face in the Valley after tonight?

  Her phone was in her pocket and she shifted, digging it out to text Thea she’d made it to the Staffords’. Trying to avoid replaying the whole evening over in her head, she flipped to Instagram and found herself scrolling through her feed.

  It was a mistake. Salt in an open wound.

  Prom.

  She’d forgotten all about dropping the rope as she stared at photo after photo of her former friends—the only people she’d ever known, her whole life—spinning in tulle and sparkles, laughing and dancing together. She was supposed to be there. They were supposed to miss her. No one missed her.

  Rilla laid her head on the arm of the couch and pulled her knees to her chest. She was cold and everything hurt and mostly it hurt in places she knew couldn’t be cleaned and bandaged. She missed home. She missed being Rilla Skidmore, requisite bad girl. She even missed the stupid jokes about her moves, the kind of thing that came with your mom being an ex-stripper. At least in West Virginia she knew her place and everyone expected her to be a fuck-up. Unlike now, where she kept trying not to mess things up but did anyway. She dropped the rope, which was bad enough, but then in front of everyone. She was lucky someone had been there, like Caroline, who could climb up to get her. Otherwise, she’d have been stranded.

  The wind howled at the roof and her tears overflowed. She pulled up her calls and dialed her mom, putting her phone to her ear.

  The phone rang. Clicked.

  “Hey Rilla,” her mom said.

  “Hi.”

  “What’s going on?” her mom asked. “How is California?”

  “Sunny.” Rilla stared at the ceiling. “I want to come home.”

  “Is Thea giving you a hard time?”

  “No. She’s fine. I miss everyone.” If she came back she couldn’t help but feel like she could force them all to love her—even knowing that’s not how it worked. “Everyone makes fun of West Virginia. I’m tired. I just want to come home and have everything be normal again.”

  “I know. I know it’s hard to leave,” Mom said.

  “I didn’t do anything. It was just a mistake. I’m done with Curtis,” Rilla said. “I’ll pay for the ticket home.”

  “Rilla.” Mom sighed, long and heavy. “You can’t come home. Maybe in August? You’ve only been out there a month. Give it some time.”

  She closed her eyes tight and tears rolled down her cheeks. The memory of the spring afternoon hit her chest. She hadn’t told anyone, but that hadn’t been their first fight. It was just a public one. It was good when it was good. To Rilla, it made sense the bad would be that bad. Everything had a price. “It wasn’t like you think. I hit him first.”

  “Oh, Rilla. Don’t talk about it. Put it behind you.”

  She didn’t want her mom to say that. She didn’t want to hear it was behind her, because it wasn’t. It was why she was here. Why she was alone. It was why she sat raw and open and bleeding. “I just . . .”

  “R
oosevelt caught a squirrel the other day and brought it in the—” Mom began.

  Rilla hung up and dropped the phone to the floor, rolling over and burying her face into the couch with her throat tight from strangled cries.

  So, this was what it was to be alone.

  She breathed into the cushions, trying to calm down. It’d been good with Curtis—it really had. And the whole fight had started because he’d wanted more from her. He cared for her.

  She sat up and reached for her phone, pulse skyrocketing as she opened her Instagram DMs and sent one to Curtis. Hope everyone had fun at prom, she wrote, sending it before she could stop herself.

  The reply came almost immediately. I didn’t go. Miss you.

  She froze, heart stuck in overdrive, pumping a mixture of terror and longing. She started to type a reply when something thumped on the porch. Rilla dropped the phone, wiping her eyes in case it was the Staffords back already.

  It came again—a dull thumping and . . . snuffling? What was that? The wind? The Staffords?

  She pushed off the couch and went to the door, cracking it open.

  Under the dim porch light, a squarish black blob moved under the play water table, thumping it up and down.

  Rilla peered closer. What was that? Someone’s dog? It sniffed like it had a cold. Then suddenly she realized.

  A bear.

  She closed the door, locked it, and stared at the wall. Shit!

  The thumping continued. Now with added scratching sounds. Could a bear break in?

  She looked at her phone and closed out of Instagram, Curtis forgotten. Hurriedly, she dialed Thea, ears straining for sounds of the bear.

  It was quiet. Then. A loud, wet sniff came at her feet, just under the door.

  Rilla squealed and jumped away. Shit, shit.

  “Hello?” Thea answered.

  “There’s a bear!” Rilla screeched. “What do I do?”

  “What? Where are you?”

  “The Staffords.” A long scratching sound came from the door. Rilla back against the far wall. “It’s at the door. Ah . . .”

  “Calm down. I’ll have someone come over and take care of it.”

  “What do I do?”

  “Just stay in the house. It’s probably scared by your squealing anyhow. It’s fine.”

  Rilla buried her face in the couch cushions and moaned.

  “Stop being so dramatic. I’m surprised this is the first bear you’ve seen here. They’re the same as they are at home. Less wild though, which makes them more dangerous.”

  “Oh.” Rilla sat up, panic eased. Black bears were common at home. It wasn’t odd to see one loping across the road when driving in the morning.

  “Yeah,” Thea said. “You’re fine.”

  The thumping continued on the far side of the porch.

  “Rangers will be out shortly. Call back if you need me.”

  “Bye,” Rilla said.

  She hung up and looked at the phone. Instagram was in the background—her conversation with Curtis unfinished.

  A flood of shame washed over her. She’d started it . . . again. After promising everyone she wouldn’t. After promising herself. Maybe it was for the best she was here. No matter where she went, she couldn’t seem to get beyond herself.

  Twenty

  A door slammed downstairs, bolting her awake.

  Shit. Rilla pushed back the covers strangling her, in panic. Curtis would be mad if she was late. Tumbling out of the cot, Rilla hit the floor with a thud. The pain cleared the sleep from her mind.

  Oh right. California. Yosemite. She closed her eyes against her racing heart. She’d forgotten.

  She slumped against the cot as it all came flooding back. The trip out here, the night she’d been busted, Walker, Petra, climbing . . . and now, no more climbing. But Mom said she could go home, all she had to do was make it to August.

  If there was one thing she was good at, it was not being good at anything. Rilla groaned and crawled back into bed. The sheets rubbed against her skin, still raw from the climbing the day before. The light was weak—barely above dark—and drummed in her ears as if the waterfall had moved and now pounded on the roof.

  Rain!

  She’d forgotten about the impending rain. Comforting and drowning everything out. It was almost like she was home. She burrowed deeper under the covers, pretending she was home. She missed her dog, her bed, and her room. She missed not failing at things she wanted. Closing her eyes, she pictured Walker asleep, and herself tucked in his arm on his bare chest, her skin on his.

  Another door slammed.

  Someone yelled. Muffled and loud.

  Heavy steps.

  Rilla’s eyes flew open to the rafters. Ugh.

  Pitching back the covers, she pulled on her sweatshirt and went downstairs.

  Thea looked up from tying her boots. A flicker of surprise crossed her face—almost like she’d forgotten about Rilla, in her attic. “We’re evacuating the park,” she said briskly.

  Rilla froze. “Oh my god. What? Why?”

  “Flooding.”

  The floodwaters in Rainelle rushed back to her. Depraved. The Monroes. Going to school and watching the river from the window of her biology classroom. “What?” she asked dumbly. “Do I need to get my stuff?”

  “We’re not leaving. The water won’t get this high. But we need to evacuate the tourists. All the snow is finally melting.” Thea donned her Stetson and turned for the door. “Get dressed, and you can ride with me today. Get a rain jacket from the closet.” She opened the door to a drumming rain and slammed it shut.

  Rilla looked around the now empty, silent house. She couldn’t imagine evacuating a park like this. It wasn’t like Thea could just roll into a tent campground and herd twenty people into their cars. This was thousands. People in houses, canvas tents, campgrounds, RVs, and everything in between. It was completely evacuating the town they came from, twice over.

  Rilla pulled on a pair of leggings and went back to the hall closet downstairs to hunt for a rain jacket. She pulled the chain and a bare bulb flicked on. Her jaw dropped. The closet was stuffed with outdoor gear. It looked like a shitty, dirty version of the mountain store. Jackets, down, skis, ski poles, tents, tarps . . .

  Maybe there was climbing gear. She dug in, looking for any useful piece of gear she could add to her tiny pile upstairs. But within a few minutes, she was disappointed. There didn’t seem to be anything she could use. The memory of sitting at the top of Doggie Diversions, ropeless, crossed her mind and she paused. She’d forgotten. She couldn’t go back after embarrassing herself so thoroughly. Petra was right, she was a gumby. Grabbing a blue jacket, she pulled the light and shut the closet door firmly behind her.

  Thea opened the door, fifteen minutes later on the dot, and leaned inside. The rain poured off her jacket in thin streams. “You ready?”

  “Yep,” Rilla said, zipping up her backpack she’d been stuffing snacks into.

  “Did you bring some schoolwork?”

  Rilla stopped.

  Thea gave an exasperated sigh and snapped her fingers. “Come on. You’re going to be in the truck all day. Use your time wisely.”

  Rilla turned and huffed back to the attic. Retrieving some math and The Scarlett Letter, she stuffed them on top of her snacks and pulled her hood over her head, heading into the rain to Thea’s waiting truck.

  “Why does the park have to evacuate if it’s not going to go that high?” she asked, shutting the rain out.

  “There’s only one road out of the Valley, basically. If it gets flooded, we have a bigger problem than tourists getting wet.”

  Rilla put her backpack on the thick rubber floor mats and knocked her hood down. The heat was blasting, despite the fact that it was the warmest morning since she arrived. The clock on the dash said it was only 8 A.M. She deflated. It felt so much later. “Does this happen often?”

  “Not during the summer season, but it’s been colder this year.”

  “Ha. Global
warming,” Rilla said dryly.

  Thea put the truck in drive with a jolt. “You know, global warming doesn’t mean everywhere gets super warm right? I just assumed they had better science at Alleghany these days.” Thea gave a condescending chuckle that made Rilla want to slap her. “It means climate change. Like, more extreme temperatures, more extreme weather events . . . hurricanes, tornadoes, bigger floods.” She turned out onto the slick pavement of the road. “Colder springs where the snow pack in the high Sierras doesn’t melt until a large spring storm from Mexico pushes up and wallops the Valley with a deluge of water.”

  Rilla frowned. “Our science is good. They just don’t teach about global warming. Not everyone agrees.”

  “Scientists agree.”

  “All of them?” Rilla snapped. She didn’t even care, but she hated that Thea made her feel like a country dumbass who had failed out of a bad education.

  “Yep,” Thea said, putting her blinker on and waiting for the heavy line of traffic to make a space for her big park ranger SUV.

  “Okay, fine. Global warming.”

  “Global climate change,” Thea corrected.

  Rilla clenched her jaw and looked out the window. Leaving West Virginia had turned Thea into an asshole. “Up in ‘airs’,” as Granny would have said.

  Clouds clung to the cliffs, obscuring the tops from view while smaller, thin wisps floated along the bottom. A low rumble of thunder rolled through the Valley, echoing back in on itself and up into the truck where Rilla sat.

  Thea drove the wrong way on a one-way street and then eased across a walking path to pull up to Rilla’s old friend—the firehouse-jail. “You’re not on parking duty today?” Rilla asked as Thea parked and turned off the truck.

  “I’ll probably have to direct traffic. But right now, I have roll call. You can get coffee and some breakfast. Just don’t touch anything, or get in anyone’s way. Or talk, really. Try not to talk.”