This Is How It Happened

by Paula Stokes

  “Sorry if I’m all sweaty,” he says after I’m safely past him. “I know I about smashed your face in my armpit there for a second.”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “I mean, you actually smell kind of nice.” I blush even hotter. Good thing it’s turning into another sweltering day.

  “Good to know.” Elliott laughs and some of the heaviness inside me is lifted. I cling to the sound for a second, as if it’s a magic phrase that’s unlocked a secret, happier part of me. I can’t remember the last time I laughed. I’m not sure I ever will again—I think that part of me might be broken. Still, it helps to hear someone else doing it.

  He digs in his backpack and comes back with a set of safety glasses and a saw. “Enjoy the view, Jennifer. I’ll see you soon.”

  The heaviness crushes down on me again as I turn away. The moment is ruined when Elliott calls me by the wrong name. Ruined because I once again remember that I’m a liar.

  CHAPTER 21

  You’d think that knowing the end of the trail is close would make finishing it easier, but each move is even scarier without Elliott in front of me. I hadn’t realized just how carefully I was copying his every step, putting my feet where his feet went, reaching out for the same holds that he gripped with confidence.

  When I finally reach the summit, the view is even more breathtaking than at Scout Lookout. Instead of being surrounded by the other peaks, I’m above most of them, looking down. One of them—I think it’s called the Great White Throne—glistens almost silver in the bright sun. I see the twists and turns of the Virgin River, the dark asphalt of Zion Park Boulevard. The view stretches off for miles in the distance, bands of sandstone and red rock speckled with green, the perfect blue sky bleeding into forever.

  For the first time in a long time, I feel free. My eyes water. A single tear runs down my cheek. Standing here, looking out at all this, I wish I wasn’t an atheist. I want to believe there’s something more.

  I want to believe there’s someone listening.

  Someone with the knowledge to guide me.

  Someone with the power to forgive.

  I walk along one side of the cliff, certain death just inches away. My heart pounds hard in my chest, as if it’s trying to escape the prison of my rib cage. I look up at the sky. “Are you real?” I ask. “Because if you are, if there’s really someone listening, then I could use some help.” My words come out fractured and breathy. As expected, no one answers.

  The vast open expanse of Zion Canyon looks back at me, waiting to see what I’ll do next. A bird soars through the sky, and then stops, hovering on a current of air. It’s like everything is frozen, like the world is holding its breath.

  The wind blows and I reach out with one hand to stay balanced. Slowly I lower myself to a seated position. “If you are real,” I continue my conversation with an invisible deity who may or may not exist, “you should know I’m pretty pissed at you. I mean, why would you take Dallas? He was going to touch so many people with his music.” I pause. “And why let me live? Especially since I’m the one who killed him.”

  Another tear falls. My breath sticks in my throat. I lift a hand to my chest. “It hurts,” I say. “It hurts to accept that I killed him. And it hurts even more that I haven’t told anyone the truth.” I pause. “Until now.”

  The tightness in my chest loosens ever so slightly. “I killed him,” I say again. “It was my fault. Some people might say it was your will, or that it was destiny or something, that I couldn’t have prevented what happened. But I don’t think that way, you know? I wasn’t raised to rationalize my mistakes by denying the existence of free will. I made choices that night. Choices that had deadly consequences. And now I have to take responsibility for it.” My voice cracks. “And I will—I promise you. I will take responsibility.”

  I feel a buoyancy, a lightness in my heart.

  And then I see a shadow move behind me.

  “Take responsibility for what?” Elliott asks.

  CHAPTER 22

  I spin around and the shock must be written all over my face, because Elliott quickly steps back. “I was just kidding. It’s none of my business.”

  I wipe hurriedly at my eyes. “God. You must think all I do is cry.”

  “I’m sure you have your reasons.”

  “Yeah. Maybe. Sorry. I was just . . . having a moment with the universe.”

  “Don’t apologize. I bet half the people who make it up here are reduced to tears by this amazing view.” He comes to sit next to me. “And the other half are reduced on the inside, they’re just not in touch enough with their emotions to let the tears out.”

  “Which half are you?”

  “I might have sniffled a little,” he says with a grin.

  “So what’s the story with the tree?” I ask.

  “It’s good to go.” Elliott pulls his water bottle from his side pocket. “Oh, and I radioed Rachael and let her know I cleared the path and she said she was looking for you. I told her you were up here with me and she screamed at me for a few minutes for bringing you, so be prepared to hear about that later.”

  “Well, no hurry to get back down then.” I sit next to Elliott. “I feel . . . lighter up here. Thank you for bringing me.”

  “Technically, you are lighter, a little bit. Weight actually decreases directly with—”

  “Gravitational pull,” I finish. “Right.”

  “You took physics in high school?”

  “Yeah. It was one of my favorite classes. You too?”

  “I’m not sure I would go that far, but I have to take a lot of science classes as a pre-vet student.” Elliott pulls an apple out of his backpack and polishes it on his shirt. He bites into it with a loud crunching sound.

  “Wow,” I say. “Noise pollution alert.”

  “Crisp,” he agrees. He holds the apple out in my direction. “Want a bite?”

  I start to decline, but then my stomach growls audibly. “I guess I do.” I bite into the other side of the apple and hand it back to Elliott. We pass it back and forth for a few minutes. “I’ve never shared an apple with anyone before,” I say.

  “Me neither. It’s rather biblical, huh?” He gestures around. “It’s not like we’ll get much closer to the Garden of Eden.”

  “I think this is the closest I’ve ever gotten to believing in God.”

  “You don’t believe in God?” he asks. “I figured that’s who you were talking to.”

  “I was, I guess, but it was just a weird, random impulse,” I say. “Both my parents are atheists. I was raised to believe that religion is a psychological coping mechanism.”

  Elliott nods. “I don’t belong to an organized religion, because so many of them seem to have rules and regulations that serve to ostracize or separate, and I think religion should be about bringing people together. But I believe in something.” He points at the majestic view. “I mean, how can all this just be random?”

  “Yeah.” I try to regain the feeling I had before Elliott arrived, the sense that maybe a higher power was guiding me. But it’s gone now, and I’m starting to wonder if I imagined the whole thing. I don’t think you can just choose to believe in God. You either do or you don’t, and no matter what camp you’re in, it would take something life-changing to truly lead you into the other one. I think of my dad’s glance heavenward, the mini-prayer he said in my hospital room. I like the idea that my accident might have helped him find faith.

  Elliott finishes off the apple while I walk along the edge of the clearing, taking photos with my phone. I discover a trio of curious chipmunks at the far end of the summit.

  “How did these little guys get up here?” I ask.

  “They live up here.” Elliott watches the chipmunks scamper around for a few seconds.

  “I wish I had another granola bar,” I say. “They look hungry.”

  “You can actually get fined for feeding the park wildlife,” he says. “I know they’re cute, but the more they get fed, the less afraid they becom
e of humans. And then some idiot decides to try to pet them and gets bitten and . . .” He turns to me. “Not that you’re an idiot. Just that I’ve seen a lot of wildlife incidents that could’ve been prevented if people followed the rules.”

  I like the way Elliott just sort of says what he’s thinking and then clarifies and softens afterward if it comes out wrong. I’m the exact opposite these days. I feel the need to mentally rehearse every line three times before I say it to make sure I’m not giving away too much information, and then half the time I decide not to say anything after all.

  “I never thought about it like that.” I snap a picture of the chipmunks, thinking of the countless times I’ve fed wild animals. “I’m glad I got to see them up close, anyway. This day has been just what I needed. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Elliott reddens slightly at the praise. “We should head down soon so Rachael can stop worrying about you.”

  “Can I have another minute?” I ask.

  “Sure. I should probably take another minute too. This is one of the most popular trails in the park. It’s not very often I get to be up here without a crowd.” Elliott turns away from me and walks to the other side of the summit.

  I stand looking out at the scenery again. I close my eyes and once again try to find that sense of something more. But all I feel is the hot sun and the sweat starting to bead up on my lip. Still, I remember that moment of lightness when I admitted the truth, that temporary buoyancy when I resolved to do the right thing.

  I want to do the right thing. I want to tell the truth.

  CHAPTER 23

  I feel like it should be easy to tell the truth, now that I’ve made the decision. But later that night in the safety of my room, I can’t find the words again. I keep imagining how it would feel to have the whole world hate me.

  “Okay then,” I say to myself. “I need help.” I grab my laptop and set it up on my desk. I sit down and very purposefully type “how to tell the truth” into the browser search box.

  There are about twenty million possible web pages for me to look through. The ones at the top of the list belong to a popular national blog, a wikiHow, and a relationship expert. I skim through all three of them, but it’s mostly common sense. There are no magic solutions to make what I have to do any easier. It occurs to me that I’m living with an expert in telling the truth when it’s ugly and difficult and you’ve been hiding it for a while. Dad and Rachael were having an affair for over six months before he came clean to my mom.

  It’s surreal, the thought that maybe my dad typed these very same words into his iPad one day, looking for some advice from strangers about how to do the right thing.

  But Dad only had to worry about Mom turning on him; okay, and me, and maybe some of Mom’s colleagues at the hospital. But then he moved away from all the people who judged him and basically started over. How am I supposed to escape an entire internet full of judgment and threats? Are there even places left on the earth with no web access at all?

  Sighing, I push my laptop back and rest my head on my desk.

  My phone buzzes with a call and I’m grateful for the distraction. I’m surprised to see an unfamiliar local number pop up on the display.

  “Hello?” I say warily.

  “Hey, it’s Elliott.” He continues before I can even respond. “So I know it’s a bit creepy to call you like this, but you’re new in town and don’t know that many people so, uh, I was wondering if you wanted to hang out?”

  Definitely a weird development, but I could use something to take my mind off figuring out how to tell the truth. I don’t think I’m going to solve that problem tonight. Still. It feels . . . unnatural to go somewhere with a boy who isn’t Dallas.

  “What do you mean by hang out?”

  “That is when two friends spend time in the same location.” He pauses. “Unless you don’t want to be my friend.”

  It’s strange to hear someone call me their friend. I did not expect that to be part of my Springdale, Utah, experience. “Where would we go? It’s after ten p.m. I thought everywhere here closed by six, especially on a Sunday.”

  “Not everywhere.” He laughs lightly. “It’s a surprise.”

  “How’d you get this number?” I’m stalling because I’m still deciding if I want to go.

  “Rachael added it to the volunteer database at work.” He pauses. “I bet you’re bored right now, aren’t you? I can fix that. There’s something I want to show you. Just say yes and I’ll be at your house in two minutes.”

  “How do you know where I live?” I ask, my voice rising in pitch.

  “Rachael had a Labor Day barbecue for all the staff last year. I not only know where you live, I’ve peed in your bathroom.”

  “Lovely,” I mumble. “I’ll be sure to think of you when I’m brushing my teeth later.”

  Elliott laughs again. “So are you in, or what?”

  “Maybe. Hang on.” Slipping my phone into the pocket of my jeans, I stroll down the hallway to the living room. Dad and Rachael are both on the sofa, watching the end of a movie. Leaving the house at this hour is going to involve a lot of explaining. I’m not in an explaining kind of mood.

  But I’m definitely in an escaping kind of mood.

  “You okay, hon?” Dad asks.

  “Yeah. Hey, can I go hang out with a friend for a while?”

  Dad glances at the clock. “It’s kind of late, isn’t it? What friend?”

  “His name is Elliott. He works for Rachael.” I look back and forth between her and my dad.

  “Elliott, huh?” A smile plays at Rachael’s lips.

  “Ah,” Dad says. “I think I met him at some point.”

  “You met him at last year’s Labor Day barbecue,” Rachael says. “Elliott Helberg. The kid who wants to be a veterinarian. He and Gen have been working on a trail project for me.”

  My eyes flick to the front window. A white truck pulls up across the street from the house. “So can I go or what?”

  “What did you say you guys were going to do at this hour?”

  I start to blush for some reason. Leave it to my body to betray me at the worst possible moments. “I—I think just go for a drive. He said he had something he wanted to show me.”

  “Oh, is that what he said?” My dad makes a noise between a cough and a snort.

  My face gets even hotter. “Jeez, Dad. Not like that. I’ve only known him for a week. We’re barely even friends.”

  Rachael rolls her eyes at my dad. “He’s a good guy. Let her go.”

  “All right. But be careful,” Dad says. “I know you’re vulnerable right now and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  I lean over to give my dad a kiss on the cheek. “It’s not a date or anything. No one is getting hurt, I promise.”

  My dad nods, but he doesn’t look convinced. “And next time he picks you up at a reasonable hour and comes to the door like a gentleman. And you need to be home by twelve-thirty.”

  “Aye aye, sir. I will relay the messages.” I give my dad a mock salute and then hurry out the door before he can change his mind. I cross the lawn and the street to where Elliott is waiting for me in his truck. He leans over and opens the passenger door for me.

  “Hey,” he says. “I wasn’t sure you were going to make it. Seemed to be quite a discussion going on.”

  I pull my phone out of my pocket as I slide into the truck. “Ugh. You heard all that? I saw your truck and totally forgot you were waiting on the phone.”

  “No worries. It was just a lot of muffled talking.”

  “Mostly Rachael telling my dad that you’re a good guy.”

  Elliott snickers. “It’s true . . . for the most part.”

  As we turn onto the main road, the streetlamps illuminate the cab of the truck and I get my first real look at Elliott out of his uniform. It’s probably a longer look than it should be. His black hair is kind of disheveled, but purposefully so, like he put wax or pomade in it. His T-shirt hangs on his body in
a way that emphasizes his pecs and abdominal muscles without making him look like one of those bulked-out bodybuilders who live at the gym. Tanned arms emerge from his shirtsleeves, the outline of his biceps and triceps visible through his skin.

  “You’re staring at me,” he points out, before my eyes get a chance to drop below his waist.

  “Sorry. You just look different out of uniform.” Even though this is absolutely not a date, I can’t help but compare Elliott to Dallas. Physically, they’re complete opposites. Dallas was tall and pale and blond. Even with his styled hair, Elliott is definitely a lot more casual—Dallas wasn’t one to wear tennis shoes or track pants outside the gym.

  Elliott gives me a sideways glance as he continues down the main street of Springdale. “Different how?” His lips twitch like he’s fighting back a smile.

  “You know . . . sportier? More laid-back?”

  “Sportier . . . Thanks, I guess.”

  “Except your hair. Did you put some sort of product in it?”

  “Maybe. Is that okay?”

  “Yeah. It looks nice.” Even as I say the last word, I regret it. Dallas and I might have broken up by now if he had lived, but it still feels wrong to be telling some other guy he looks nice.

  Elliott loses the smile battle as his lips curl up into a grin. “I’m glad you like it.”

  I slouch down in my seat as we pass by the businesses of Springdale—all closed at this hour—in rapid succession. I try to push thoughts of Dallas out of my mind, not because I don’t want to think about him, but because I don’t want to start crying again on Elliott.

  I give him a quizzical look when he slows down at the outskirts of town. He pulls the truck into the parking lot for something called Zion Outdoor Experts.

  “Are we breaking into a sporting goods store?” I ask.

  “My dads own it,” Elliott explains.

  “You’re taking me shopping?”

  Elliott parks the truck and then hops out into the parking lot. “No, but I can get you a thirty-percent-off discount during normal business hours if you’re interested.”