by Paula Stokes
“Tuesday.”
“I’ll see you then.” Elliott pats me lightly on the leg and I open the door and step down from the truck. I turn and wave as he drives off.
My dad is on the sofa, looking at something on his iPad, when I enter the living room. “You’re late,” he says.
“One minute that it took me to walk across the yard,” I say. “You didn’t have to wait up, Dad. I’m going to college in a couple of months. You’re going to have to trust me to get home all right on my own.”
He sets the iPad on the coffee table. “I suppose you’re right, but that’s not exactly easy given everything that’s happened.”
My face flushes just thinking about the accident. What would my dad think if he knew the truth—that my insecurity and carelessness got Dallas killed? What will he think, when I work up the nerve to tell him.
“I’m trying to do things better this time,” Dad continues.
“I know you are, and I appreciate it.” Somehow this tragedy has made Dad into a better person and me into a worse one. I bite back tears. I don’t want to lose it on him, especially not this late. I’m sure he has to be up early for work. Desperate for a distraction, I gesture at the iPad screen. It looks like someone’s CT scan. “What are you looking at?”
“Oh. It’s actually pretty interesting. Check this out.” Dad taps the screen and goes through various views of the CT. He points out certain areas on the screen. “This is a thirty-four-year-old woman. The body of this tumor is compressing her spine and threatening to rupture the aorta. There are offshoots invading the pericardium and left atrium.”
“Holy crap. Do you have to remove that?”
“We’re thinking about attacking it as a team—there’d be me and Dr. Kent from my practice, as well as a couple of vascular surgeons. And then a neuro guy from Salt Lake City would be in charge.”
“Would you have to go to Salt Lake City to do the surgery?” I ask.
“Just for a day or two,” Dad says. “Probably next month. Would you be all right with that?”
“Sure,” I say. It would be strange to be here alone with Rachael, but I’m not going to keep my dad from participating in an epic surgery that could save someone’s life.
“Right now it’s all academic. We’re formulating a plan of attack so we can share it with the patient and hopefully get approval from her insurance company.” Dad yawns as he stands up from the sofa. “Did you have a nice time with your friend?”
“Yeah. It was cool.”
“Good.” We walk down the hallway toward our bedrooms together. He pauses in front of my door. “It’s really nice to have you here, Genevieve.”
“It’s nice to be here,” I say.
Dad gives me a quick hug and I slip into my room and get ready for bed, replaying the events of the evening in my head. I never would have thought I’d have fun messing around on a Ninja Warrior course, but Elliott is right about it demanding total focus. And I did better than I thought I would.
And then the stars. Lying out on the roof was so peaceful. The sense of calm that came over me there lasts until I fall asleep.
But then when I wake up the next morning, there’s another text from Shannon. And my sense of peace goes right out the window.
CHAPTER 25
Shannon: Did you hear? I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.
Me: ?
Shannon: They dropped the charges against #BradFreeman. Apparently the witness to the actual accident is a big fat liar and Freeman’s hotshot lawyer got the BAC results thrown out.
Me: Why are you hashtagging him in a text?
Shannon: IDK. Habit, probably. Shit is blowing up everywhere. Everyone is pissed. They’re calling for Dallas’s parents to file a wrongful death lawsuit.
Me: Dallas wouldn’t want that.
Shannon: I would if it were me. I don’t care if he was officially drunk or not. His bad choices killed Dallas. He deserves to be punished.
I flinch. She has no idea how close to home she’s hitting. Still, part of me is flooded with relief. Maybe this is a sign. If the charges have been dropped, maybe everything will finally go back to normal and I won’t have to tell the world what really happened. Maybe no one needs to know I lied and have been letting someone else take the blame for it.
I’ve read so many stories online about how tragedy brings people together, how hard times encourage bravery and sacrifice, how a crisis can turn ordinary folks into heroes. But what about the opposite, when something horrible happens and it strips us bare, exposing weaknesses we didn’t even know we had. What about when tragedy makes people worse?
I don’t want to be that story.
For the next couple of weeks, I actually let myself believe things are getting back to normal. Shannon is busy at the pool during the day and has started hanging out with her sexy lifeguard partner Niko in the evenings. She still texts me most days, but finally seems to have gotten the hint that I don’t want to hear about Brad Freeman or the possibility of a wrongful death lawsuit. Dallas’s parents haven’t contacted me about it. Mom and I talk every couple of days and she hasn’t mentioned anything about a lawsuit either. She tells me how one of her scrub nurses convinced her to take a pottery class and that’s she’s enjoying the challenge. She sounds happier than she has for a while.
At Zion, work on the touch trail continues. On the weekend, Rachael has six Boy Scout volunteers and Elliott rustles up extra Pulaskis so everyone can chip in. By the end of the day on Sunday, we’ve completed the first stage of the trail—digging the trench.
Next we have to level the trail. Rachael says the natural surface will work best if it’s the same thickness all the way around, so Halley, Elliott, and I walk the trench and use shovels and trowels to even out any rough patches and fill in dips or divots.
It takes another couple of days to complete this. Elliott and I are friendly at work and often eat lunch together—sometimes with Halley too—but he hasn’t invited me back to his Ninja Warrior gym and I kind of miss it.
It takes me until Friday, but I finally work up the nerve to ask him if I can come by the gym at some point on the weekend.
“What are you doing later tonight?” he asks.
“No plans,” I say.
“I’ll pick you up at eight.”
“Maybe I should just jog down to the store,” I say, thinking of my dad’s insistence that Elliott come inside and pick me up properly.
“I’m not afraid to get grilled by your dad,” Elliott says with a grin. “Besides, what kind of friend would I be if I let you go running around by yourself in the dark? It’s dangerous.”
“It won’t even be dark yet. And did you actually say dangerous?” I snort. “When’s the last time this place had any actual crime?”
“Does parking in a no-parking zone count?” Elliott asks. “If so, yesterday. But still. You could trip over a rock squirrel, maybe fall into a cactus.”
“Okay. I’m convinced. You can pick me up.” A tiny smile forms on my face. “I’ll be ready at eight.”
True to his word, Elliott comes to the door right at eight and knocks sharply. My dad is in his study reviewing some surgical case notes while Rachael putters around the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner and loading the dishwasher.
“I’ll get it,” I say, hopping up from my spot on the sofa.
Dad appears in the doorway behind me. “Well, don’t you look . . . sporty.”
I’m dressed in capri-length exercise pants that hide my leg scar and a hot pink running shirt, a zip-up hoodie open over my shirt just in case Elliott and I decide to go back on the roof. My hair is twisted into a braid, my now-standard wide headband fastened in place with a handful of bobby pins.
“That’s because we’re going to work out.” I give my dad a look. “This is not a date,” I hiss before opening the door.
Elliott stands on the porch in black-and-white warm-up pants and a Zion T-shirt. His hair looks damp, like maybe he just got out of the shower.
“Come on in,” I say through gritted teeth. “Your turn to be tortured.”
Elliott laughs. “It’s good to see you again, sir,” he says. “I’ll be sure to have Jen back by her curfew.”
“What are you guys planning to do?”
“Dad! I already told you all this,” I mutter.
“It’s fine,” Elliott says. “I’m not sure if you know, but my dad Garrett competes every year on American Ninja Warrior. He’s built himself a practice gym that we might turn into a summer camp for aspiring competitors, but right now it’s just a bunch of random obstacles. Jen and I are going to get our ninja on for a couple of hours.”
My dad clears his throat. “Is it safe?”
“It’s pretty safe. We’ve got mats everywhere. The worst she’ll end up with is a few scratches and bruises.”
“I did it before, and look, I’m fine,” I point out, before my dad can object. “Is this interrogation almost over?”
Rachael hollers something from the kitchen about making ice cream sundaes and my dad decides to let us leave. “Have her back with minimal scratches and bruises, please.”
“I’m not a porcelain doll,” I say.
My dad sighs deeply and I can tell he wants to make a comment about how I’m breakable, but he’s promised not to talk about the accident. “Just be careful,” he says finally. “Both of you.” He turns toward the kitchen and Elliott and I head outside.
“Jeez,” I say after the door closes behind us. “Sorry about that.”
“I don’t mind.” Elliott grins mischievously as we both hop into his truck. “I might have forgotten to mention that you have to meet my dads, too.”
“What? Why?”
“Because they’re both at the gym tonight.”
Immediately I pull my phone out of my purse and start fussing with my appearance, tucking wispy pieces of hair back into my braid and wiping away bits of smudged eyeliner.
Elliott glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “You look fine.” He coughs. “I mean, you look great. But they’re not going to care about your appearance.”
I put my phone away. “Sorry, whenever I meet parents, I always imagine it’ll be like someone meeting my mom. And then I get nervous.”
“Your mom would care what I look like?”
“My mom cares about everything. She’d draw conclusions based on your hairstyle and the condition of your shoes.”
“Yikes. I guess that explains why you always look so put together.”
“Perfect on the outside, a complete mess on the inside,” I say.
Elliott grins. “Let’s get your insides fixed up then.” He pulls into the parking lot in front of Zion Outdoor Experts and we head into the gym.
CHAPTER 26
Elliott’s dads are at the far side of the gym, but they both turn abruptly at the sound of the door.
“Ellie!” A lanky blond guy with a loose ponytail that hangs past his collar jogs over. His long shorts sit low on his hips, exposing a bit of tanned skin with each stride. I catch a glimpse of a tattoo—some kind of script writing peeking out from beneath the hem of his Patagonia T-shirt. As he gets closer, I can see lines around his eyes and bits of gray in his hair, but from a distance he didn’t look much older than Elliott. He spends a few seconds taking me in before he holds out his hand. “Garrett,” he says. “So you’re the girl Ellie can’t stop talking about.”
“Dad.” Elliott gives Garrett a look.
Garrett laughs. “He told me you were a natural on the Quintuple Steps and the Spinning Log.”
“I don’t know about all that.” I reach out to shake his hand and nearly double over from his strong grip. “Nice to meet you,” I say. “I’m Jen.”
“Don’t break her hand, Dad,” Elliott says. “She’s going to need both of them for the Salmon Ladder.”
“Salmon Ladder! Hard-core. High five!” Garrett holds his palm out toward me.
I slap it. “I’ve seen that one on TV. I’m not sure if I can even do a pull-up, but I’ll give it a try.”
Elliott’s other dad chuckles. “I’m still working on my first pull-up.” He runs a hand through his thick black hair. “I’m Ezra Helberg. Welcome to our playground.”
“Jen.” I extend for another handshake, this time one that doesn’t make my eyes water.
Ezra nudges Garrett with his elbow. “Go ahead and show off for the pretty girl. You know you want to.”
Garrett grins as he bounces up and down on his toes. “Which obstacle do you want to see me do?”
I look around the gym and point at a series of narrow ledges nailed to a flat wall. “What’s that one?”
Ezra groans. “Not the Ultimate Cliffhanger.”
“Dad’s a rock climber,” Elliott explains. “The Ultimate Cliffhanger is pretty easy for him.”
“How about I show you proper form on the Salmon Ladder?” Garrett says.
“Sure,” I say.
The four of us walk over to the Salmon Ladder. It looks like a standard pull-up bar that’s been fit into an angled slot. There are five more slots above the starting one and you’re supposed to jump the bar from the bottom to the top in a series of pull-up moves. Like the Warped Wall, I’ve seen it on TV. And like the Warped Wall, it looks impossible in person.
“Do you know why it’s called the Salmon Ladder?” Ezra asks me.
“Because the angled rungs look like fish bones?” I guess.
“Close,” he says. “The act of jumping the bar from rung to rung mimics the movement of salmon swimming upstream.”
“The first thing you need to do is get a good jump off the mini-tramp so that you’re positioned in the middle of the bar. Like so.” Garrett takes a running jump and hits the trampoline directly in the center. He flies through the air and grabs onto the bar. He checks his hand positions and moves his right hand slightly outward. “Next you want to make sure you don’t favor one side or the other when you’re transitioning from rung to rung.”
“Alternatively, next is when you dangle helplessly from the bar while your husband laughs at you,” Ezra says.
I smile. “I’ll probably be right there with you.”
Garrett jumps the pull-up bar up the rungs of the Salmon Ladder with ease.
“You look like you’re defying the laws of gravity,” I say.
He releases his hold on the bar and falls down to the thick mat beneath it. “You should see Ellie. The kid has wings.” He turns to Elliott. “Show her.”
“Nah.” Elliott shakes his head. “She didn’t come here to see that.” He arches an eyebrow at me. “Want to show them your mad skills on the Spinning Log?”
I blush. “I only made it across once, and it’s been a couple weeks.”
“Whose fault is that? I told you that you could come by anytime you wanted. I would’ve given you the key even if I couldn’t stay and play.”
“I know. I just didn’t want anyone to catch me and think I was a burglar.”
“That’d be the biggest news story this town has had in months,” Garrett says. “Come on, sister. Let’s see what you got.”
“Jen. Jen. Jen,” Ezra chants.
“I don’t know. I might—”
“Jen. Jen. Jen.” Garrett adds a clap to the chant.
“Make it across the first try and I will cook you dinner,” Elliott says.
“Ooooh. Now there’s motivation.” Garrett hoots. “Ellie cooks like a dream.”
“That’s because I taught him,” Ezra says.
I hold up a hand. “All right, all right. I’ll do it.” Muttering something about peer pressure under my breath, I cross the gym and step up onto the platform by the Spinning Log. I am acutely aware of Elliott and his dads watching me. Inhaling deeply, I close my eyes for a second and envision the way I crossed the log last time.
I shake out my arms and then, without any warning, I dart across the log, trying my best to keep my
feet exactly in the middle, exerting a direct downward force to minimize rotation. One. Two. Three. The log spins beneath my feet, but I leap to safety, hitting the mat with my right shoulder..
“Woohoo. That was show-worthy.” Garrett gives me a slow clap.
“Impressive,” Ezra agrees.
“Thanks,” I say. “I fell off about twenty times before I made it across the first time.”
“You and me both, sister,” Garrett says.
Everyone laughs and then it gets quiet. There’s an awkward moment before Garrett says, “We’ll get out of you kids’ hair. I trust you won’t let her get hurt, Ellie.”
“We’ll be safe,” Elliott promises. “But don’t let her small size fool you. She’s a tough chick.”
It’s a nice thing to say, especially after he’s caught me crying multiple times. “We’ll be careful,” I agree. “It was nice to meet both of you.”
“Likewise.” Ezra surprises me by leaning in for a hug. I pat his back awkwardly. “Elliott doesn’t ever bring girls around, so you must be special,” he whispers in my ear.
“Dad,” Elliott says. “Not everyone likes to be hugged.”
“It’s okay.” I smile shyly at Ezra. “It was nice.”
“See. Nice.” Ezra winks at Elliott. He slings an arm around Garrett’s waist as the two of them head for the parking lot.
When the door closes, Elliott turns back to me. “That wasn’t so bad, right?”
“They seem really great,” I say.
“They have their moments.” Elliott arches his eyebrows. “And hey, now you can say you know someone famous.”
I laugh weakly. If he only knew.
Elliott gives me a lesson in using the mini-trampoline and some tips for how to climb ropes and cargo nets in the most efficient way. We fool around on one of several rock climbing walls and he explains to me how various skills combine together to equal success on different obstacles.
Then we go from obstacle to obstacle, Elliott showing me how it’s done, me trying my best to copy him. Some of the things are completely impossible for me to even try, like the Ultimate Cliffhanger. I just don’t have the grip strength to hold on to the tiny wooden ledges. I also can’t do the Salmon Ladder, but Elliott is impressed that I can even do a pull-up and he helps me go up a couple of rungs by holding my legs while I attempt to jump the bar.