“I told you that James and I named the moose Mr. Specks.”
“Mr. Specks... fine.”
“Kans!” Arizona looks at me from the driver’s seat, slightly hurt. “You could at least smile.”
And I do, for her sake. Because she goes out of her way to do crazy and funny things, knowing that’s what I liked about River.
“A homemade moose named Mr. Specks on our Christmas tree. That’s definitely going on the Strange page, Ari.”
“Definitely!”
We’re not merely collecting words and sayings these days, but situations, too.
I slam the door and give a brief wave. I slowly trudge across the parking lot in my thick snow boots, right past where River had parked the Porsche. I can’t help but think of Chester. Of course, the investigation against him was dropped after Senator Davenport pressured the relevant authorities. However, no charges were brought against James either. I don’t know if I should be relieved. Chester deserves just punishment, but maybe everything would have been blown out of proportion by the press, and the Davenports have been punished enough.
In any case, my dad quit his job six weeks ago—if you can even say that about a cardiologist. Luckily, there were no major problems, and next spring, he wants to open his own practice in a neighboring town. He suspects that Clark Davenport now knows the whole truth about what actually happened at Kensington. He believes Clark Davenport found evidence of the torture on Chester’s phone. Dad, however, wasn’t sure if he understood Mr. Davenport’s hints correctly. At least I’ve heard that Chester is now attending St. Benedict’s, where River also went. The boarding school for students with mental health issues.
At least something has been done.
I wrap the scarf tighter around my neck because the wind is whistling so coldly along the collar of my jacket. With every step I climb uphill, I banish Cottage Grove, my family, and Kensington from my thoughts.
Only this concerns me: River and me. A part of my life that I have to let go of—but will never forget.
It is the last time I’ll go to the railway bridge.
It’s a farewell and a new beginning. And now that I’ve reached the top, it suddenly seems to me as if all the important moments of my life have taken place at dizzying heights.
As I walk the last few feet toward the bridge, it’s as if no time has passed since last June.
I stop for a moment and find him in my memory. His dark blue eyes, his laugh, the white-blond strands of his hair.
River.
I still remember the day I met him here so well. I can almost feel the warm spring wind on my skin again, even though it’s so cold today.
I approach from the east side, like back then. And, like back then, I leave my bag at the edge of the bridge and walk alone along the middle of the tracks. The rotten wood is dusted with freshly fallen snow that looks like powdered sugar. I hear the crunch of my steps and breathe in the damp, cold air.
Willow River rushes beneath me. Its current still defies the sub-zero temperatures, but it’s only a matter of time before the cold freezes the water.
I walk on and suddenly find myself standing in the exact spot I wanted to jump from months ago.
F-L-Y-I-N-G.
That’s what you did, I think.You flew. And suddenly, I find part of my anger in the roar far below me.
Oh, yes, I’m angry with you, River. Infinitely angry. Because I still don’t understand, and I never will. Perhaps it’s not even possible. And, of course, I’m not only angry. Part of me is full of love. Full of gratitude.
I pull the bracelet with the black crane off my wrist and take a deep breath.
Don’t cry a river for me, baby, you would say to me, and I would smile. Because, like everything you said, it can have several meanings. My heart is so heavy. But it’s also light.Opposites, baby.
Did you often feel like that when you lost June? Were there days that the minutes felt as if they were like lead and days air? Weightless because you thought about all the beautiful things?
I let the origami bird dangle over the abyss on my index finger. Origami will probably never be my thing, but you said you should always let something symbolically fly every time you don’t jump. So, I bought some jet-black paper from Mrs. Wilson’s craft store and folded the crane. Okay, it’s pathetic, but you can’t see it. You know, I was thinking the other day that life is like origami. When you unfold things, it gets complicated. You never get it back exactly the same.
If you hadn’t come then, I would have jumped. I’m certain of it. So, you honestly did save me, even if you say it was the other way around.
For a moment, I peer into the abyss. The river sounds gentler now, almost as if it’s whispering your name incessantly with each foamy bubble.
