Chapter Twenty-Four #2
“Okay.” I feel like Lowell is living on another planet where logistics are important. It’s wild.
I’m living on the planet where the man I love is injured on a thousand-foot ledge and I don’t know if he’s going to live or die. I want to ask Lowell if he knows, if he has more information than he’s shared. Maybe he’s an actual archangel and he does. “Is he going to be all right?”
Lowell looks at me sharply. “No way to say for sure. If he’s got a head injury…
” He clucks his tongue and glares out over the meadow toward El Cap.
“If he doesn’t, then gotta hope for no spinal cord or internal injuries after that.
If all that’s clear? Well, then I’d say chances are decent for him to be ‘all right,’ whatever that means to a man these days. ”
Then he turns on his heel and starts out over the meadow toward the line of parked cars. The lookie-loos are out in force, and the media is yammering on about an injured free soloist being rescued from the wall.
After I’ve retrieved my backpack from the trunk of the car with the not-exactly-clean-but-not-really-dirty clothes from when I spent the night in Dan’s van before we moved into Peggy Jo’s place, I let Lowell lead me a bit further down the line of parked cars.
I see a pack of climbers off to the side, including the girl who originally explained free soloing to me back at Papa Bear months ago.
She and her friends all look tense and miserable.
One guy, though— fuck him —is giving an interview to some news reporter, and I hear him say, “Dan’s always been into extremes.
It was just a matter of time before something like this happened. ”
I nearly swerve to give him a piece of my fist because I was raised in West Virginia, and you don’t talk shit about a man while he’s down, especially not when you don’t even know him. And I know this asshole doesn’t know Dan outside of being able to recognize him in a line-up.
“Ignore him,” Lowell says, taking hold of my arm and steering me toward what must be his truck. “It’s not worth it. It won’t help Dan to start something you can’t finish, or to start something that finishes with you in the back of a police car or in your own ambulance.”
“Did you hear him? He doesn’t even know Dan.”
“I know.”
The truck Lowell pulls me toward is white and big as hell.
I’m touched and a little tearful when Lowell opens the passenger door and helps me in like I’m fragile—which I am.
It’s embarrassing, but tears drop down my cheeks as he hands me the seatbelt, closes the door, and walks around to the driver’s side.
“We can listen to the police scanner if you want,” he says as he gets himself settled in and starts the engine. He points at the scanner wedged in by the armrest console. “We can follow their progress, get updates.”
“I don’t know if I want to know.”
“Mm,” he says, and leaves it off.
We pull out onto the road and after a few quiet minutes, I realize he doesn’t plan to say anything else. So, I fish out my phone and look at the messages that have piled up and start to answer them one by one.
To Leenie, I reply with: By now you know it’s Dan. I’m on my way to Fresno to meet him at the hospital.
I copy the same message to Martin, Celli, and Gage.
Leenie replies first. You’re driving? You shouldn’t be driving!
I’m with Lowell Moody. He’s taking me.
Okay. Hey, you should call your dad. Let him know what’s going on.
No. I don’t even know what’s going on yet.
He’d want to know about this.
Leave it alone, Leenie. I can’t do this right now.
I could get Martin to watch the kids and join you in Fresno. They’re taking him to the trauma center there, right?
Stay with the kids. I’m fine. I’ll text you later with an update.
You don’t have to do this on your own.
I know. I love you guys. I’ll be in touch. I promise.
The next thing I do is open the incoming message from Celli expressing her worry, dismay, and optimism. I ignore all that when I respond. Hey, I hate to ask, but I’m prob gonna be in Fresno for at least 24 hours. Can you feed Peggy Jo’s cats?
Of course! Any news about Dan yet?
No. Romeo eats the diet food, but the others all get the regular stuff. The cans are in the pantry. They eat in the morning and at night. Can you also make sure the water bowl is full?
No problem. Do they have him off the ledge?
I don’t think so.
I send her the information about where to find the hidden key to get into Peggy Jo’s place and then type I have to go.
Keep us in the loop. We’re all worried!
I respond with a heart emoji.
I’m just about to mute my phone because I can’t handle whatever incoming messages might arrive next when it goes off with a familiar Astro ringtone.
My face pressed up against Dan’s flashes onto my screen.
It’s the photo I took of us the morning after the night on Pothole Dome, a look in our eyes of a new beginning for both of us.
The song keeps playing and the phone vibrates in my hand.
Lowell casts a glance at it and says, “Pick up.”
My fingers finally respond, and I press the phone to my ear and whisper breathlessly, “Dan?”
“Hey. No, sorry, this is Rye. I’m up here with him. I knew you’d be worried.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“He’s…he’s… well, he’s passed out right now.
He keeps coming to and then going back out again.
The good news is we think all the blood is just from a laceration on his face.
But we won’t know for sure if we’re looking at a bigger head injury until we get him out of here.
We also don’t know about his spine or his back…
he can’t stay awake long enough for a clear assessment.
But his leg… It’s…well, it’s a fucking mess. ”
“Rye, be honest with me. Is he going to be okay?”
“I don’t know. He’s breathing, and he’s gonna be airlifted out of here with some of the best flight care attendants in the world. And they’re letting me go with him.”
“Alright.”
“Are you down in the meadow? Where are you?”
“I’m on my way to Fresno. I’ll meet him there.”
“Great. Wait, you’re driving?”
“No. Lowell Moody is taking me.”
Rye pauses, and I hear more voices from his end of the line. Something about being ready to start moving Dan now. “You’re in good hands. See you in Fresno.”
The phone call ends, and I hesitate in swiping my phone to mute. What if Rye wants to reach out again? Or if Dan wakes and demands to speak to me?
“Rye’s not going to call again until they get to the hospital. You can mute it until we get close.”
I nod and do as Lowell suggests.
The one person who hasn’t contacted me, though, is probably the one person who should know.
But I don’t want to tell her what’s happened just yet, and with any luck, what’s going on at El Capitan won’t make it to the national news until later in the day, if at all.
Thank God Peggy Jo doesn’t do social media.
Lowell says, “People want to help. Express their love. Whatever. But sometimes they just need to shut the fuck up.”
On another occasion, I’d probably have laughed at that. “You sound like you know.”
“I do. I’ve seen a lot of shit. Problem is I can’t unsee it.” Lowell taps his temple. “Things get loud in there. Memories. Messed-up stuff. Sometimes I just need to be quiet so I can hold it together. That what you need right now?”
“I don’t know if I need quiet.” But I definitely don’t need to explain to twenty people that I don’t know anything about whether Dan’s going to be all right, or try to justify what he’s done, or why he did it.
“I don’t have answers for them, though. I don’t know what’s going to happen any more than they do. ”
“What did Rye tell you?”
“That he’s unconscious…” My eyes fill with tears again. “They don’t know if he’s…if he’s…really okay. Rye said his leg is…well, it’s definitely not okay. I don’t know why I keep saying the word okay. I just…I just really want to believe that Dan’s…that he’s…”
“Gonna be okay.”
“Yeah.”
Lowell reaches out and pats my leg. “I want that too.”
Tears slip down my cheeks, and I remember how they sometimes overflow when Dan fucks me. I wipe at them with the backs of my hands and try to hold down a sob. Lowell pats my leg again and says nothing.
“How about some music?” he finally murmurs and turns on his stereo. Thick, strummy guitar fills the cab, and a country-twang rumbles out of the speakers. I don’t recognize the song or the band, but I recognize the heartbreak in the man’s voice.
I let the tears slide out and keep my gaze on the road ahead. We pass a sign.
Fresno 320 miles.