Chapter 11 #2
Ever since our tour of Devon Falls a little over a week ago, the one that ended with me basically crying on a park bench while Milo held my hand, our interactions have had this same kind of pattern: I try to talk like a normal person who’s not obsessed with Milo, Milo makes a comment that could be friendly or could be flirting, and I blush and look away.
These little moments happen all day, every day, because we work together and live together.
I’d be exhausted if I wasn’t also desperate to spend every waking moment with this man.
Now’s probably not the time for me to be thinking about that, though.
Especially given all the revelations of this morning, the ones I still don’t know how to talk to Milo about.
So. “Let’s go lead a hike!” I call out before I start jogging toward the woods.
And if my dignity is in any way compromised by the fact that I’m holding a dirty teddy bear at my side, Milo doesn’t mention it.
The hike we’re taking the campers on is less of a hike and more of a walk along the river and up across one of the foothills of the ski resort.
It’s all of a mile, and I worried even that might be tough for some of the younger kids in the crowd.
But when we finish the section by the river and start herding the kids into the woods, everyone seems to still be in good spirits.
Milo’s only confiscated two gaming systems and one phone, Gabe’s taught everyone the lyrics to “We Are the Champions,” and the crisp Vermont air is sinking its way through my body, taking a little of the edge off the confusion I feel basically every single time Milo and I are in the same five square feet of space together.
I’m passing out freeze-dried strawberries and settling an argument over whether flowers have feelings when everything goes to shit.
“Mr. Noah!” A little voice hits my eardrums, and every cell in my body is suddenly on high alert. “Help!”
I glance over to the left side of the area we’re sitting in, following the voice. And there’s George Ryker, clinging to a tree branch.
“Oh no,” I whisper to myself. I dart over to the tree, and all the munchkins sitting nearby follow me. Which is good, since Milo and Gabe are leading bathroom breaks right now.
“Noah?” Lou asks. “Why is George in a tree?”
“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “We’ll get him down right now.
” The first rule of any activity emergency with children, I learned some time ago, is to never let them see you panic.
Kids are sort of like mountain lions that way.
“George,” I call out, keeping my voice as even and easygoing as I can.
“What happened? How did you get up there?”
“Bear was looking for a squirrel!” he says, and I can hear the tears in his voice even before I see them in his eyes. “I told her I’d try to get it for her, but I got to this branch, and it was so high up, and now I don’t know how to get down!”
Next to me, Bear bows into an apologetic position and whines.
I pat her head. It’s not her fault these kids have bonded to her like a new Pokémon game.
It’s also not her fault I was so engrossed in a conversation about how much sunflowers smile that I missed seeing George monkey his way up a tree.
“Don’t worry, George,” I call as I grab hold of the lowest branch I can find.
“I’m coming up there to get you.” I’m about halfway to George when the cavalry arrives.
“Noah!” The voice in my ear now, the one that’s become so familiar so quickly, sounds higher than usual. “You can come back down. I’ll go up after him!”
I almost roll my eyes as I smile and find another tree branch for a foot plant. Of course Superman Milo Warner is ready to save the day.
“You and Gabe just watch the other kids,” I call back, keeping my eyes on the branch in front of me. “I’ve come this far. I promise I can get George down.”
George Ryker is not the first kid to take an ill-advised tree climb on my watch. The life of a social worker in training has not always been easy.
“Mr. Noah,” George whimpers. “I’m a little scared.” He’s only a few feet above me now. Soon I’ll be close enough to take his hand.
“You’re okay, George,” I tell him. “I need you to relax, okay?” I get to the branch just below George, and everyone standing at the base of the tree starts cheering.
I feel like cheering myself, actually. While I was pretty sure I could get to George, he and I are still pretty far off the ground right now, and a simple tree climb feels a lot more complicated when a crying child is at the other end of it.
I steady myself and reach for George. “C’mere, George. I’ve got you.”
“Noah, watch that branch beneath you,” Gabe calls up to me. “It looks less stable than the others. Milo and I are standing right at the base. When you’re close enough, just pass George down to us.”
I’ve got George clinging to my neck now, but his weight isn’t insignificant, and every step I take has me testing a branch’s strength to make sure we stay on it together.
“You can do this, Noah.” Milo’s voice, rising through the tree branches, seeps across my body and through my veins. It’s even and strong and so sure, and the confidence there soothes me right away. I take another deep breath, and I plant another foot.
And then another.
And then, as the kids cheer me and George on, I reach the point where I can finally lean down, away from the tree, so George can move from my arms to Gabe’s.
“Thank you, Mr. Noah!” George beams at me as I start to pass him over. “Oh no! Bradley Bear! Where’s Bradley Bear?” he calls out, worry in his voice, and that’s when he tries to turn in my arms just as I’m passing him over to Gabe.
It all happens so fast then. I see George slip through the cracks of air between me and Gabe, and I go to grab him just as Gabe gets hold of his upper body. “Noah!” Milo calls out.
I’m not high in the air now, but I’m standing at an awkward angle on one branch.
When I let go of the other branch I’m holding, I quickly lose my footing, and that’s when I see it: the giant, unfortunately placed tree stump right below me.
I notice it just as I slip, and it rushes up to meet my head.
Then the world goes dark.