16. Brooke
Brooke
Beck is a little like a clam. Or is it an oyster?
He’s quiet, and not the easiest person to talk to, unless you’re Meemaw and being ridiculous, but when you get him to open up, pearls of humor and sincerity are right there.
He told me he lost his dad, but I sense he doesn’t want to linger on that, so I don’t probe.
Beck walks with sure steps down the well-worn trail.
We reach a rhododendron hell, which is a strange name, but really what the early settlers to the area called the patches of mountain thick with woody, viny, massive plants.
A sign explains the name, and I, in true nature, stop to read it.
I want to soak up every piece of information about this place.
Beck doesn’t complain. He doesn’t tug my hand or usher me away from the sign as I take my time reading it.
And honestly, I’m testing him a little, because I’ve been done reading this sign for a minute, and I’m still pretending to read it.
He stands next to me, my hand in his, and for someone who is used to rushing around because every second matters in his line of work, he’s acting like he has all the time in the world—like I could stand here and stare at this sign for the next twenty hours, and it would be fine with him.
I make eye contact with Beck. He smiles down at me, a crooked, bemused smile on his face and a knowing glint in his eye. “Rhododendron hells are that interesting?” he teases in that low voice, and I know I’ve been caught.
“Fascinating,” I respond. “I’m just glad to know you’re not the impatient—”
My thoughts are interrupted by shouts farther down the trail.
“Help! We need help! Call an ambulance!”
Beck looks at me for a moment, blinks rapidly, then drops my hand and runs toward the voices.
I stare at my hand for a moment, too stunned to move, as I process. It only takes a second before I understand why he ran. I take off after Beck.
Beck is faster than me, and he knows where he’s going. I don’t. By the time I find him at the end of the trail, on an outcrop of rocks, he’s kneeling on the ground and performing CPR on an older woman. Three other women stand around her, their pale faces framed by gray hair.
I stand back, transfixed by Beck. He doesn’t waver. He doesn’t stop. He continues for what feels like hours until finally we hear the sound of an ambulance, and EMTs come running down the path with a stretcher. They pull an emergency defibrillator out and take over.
Beck watches as they perform their job, eventually lifting the woman onto the stretcher and murmuring to the group of women. One of the EMTs approaches Beck.
“Dr. Whistler?” the man with a chocolate brown beard down to his stomach asks.
Beck nods, but his face is pale. He’s drenched in sweat.
“You saved her life.”
Beck nods again, not saying anything in response.
The EMT leads the three women back up the trail as they follow their friend.
Beck sits on the ground, taking shaky breaths as he leans his head against his knees and closes his eyes. I sit next to him, not sure what to do or what to say to him. He’s a legitimate hero—he just saved a woman’s life. But I sense he doesn’t want me to say that to him right now.
Words might have always come easily to me, but this is a situation where words aren’t right. We’ve only ever held hands. This is our first date. And yet…
I don’t let myself second-guess it. I scoot closer to Beck, close enough that our hips touch. Then, I slide my arm around him.
He startles at the touch, but picks his head up and locks his eyes on mine before leaning his head on my shoulder.
As his breaths even out, I’m able to appreciate the view for the first time.
I let out a low whistle. The outcrop we’re sitting on is a ledge at the edge of a mountain that provides us with a view of the New River below and the New River Gorge Bridge above.
The trees are vibrant green, the majesty and height of the mountains on either side of the gorge on full display.
Beck picks his head up off my shoulder at the sound I made. “Do you like it?” he asks, like I’d be more impressed with the view than by his life-saving actions.
“I like everything I’ve seen today,” I answer with honesty.
He gives a small smile and then stands, extending a hand to me. I grasp it without hesitation. When I stand next to him, he looks at me, then quickly looks away. “I…” He scrubs a hand down his face. “I … uh. I didn’t mean to leave you back there.”
Blinking away surprise at his nervousness, I squeeze his hand tighter with my own and offer the highest praise I can think of. “I thought you were heroic.”
Beck flinches.