Take Me With You Page 8

  A long pause, and then Seth extended the phone at the end of one long arm.

  “He wants to talk to Henry and then to you.”

  Henry grabbed the phone and held it to his ear but said nothing. August watched closely for some emotional tell. A change in Henry’s eyes or expression. But Henry’s face remained cool and blank, as if he were only listening to the recording of the lady giving the correct time over and over again.

  August closed his eyes, then opened them and watched the sun glaring over the cliff on the eastern wall of the canyon. It was warm already. Very warm. Thank God all their hiking from this point on would be down. He watched the ant-sized long box of a shuttle bus snake its way along the narrow, brick-colored road below. He thought briefly of the dog, alone in the motor home back in camp. For the first time ever, August wondered if it made Woody sad.

  Then the phone was thrust in his direction, and he took it. “Wes,” he said, turning his back to the boys and taking a few steps away.

  “August. How you doin’, my friend?”

  August turned back to the boys, covered the phone, and said, “Don’t move. Not one muscle. No exploring. No walking closer to the edge.” Then, to Wes, “I’m okay, except it turns out it’s a crushing weight being responsible for the life or death of somebody else’s kid.”

  “Let him go. He’ll be careful. He’s light, and he’s pretty athletic. I did that hike once. Years and years ago. There’re chains to hold on to, right?”

  “Yeah. There are chains. But not like chain railings. Just something to grab on to. If your hand slips off the chain, you’ll still fall.”

  “Let him go. It means a lot to him.”

  “Listen. Wes. Not to get too personal here, but what number jail run is this?”

  “What number?”

  “Yeah. What number. I was sure you said this was the second time.”

  “Second. Yeah. That sounds about right.”

  “Seth says it’s your fourth. He wasn’t trying to rat you out or anything. He didn’t know what you’d told me. It just came up in conversation.”

  A long, long silence.

  Then Wes said, “I guess I was hoping you’d be having conversations about red rock and how to get Henry up steep trails.”

  “And I guess I was hoping I could count on everything you told me to be the truth.”

  Silence.

  Then, “I wasn’t thinking clear when you left with ’em, okay? So I guess I made a mistake. Anybody can make a mistake. Right?”

  August looked around to check on the boys. They hadn’t moved a muscle. Seth smiled weakly at him. Dying to know.

  “Okay. Look, he’ll be happy. I’ll go tell him the good news. We’ll call again.”

  “Roger, my friend. Ciao.”

  August clicked the phone closed.

  “You can go,” he said to Seth, who leapt straight into the air from a sit and landed on his feet. “One condition, though. We have to wait until—”

  A movement caught August’s eye, and he turned to see two hikers arrive on the flat lookout. Two young men in their twenties.

  “Hey,” he called to them. “Can I ask you guys a favor?”

  They moved closer, panting lightly.

  “Problem?” one of them said.

  “Not really. Just that this boy wants to go up. But I don’t want to go, and his little brother here doesn’t want to go. And I don’t feel so good sending him off as a solo hiker. So I was wondering if he could go up with you.”

  “No worries,” one said.

  And the other one flipped his head in the direction of the chained route and said, “Let’s go, dude. Let’s get ’er done.”

  After what seemed like fifteen or twenty minutes of sitting in the dirt with Henry, who looked out over the huge and variegated canyon and never at August, they heard a scream at great distance.

  August’s heart jumped, thinking he was hearing a cry of disaster. But as the scream wound on, it became more obvious that it was a shout of triumph. A sort of high-pitched “Yee-hah!” And the more he listened, the more sure he became that he was listening to Seth.

  Henry smiled. Not a big, open smile like the ones he reserved for Woody’s tricks. A wry little half-secret smile that curled his mouth on one side only.

  “I do believe he made it to the very top,” August said.

  Henry nodded once.

  They trudged about a third of the hot way down before Henry stopped dead in the trail.

  “Hmm,” Seth said. “I thought down would be okay for him.”

  Seth put his head together with his little brother for a moment. If words were spoken, August didn’t hear them.

  Then Seth’s head came up and he told August calmly, “His feet hurt.”

  So August sat him down on the trail in the full sun and unlaced and pulled off Henry’s running shoes. The socks he wore underneath were black and thin, like dress socks. They had holes in the toes.

  “Jeez. I should have looked at the socks you guys were wearing. We need to get you something thicker. More like hiking socks.”

  A busload of hikers were now making their way up the trail in the growing heat. The trail was just barely wide enough for passing, and August felt legs brushing his shoulder as they scraped by.

  “Sorry,” he said to no one in particular.

  He pulled off Henry’s socks. The boy had blisters on both heels and on the ball of one foot. August took out his pack and extracted a first aid kit and a ziplock bag full of moleskin.

  “I can put moleskin on these to cushion the blisters,” he told the solemn little boy, “but it’s still going to hurt to walk on them. Because they’re big and puffed up. That’s what makes them hurt. Or I could lance them and drain them and then put a little spot bandage on and moleskin over that. And then they’ll be flat, and it won’t hurt so much to walk. But you have to be willing to let me stick a big needle into your blisters. I don’t know. What do you think?”

  “He’ll hold still for it,” Seth said. “He’s good.”

  “I’d rather hear it from him.”

  “You know you’re not going to hear nothing from him.”

  “He can nod.”

  “Henry,” Seth said. Sharply. As if Henry were hard of hearing. Or, more likely, for August’s benefit. “Can August use a needle on your blisters?”

  Henry nodded.

  So August opened a little packet with a sterile needle-sized lance and lanced and drained Henry’s blisters and dressed them. Henry never winced. Never pulled away. Never made a sound.

  Then the boy put his own shoes back on, double-tied the laces, and they began to walk downhill again, bucking the crowd headed up. Like floating downstream while the rest of the world swam upriver.

  They made their way down the trail for another few hundred yards before Henry stopped dead again. Seth went to him for another head-to-head.

  “His blisters still hurt?” August asked.

  “Only a little. Mostly he’s just tired.”

  August sighed and slipped off his pack, handing it to Seth. Then he crouched on the trail, and Henry climbed onto his back. More soft puffing of breath against August’s right ear.

  They plodded downhill again.

  “That was the best thing I’ve ever done in my whole life so far,” Seth said.

  August only smiled. He felt the sweat growing on his back, which had a child pressed against it and no air circulation. He didn’t answer. He knew what Seth said was true, and the statement didn’t feel as though anybody or anything needed to add much to it.

  “You’re a nice man, August,” Seth said, surprising him.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you carried Henry. So I could get up there. You told me yesterday I couldn’t get all the way up there and carry Henry, too. And you were right. Most grown-ups, when it turns out they’re right, they say ‘I told you so.’ You didn’t say ‘I told you so.’ You just carried Henry.”

  “It meant a lot to you
,” August said.

  “It did,” Seth agreed. “I took a picture from the very top. On my camera. Because my camera was just about as good as yours for this, ’cause there was nothing to zoom in at.”

  “True.”

  “I can’t believe it’s the first I took a picture on my own camera. But it’s really two pictures, because I handed it to one of those guys and he took a picture of me standing on the very top. You know. Just in case nobody believes I really did it. Should I have taken more pictures by now, August?”

  “Good idea to pace yourself. We’ve got a lot left to see. Our summer’s barely even started.”

  Chapter Eight:

  WHAT HE TOLD ME

  The following night, not long before sunset, they made their way along the paved Pa’rus Trail, the three of them and Woody. It was the only trail in the park that allowed you to take your dog. They walked slowly, nursing stiff quads and tight Achilles tendons.

  “You know,” Seth said, “I thought this trail would be nothing much on account of how it starts right in the campground and you can take bikes and dogs and all. But it’s the prettiest to look at that we’ve seen yet. The sky is so blue and the rocks are so red and white, and you can see the cliffs and the courts and the temples like you’re seeing the whole thing almost all at one time.”

  “This is actually my favorite trail in the whole park.”

  “And Woody gets to go.”

  “That’s part of why.”

  “And I love how it keeps going back and forth over the river. I like the bridges.”

  As they approached another bridge, Seth stopped in his tracks and pulled his disposable camera out of his pocket.

  “What do you see?” August asked.

  “I just like the way that rock mountain lines up behind the bridge like that. Looks nice. Real scenic, you know?”

  August looked at it over Seth’s shoulder. “You have a good eye.”

  “Think so?”

  “I do. But I think you should use my camera. It’s digital, so we’ll never run out of shots.”

  “What if the card fills up?”

  “Not likely. It’s sixteen gigs. But even if we did fill it up, I have my laptop along. I can download them and erase the card.”

  August slipped the strap of his camera off from around his neck and handed it to Seth.

  “I can really take as many pictures as I want?”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  They walked in silence for about ten photos.

  Then Seth asked, “How long is this hike?”

  “Two miles.”

  “Both ways?”

  “Just one way.”

  “Oh. That’s long. I mean, it’s not really, but . . . after yesterday . . .”

  “I thought we’d walk down to the end of the trail and up to the road. It lets off up at the Canyon Junction, which is a shuttle stop. You and Henry can jump the shuttle, and Woody and I’ll walk back. I’ll meet you back at the visitor center.”

  “Oh. That’s a really good idea, August.”

  “That tired?”

  “My feet hurt. I think I sort of have blisters, too.”

  “How do you sort of have blisters?”

  “Oh. Well. You don’t, I guess. I guess I just have ’em.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I figured Henry having blisters was trouble enough.”

  The minute the boys stepped on the shuttle, August fished out his cell phone and checked for reception. Surprisingly, it looked good. He started back down the trail to the visitor center, and, as he walked, he pressed the speed-dial number for Harvey, his AA sponsor in San Diego.

  Harvey picked up on the fourth ring. “So. Are you having fun yet?”

  Harvey had never been one to say hello.

  “Yes and no. It’s not going exactly the way I pictured it.”

  “One of those effing growth opportunities?”

  “Maybe not that bad.”

  Woody took off after a movement in the brush, maybe a rabbit or a squirrel, and hit the end of the leash hard. August reeled him in again.

  August filled Harvey in on the short version of his mechanical breakdown and the sudden addition of the boys. As he talked, he watched the late sun turn the western-facing rocks a deeper and deeper gold.

  “So, basically, I just have a question for you,” August said.

  Harvey said nothing. Harvey didn’t say things like, “What’s the question?” He waited. He didn’t call the men he sponsored to ask how they were doing, either. He figured August had his number and knew how to use it.

  “Do you think it’s even vaguely possible to forget how many times you’ve been in jail?”

  “Potentially. Maybe if you get up around a few dozen. You might get to the point where you’re like, ‘Was that twenty-nine or was that thirty?’ ”

  “But if you’ve been in jail four times, you wouldn’t honestly think it was twice.”

  “No. Not honestly. I mean, outside of a dementia situation. Who are we talking about here?”

  “The boys’ father.”

  “Alcohol-related offenses?”

  “Mostly.”

  “Aren’t I a good guesser?”

  “You’re amazing, Harv.”

  He tramped across a bridge. It rang with a metallic clanging sound under his footsteps, and Woody found it unnerving. August walked down the bank on the other side to let the dog drink from the river.

  “So, now that I know he lied to me, I’m starting to wonder what else I’m about to find out.”

  “Me too. Hope you’re prepared to be in this for the long haul.”

  “It’s just till the end of the summer.”

  “You hope.”

  “He only has to do ninety days.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He told me.”

  “He also told you it was his second time.”

  August stopped and stood still in the fading light. Wondered at the beauty outside him and the contrast between that and his inner landscape.

  “Why would he do that? Why ask me to take them for three months if he really needs someone to take them longer?”

  “Maybe he figured by then you’d be attached to them. Which I’m guessing you already are.”

  “You think I should call the jail and find out?”

  “I don’t know if they’ll tell you. But I think you should do as much independent verification as possible. Why’d you take ’em, anyway?”

  “You know how bad I wanted to get to Yellowstone. And why.”

  “You could’ve gone next year. Phillip wouldn’t have minded.”

  “They’re such good boys, though.”

  “Ah,” Harvey said. “Now I think we’re getting closer. Fills a hole in your life having kids around again?”

  “It’s not that. It’s nothing like that. They’re so not Phillip. Phillip was nineteen. They’re like twelve and seven.”

  “Right. Got it. I see your point. That’s so completely unlike Phillip. Because we all know Phillip never used to be twelve and seven. Anyway, what does any of this matter now? You’re in it. You’re not about to dump them now. Time will tell what you’ve gotten your—”

  Harvey may have said much more, but the cell reception faded and the call dropped. August checked a dozen times, hoping to be able to call Harvey back. But he never got another single bar of reception on the canyon floor for the rest of the week they were there. He could have called Harvey back from the pay phone, but he never did.

  “This is so different,” Seth said. They stood on the hard-packed dirt trail that formed the rim of Bryce Canyon. In a light, misting rain. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “I’m not sure there’s anything like Bryce Canyon to see.”

  “I love those . . . what do you call them again?”

  “Hoodoos.”

  “That’s a funny word.”

  “It is.”

  “Why do they call them that again?�
��

  “I don’t know. We’ll look at the brochure when we get back inside the rig.”

  “Jeez, August. I think I read it ten times while we were in there waiting for the rain to stop. I’m glad we just went ahead and came out here in the rain anyway. I mean, so we get wet. Who cares?”

  August set one hand down on Henry’s shoulder. Henry let him.

  “What about you, Henry?” August asked.

  Henry responded by ducking his head and sliding under August’s slicker. Then he unsnapped one snap and stuck his face out, holding the plastic material tightly to the sides of his head.

  “I think Henry’s not too thrilled about being wet,” August said.

  “Well, I don’t mind.”

  “I’m sorry I don’t have rain gear for you guys.”

  “That’s not your fault, August. We were supposed to bring whatever we needed. It was nice enough that you bought us socks. Besides, who knew it was going to rain? Didn’t you say it never rains this late in the year?”

  “I don’t know the statistics, exactly. But I think it’s pretty unusual.”

  “You know what they look like to me? The hoodoos? They look like pictures I’ve seen of caves. When they have those long . . . what do you call them?”

  “Stalagmites.”

  “Right. That. Except these all go up from the ground. This may sound weird. But we were at Zion so long . . . what was it, eight or nine days? I got used to it there. Like I lived there or something. Like the whole world just looked like Zion. And now it’s so weird that it looks like Bryce. I never knew all this was out here. I mean, I saw pictures in books. Like, the Grand Canyon and the Rocky Mountains. But I never saw pictures of hoodoos at Bryce. I want to take pictures of them, but I don’t want the camera to get wet.”