Miss Adventure (15 page)

“Oh.” I put my hands on my caboose and pat myself down. “I think I’m okay. It feels, you know,
average
.”

“Okay.” Jack nods and turns. After a few steps, he stops to anchor a rope on a tree.

“Okay, what?”

“We’re here, at the last fall.” He uses his shoulder to point to the top of the falls. “Put on your belt.”

I realize that I hear the roar of the falls, and have been hearing it for the past few minutes. I give my mind and body silent kudos for being so good at denial up until now.

I turn to look out over the falls and I see….

I see….

I see….

Nothing.

NOTHING.

This can’t be real. Every other fall today, when I looked over, I could see, well, the bottom. I rush toward the edge of the fall, stopping about five feet from NOTHING. The ground just ends. I get down on my hands and knees and crawl closer toward the edge. I still can’t see anything below. “HOW HIGH IS THIS WATERFALL?”

“Lisa.” Jack walks slowly toward me, sounding all compassionate.

“Don’t come near me!” I shout. “You’ll make me fall! Stay!”

“I’ll stay,” he says, stopping.

I crawl a little further until I’m almost at the edge, and I still can’t see the bottom of the fall.

“Jack.” I’m suddenly panting, “What’s going on? It’s like the end of the world.”

“The fall is concave,” he says. “The rock juts inward right when you go over the edge, so for the first ten feet or so, you won’t have any foothold.”

“You mean I’ll just be hanging there? In space? With water pouring down on me?”

“Yes.”

“With nothing to secure me but that little rope?”

“And the belay. I’ll be able to slow you down and stop you if you lose control and fall.”

“How far?”

“How far what?” Jack acts like he just joined the damn conversation.

“How far can I fall?”

“You’re not going to fall.”

“HOW HIGH IS THE FALL?”

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

“Jack!”

“One hundred and ten feet.”

One hundred and ten feet. Oh. With just a little rope? And no foothold? Just lowering myself, all my weight, supported by just that little rope? I can’t even climb a ladder because I’m so afraid of supporting my own weight. In
G.I. Jane
, Viggo Mortensen leaves Demi Moore and her whole crew stranded in the middle of the ocean because even she couldn’t support her own body weight enough to pull herself out of the water. And she was totally MUSCULAR.

“Lisa?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

“Um,” I say, “how do we get back to the car if, ah, I don’t jump down this waterfall?”

“We hike back out the way we hiked in.”

“How do we get back up all those waterfalls I already jumped down?”

“We climb.”

“I don’t know how to climb.”

“I’d teach you.”

“But it’s almost dark.”

“We’d camp out, tackle the hike back tomorrow.”

“But it’s cold. And it’s gonna rain. And my pets.”

“Your animals will survive for a night,” he tells me.

But how does he know?

“And I’ve got two compact Gore-Tex sleeping bags in my pack,” he adds.

I scrunch around like an inchworm to look up at him. “So you prepared for this?”

“I try to prepare for everything.”

“But you prepared for my chickening out.”

“It’s a big waterfall.”

I stand up. “Big fall, my ass. You’re not going to let anything happen to me, are you?”

“No.”

“Then let’s go,” I say, ripping off my pack to get my gear. It’s when I’m rummaging around that I notice I’m crying.

“You’ll need to put everything in the dry pack,” Jack says quietly.

“I know!”

Other than that, he lets me cry as I get ready. And why shouldn’t he? I mean, this is SCARY. I’ll be controlling the descent of my own body weight one hundred and ten feet above the bottom.

Finally, I’m set. I wipe my eyes. We step into the water at the top of the falls. The rope is taut, keeping me from going over. I put my hand on the hook at my waist so I can control my descent. I back toward the edge. I back up. I back up. I stop.

Jack, who stands in the water facing me, doesn’t say anything.

“Jack,” I say. “Maybe you should go first. I can belay you.”

“I can self-belay,” he says calmly. “One more step and you’re over the edge.”

Over the edge
.

“Come on,” he coaxes. “One more step.”

I try to laugh. “This isn’t exactly the moon landing, you know.”

Jack looks straight into my eyes. “Lisa, I know it’s scary. The first step into nothingness is terrifying. It’s okay. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

I’m not going to let anything happen to you
.

For a second, I can breathe. I think I want to marry Jack, and just stay lost in those safe blue eyes forever.

“Let’s face it,” he laughs when I still don’t move, “if I let anything happen to you, your parents’d probably sue me for everything I’m worth. They’d destroy Into the Wild, and probably even go after Hawkins United.”

“My PARENTS? How could you bring them up at a time like this?”

“Lisa,” Jack says, spearing me with a look. “Your parents don’t think you can do this. In fact, they would laugh their hea—”

I jump. Without a word, I go backwards over the cliff.

As I leap into nothing, I swing into the rushing water, but no matter how I kick out in front of me, there’s nothing there to brace myself on. Nothing, nothing, nothing! NOTHING! AND I’M JUST, I’M JUST, JUST, JUST—

I’m just swinging back and forth, gasping for breath as the cold water pelts me. I look down at my waist. Every few seconds as I swing out of the rush of water, I see the hook at my waist. When I jumped back, I must have automatically locked in that hook, stopping my descent after a few feet.

Oh, my God. I’m swinging like a big, fat, padded pendulum. Nothing holding me but the skinny rope. Nothing under me but—

NO.

Above me. Above me. I’ll think about
above
me. I’ll even look above me.

I look up, and through the gush of water in my face, every few seconds I think I see Jack a few feet above me, giving me a thumbs up.

“All right!” I think he shouts and laughs. “Way to go, Lisa!”

That makes me laugh. Then I let out a whoop of joy. I did it! I went over the edge! I finger the hook at my waist, then release the catch.“Wooooo-hooooooooooo!”

I go down and down and down, splashing in and out of the fall as I go go go.

“Wooooooo!”

I pull up, and just look all around. The mountains unfold before me, spreading out green-grey in the mist. I feel like an intruder in a secret primeval forest. It’s so raw and vital, this cold forest, hidden away from everyone except the most intrepid. Into the wild. Maybe I understand, a little bit, what makes Jack do what he does.

I’m about half way down to the pool at the bottom, and I know I’ve done something amazing. From here on down, my descent will be nothing short of paradise. But I cannot give this up yet. I dangle, my mouth open and my heart hurting with all the beauty.

After what seems like an eternity, I slowly lower myself into the bath at the bottom. I signal up to Jack that it’s his turn, then I get out of the way so he doesn’t land on me.

My stomach seizes up when I watch Jack go over the falls, but he’s okay. As he starts to rappel his way down, my heart jumps into my throat. I know he’s Jack Hawkins, and all, but he’s up so high. On that skinny rope.

I can’t watch, so I swim around the pool until Jack is closer to the bottom. I hope he doesn’t take as long as I did gaping at all the nature. I mean, Jack sees stuff like this all the time.

Finally, Jack is lowering himself into the pool and I can breathe. But I don’t go near him, feeling suddenly ridiculous for having been so worried. I hover in the shallows near the wall of rock as Jack unhooks himself.

Jack swims toward me and raises a brow. “Well?” I think I see him say, but it’s hard to hear at the bottom of a waterfall.

I can’t keep my face from breaking into the hugest smile ever. “I really did it!” I shout above the splash of water. “Just like you.”

Jack gets his feet under him as the water becomes shallower. “Yeah,” he says, still heading toward me. “You did.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Thank—”

But Jack doesn’t hold up as he gets closer. I take a step back. “Ja—”

He sweeps into me with a kiss that takes hold of my entire body. The instant he’s on me, I kiss him back. He’s cold and wet and so feral I want more. More and more of Jack Jack Jack.

He unzips my wetsuit, peeling it off as he goes down on his knees. Before I know it, his face is at my—

And he’s taking off my—

And his mouth is on my— “Jack!” I dig my fingers into his shoulders, wishing I could—

He stands up, pushing down his—

Oh, YES! I
love
this part.

What am I supposed to do?

The doorbell rings again. I can’t just get off the ladder and abandon the trim. The wooden strip has only one nail holding it so far, and if I let go now, it’ll shift and scratch the new paint.

The doorbell rings a third time. I don’t have to answer my door if I don’t want to.

Finally, all the ringing and barking stops. But I hear something else. A muffled voice. “She has to be in here somewhere.” Heels tapping across the floor. “Lisa!” she calls. “It’s Dolly.” And she’s got someone with her.

I focus on the trim.

“Oh,” Dolly says from the doorway. “Here you are.”

I don’t look over my shoulder to where she stands. “Hey, Dolly.” I bang in another nail.

“Lisa!”

The grating voice hits me like a shot, jerking me nearly off the ladder.

“Lisa, what are you
doing
?” she brays.

I right myself and turn to see Mags standing with her hands jammed onto her hips. Mags. Mags is in my house. Mags is in my house.

I take a few short, measured breaths. “Dolly?” I say, turning from Mags.

“I saw this pretty young thing on the porch,” Dolly explains. “I knew you must be in here working, and when she told me she was your sister! Well, I have to get to brunch now. Love ya!” Blowing me a kiss, she scoots off, leaving Mags in my house.

“Jesus, Lisa, how long have you lived here? And you still don’t have any furniture?”

* * * * *

A little while later, I slide a freshly brewed cup of coffee across the counter to Mags. I’m unclear about how much time has passed since Dolly left because I cannot recall how I got from the bedroom to the kitchen with Mags in tow. All I remember is seeing the world through a dotty, darkening haze as I muttered, “Redrum, redrum, redrum” over and over.

I take a seat on a kitchen stool and with a gesture, invite Mags to sit on the other one. These stools are the only pieces of furniture I’ve brought back in the house since painting, for the sole purpose of providing me and Mia with somewhere to sit when we stop working long enough to eat.

I feel like a traitor letting Mags sit there.

She cups her hands around her mug and looks around. “All those millions and this is where you live? In a crappy house in the Valley?” She sighs and shakes her head.

I sit there looking at her, wondering what to do. Should I simply play it cool until she leaves? After all, she can’t possibly stay for long in such a déclassé house that doesn’t even have the gumption to be retro. Or should I grab her by the collar and physically throw her out?

Suddenly, I wish Jack had given me at least one bouncer adventure. Jack. I would so rather be parachuting into tar pits with him than sitting here with Mags. But I haven’t heard from him for days. It’s as if he needs serious detox time after the sex under the waterfall.

“How did you find this house?” I am woefully unable to keep the edge out of my voice.

“Like it was hard,” she snorts. “Please, Lisa. You’re old news. You don’t have to hide from the Media anymore, because nobody is looking.”

“You obviously are.”

“That’s different. I’m your
sister
.”

“Whatever
that
means.”

“It means,” she drones, “that I’m not after a story.” She yips out a little bark of laughter. “Ha! There
is
no story anymore. Not since you woke up.”

“Then what
are
you after?”
You already have your cut of the ten million bucks
.

She curves her lips into a sweet smile as she crinkles her eyes a la Alicia Silverstone. “I’m here to help you.”

Uh-oh. Mags is pretending she’s a Nice Person.

“It’s about your wedding present,” she says, nudging at me with the conversation, trying to get me to pick it up. Seriously, she’s like a dog trying to get me to play fetch, but not at all as lovable.

“You got me a wedding present?” I chirp. “Thanks. I didn’t even get married.”

Mags takes a deep breath, then bats her lashes. Method faker, that Mags. “Look,” she coos, opening her purse and spreading some internet printouts on the counter. “These are my registry pages and I came over to help you pick out some nice gifts for me. The things I really want from what’s left on the lists.”

“I already got you something.”

I know I told Jack I wanted to sever ties with my family completely, but sentimentality or compassion or nostalgia or something got hold of me and shook me until I turned stupid. “It’s up here.” I climb onto the counter and reach into one of the highest cupboards.

I actually wrapped the thing and stored it for safekeeping. I didn’t pack it into the garage with everything else because I was so pleased with it that I didn’t want to risk damaging it.

“Here,” I say, handing Maggie a box about the size of See’s Candy Sampler. “Happy…uh…wedding.”

She slides off the wrapping without reading the card. I wrote, “To Maggie from Lisa.”

“A picture,” she says, staring down at it.

“Remember how we used to play Bride when Mom would take down all the curtains to wash?”

“I remember.” She stares at the framed snapshot of four year-old Magnolia and nine year-old Lisa swathed in the gauzy sheer panels taken from the dining room windows. “My actual wedding dress looked nothing like this,” she says dully.

“Hmmm.”

“Is that why you got this?” she demands. “To make me feel guilty for getting married in Italy without you?”

“What?” I squawk. “I didn’t
get
it. I made it. I made it to…to…” I can feel hot tears throb behind my eyes. “To remember that…we used to get along. We used to… things used to be different. I thought it would be something nice to remember.”

She puts the picture back in its box and slams the lid on. “Lisa, this is just like you. You
have
to be different. You
have
to be weird. You can’t get something from the registry because it’s what everyone else is doing.”

“What are you talking about? I thought this picture—”

“You’re just so weird, Lisa.” She pronounces this with disgust. “Skipping through life, not giving a damn what anyone else thinks.”

“
So
?”

“Don’t
we
matter at all? Your
family
? You’re always making us wonder what insane, embarrassing thing you’ll do next. Your goofy clothes and dumb hair. Sawing away at that stupid viola and driving us all crazy. Who ever even heard of a
viola
? God!”

“Mags—”

“You got to be this total joke between me and Mom. For your birthdays and Christmas, we would buy the ugliest, weirdest clothes for you we could find, just to see if you’d wear them. And you always did! You didn’t care! Do you know how embarrassing it was growing up with Napoleon Dynamite for my sister?”

“Napoleon Dynamite didn’t even
exist
when we were kids!” I scream at her. “I can’t believe you bought me those stupid clothes on purpose! Mags, I wore them because they were
gifts
. The one time I returned that purple mini skirt with the fringe, Mom
cried
.”

Mags gives a giddy laugh. “That’s right,” she says, remembering. “She was
good
.”

“I can’t believe it!” I cry. “My whole life you’ve conspired to make me look ridiculous. And you did it
again
. When I was in a coma!” My heart slams into my breastbone. “With that awful story. You made me look terrible on the cover on purpose.”

“That cover made you famous.”

“For being pathetic.
Why
? Why did you all do that to me? Were you that afraid your plan to swindle me might not work?”

Mags storms dramatically across the kitchen, as if shocked, wounded. Then she spins. “Lisa, we deserve that money. You were out of it. We were the ones who were awake, who had to deal with everything. We’re the ones who
suffered
.”

“You couldn’t have discussed this with me?”

“You mean you wanted us all to come crawling and
ask
you for the money. Money that was rightfully
ours
.”

“If it was so rightful, Burger Barn would have given it to you in the first place. Or the courts would have. Or I would have. You didn’t have to swindle me. My own family.”

“What do you want, Lisa? The money? Will that make you happy?” Mags gestures at the empty room. “You have no clue what to do with the money you have.”

I snuffle for a few seconds. “I w-w-want…I w-want….”

“You don’t know
what
you want,” Mags says. “But I’ll tell you what you need. You need to find a man.”

I blink. “A man?”

“You're the older sister," she sneers, "and you're still alone.” She looks around the kitchen. “It breaks my heart to see that you've given up.”

“Given up
what
?”

“Lisa, look at your life. You bought a house. You're fixing it up, furnishing it, I hope.” She looks at me with puppy dog eyes. “All when you're not married.”

I stare at her, wondering what planet she comes from.

She shakes her head. “You can't expect me to believe that you're happy living alone in some dumpy house in the Valley.” Her voice hisses with such desperate insistence you’d think she was doing a crack intervention. “It's like telling the world that you've accepted that you're going to be alone forever.” She shakes her head again. “You need to find someone. I know it didn’t work out with Keith, but you can find someone if you
try
. Then maybe you can stop blaming your family for every little thing.”

“Like stealing four million dollars from me?”

“Lisa….”

“Mags,” I say, “take your picture, and get out of my house. Now.”

“Lisa….”

“NOW.”

Mags crosses her arms and lifts her chin. She’s not budging until she’s good and ready.

Great.

I can jump out of planes and swim with sharks, but I cannot get my own bitch-face sister out of my kitchen.

All the air gushes out of me and my shoulders slump. I’m not Jack or Edgar or Mr. Bennet or even Ethel. The force of my personality is not enough to expel my sister.

“All right, Mags,” I finally say. “You want to stay in my kitchen? Fine.”

I walk back to the bedroom to resume work on the wood trim. I’m juiced with bitter anger and my eyes tear up, but I get to work and hammer away.

I could’ve told Mags there was no way that “finding a man” would ever be on my list of Things To Do. But what would be the point? The woman takes umbrage at the existence of the viola, and I’m supposed to talk to her as if she’s capable of processing a rational thought?

We don’t live in the same worlds. But at least I don’t go barging into her world just to belittle everything I see and hear.

Mean Mags! Mean Mags! Mean Mags!

I just get done hammering in another nail when I hear the front door slam shut. Mags is gone. I feel like someone finally cut the current to the electrodes spiked into my gut.

Mags is gone. I bet she didn’t even take the picture.

My cell phone rings. “Hello?” I say it like a generic question, all casual-like, even though I know it’s Jack.

He pauses then says, “Are you okay?”

Oh, God. A one word greeting and he can tell I’m about to cry. I don’t answer him for a sec, not trusting my voice.

“Lisa?”

Swallow. “What’s up?” Too desperately chipper. Damn.

Another pause. “Can you test tomorrow?”

“What time?”

“Ten.”

“Ok-kay.” Damn! My voice
cracked
.

“Lisa, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m definitely okay.”

But then I start crying. I don’t say anything more because I really don’t want to sob into the phone
Mags was mean to me
!

Jack told me to take a stand with my family but here I am, dissolving into a pathetic dishrag. I have to get a grip.

“Thanks for calling Jack. I’m really glad you called.” But I tumble back into crying by the word “called.”

“Lisa…”

“Gotta go,” I say quickly. “See ya tomorrow.”

I hang up and snuffle my way back to the kitchen to find some ice cream.

* * * * *

Can’t test today. Sorry.

From: Jack

9:27 am

I blink at my phone.

Jack texted me. He TEXTED me.

He's NEVER texted me before. Are we BFF's now, and nobody told me? As if.

He’s canceling on me, and he doesn’t have the balls to tell me himself. I punch in his speed dial. No answer.

I punch it in again. No answer.

Damn! This is because of that STUPID phone call. Why did I have to cry? And then
thank
him for calling? He must so think I was crying from sheer relief that he finally called me after our last bout of sex. He thinks I was crying over
him
. I knew I should have called him back to explain. I
knew
it!

Still no answer!

* * * * *

Ten hours since the text. Still no answer.

I know he went testing without me.

WITHOUT ME.

He must have. Jack wouldn’t just do nothing all day. And even if he didn’t test without me, which I’m sure he did, he still just plain cancelled on me. Where does he get off treating me this way?

I look out the kitchen window to watch the encroaching night get darker. He’s bound to be back by now, fiddling with his gear.

I grab my keys and bolt out the door. Fifteen minutes later, I turn onto Jack’s street. The pick-up is in the drive. I park and slam myself out of Dalton.

I’m so mad I feel righteous anger throb through my thighs with every step I take. I’m so glad I'm wearing my black booty shoes with the scrap of heel. They sound much more impressive than sneakers or Sketchers would. But Jack’s driveway is far too short and my satisfying
clickety
-strides end way too soon.

I ring the doorbell and wait. Where the hell was he all day? And how dare he force me into the role of a shrew, demanding to know where he was?

How DARE he. If he wants to end our deal, he can TELL ME TO MY FACE.

The door swings open.

“Jack.”

He hasn’t even turned on a porch or foyer light, but I can see him from the glow of streetlights. Just one look at him tells me I have to switch gears.