How to Save a Life(88)

“Why eleven?” I asked, though I was sure I knew.

“It’s how long I was under,” he said, his voice heavy. “I didn’t usually time myself, but that night I needed to.”

I closed my eyes. Eleven minutes in the black, cold water that tossed, churned, and sucked everything down deep. I couldn’t imagine how he held his breath that long, much less counted the passing seconds. The ordeal would’ve driven me mad.

I pressed my lips to the tattoo. “I timed you, too. One month, two weeks, five days and sixteen hours until you walked up the dock.” He turned in the slippery circle of my arms as the shower rained down on us. “Give or take five minutes.”

“I love you, Jo.” He hands moved slow over my skin. “I’ll love you forever. I’ll never stop.”

I nodded, biting back tears. “I love you, Evan. I never said it enough. Not once in high school and only once on the riverbank. I love you. I’ll love you forever and I’ll never stop.”

His mouth found mine again and he pressed his hard, rough body against mine

“There’s no room to move in here,” he said, his voice like a growl. “And we need to move.”

I shut off the water and we stepped out. Two steps to the bed, dripping water over the gently rocking floor, then Evan lifted me and laid me down in a tangle of warm, wet limbs and sliding skin.

Evan kissed me like I was the air he needed to breathe. I clutched him like I was the gravity keeping him close. He needed no guiding hand to find the way. His palm slid to the small of my back, lifted and pressed me into his slow, grinding thrusts. He couldn’t get deep enough. We’d never touch enough or kiss enough. But that night, we tried. Our cries rang out in the little houseboat, our home. At some wild moment, with my back arched and Evan bringing me to yet another crashing climax, I spied the dream catcher on the wall behind me. My tears mingled with the sweat of our greedy bodies and when we subsided, he lay curled around me, our limbs entwined. The houseboat swaying gently beneath us, the lake rocking us to sleep.

In sleep we dreamed. And in our dreams, we were together, still.





Two years later



Jo packs up the lunch, stuffing sandwiches, chips, fruit, and thermoses of hot coffee into two backpacks. She also slips in a little bottle of champagne and two plastic cups, a soft smile touching her lips.

Today is a celebration. After two years of intense study—fire technology classes at the Page municipal building, and EMT courses at the local hospital—I’d taken my final exams in Mesa last weekend. I’d received the results in last evening’s mail: a congratulatory letter with my test scores and an official certificate, the name Justin Hollister in bold print.

Jo—Amy Price to our friends and neighbors—howled with delight and put me in a chokehold when I handed her the papers.

“Oh my God, babe, you did it. You f*cking did it!” Her face flushed and she fanned herself with envelope as she read. “The way you went on about the test being so hard. All that pacing around, worried you wouldn’t pass. But you did…and just… Holy shit, I’m so proud of you.”

She tossed the papers aside and began stripping out of her work clothes. I laughed, even as my body responded with a sudden rush of heat through my veins. “What are you doing?”

“Are you kidding?” Jo tossed her shirt aside and threw her arms around my neck, her bra-clad breasts pressed against my chest. “Firefighters are sexy as hell.”

“I’m not a firefighter yet,” I said, striding to the bed with her in my arms.

“Close enough,” she said, kissing me softly, then deeply.

We celebrated all night. This morning, we head for the Canyon.

It’s an hour’s drive south. We know the route well: we make the trip as often as we can across the yellow and gold desert, painted with swaths of burnt orange. The skies, usually as blue as Lake Powell, are overcast and cold today. November chills have set in.

I look out the driver’s side window, to the east and the Navajo reservation. I haven’t been there yet. I don’t know if I’ll ever go. Something tells me not to. I have a new life now, this little perfect life with Jo. Maybe someday I’ll head out there and maybe the road will open before me. I’ll know just where to turn, what signs to follow, which street to take and which house to knock on the door.

Or maybe not. My old life died in the river with my old name. Cut loose from the anchor of Evan Salinger, I’m now truly free. A clean slate on which anything can be written.

Jo’s been taking classes at the community college. She was offered a chance to teach poetry with their adult continuing education program. Strictly as a volunteer, but still, she was thrilled for the chance. I snuck once into the back of a classroom to listen to her teach. She stood in front of twenty people, forty eyes glued to her face and wondering about her scar. I alone knew the bravery it took for her to let herself be seen like that and the fiercest love and pride swept through me.

Just when I though I couldn’t love her anymore, Josephine said or did something that stole my breath away. She’d waited for me. She watched me go under the black water and she waited for me to emerge. The wait nearly cracked her in two, but she held on. She believed in me. Trusted and loved me as much as I did her.

We park the truck and hike along the ridge. The Grand Canyon yawns open beneath us. The Colorado cuts through it like a small blue snake. The river seems so thin from up here, it’s hard to imagine it could have split the earth like it did to reveal this beauty.