“Oh, duh, of course. My apologies,” I reply, glad we can joke about this kind of thing. “Wait, there!” I say, pointing to an ivy crawling up a tree trunk on the river side of the trail.
“Where? I don't see it,” Nate replies, craning his neck.
“There!” I repeat, walking off the trail and into the underbrush.
“Brynn, be careful! And I don't think that's poison ivy, anyway.”
“No, really! See, it's red—” I break off as I feel the ground beneath me give way. What I thought was solid earth was just an overhang of vegetation. My stomach flies into my throat as I begin to fall, the horizon instantly becoming a blur. I gasp and turn, frantically grabbing onto the dirt and branches nearby.
“Brynn!” Nate yells, and dives into the brush after me. I feel him grab my hand as I struggle to find a foothold on the steep hill beneath me. My feet frantically search for support and I begin to panic. “It's OK, it's OK, I've got you,” Nate says. The steadiness in his voice causes me to look up at him. He's looking back down at me, his eyes sure and calm. I take a deep breath and reach my other hand up. He grabs it and begins to pull me up. “Under your right foot, there's a rock,” he says, peering over the edge. “Don't look down, just feel for it. Just an inch to your left. Keep looking at me.”
The expression in his eyes arrests me, and I still for a moment, then slowly begin to move my foot to the left. There. I feel my sneaker knock against it, and move my foot up and onto it.
“OK, now just push off and I'll pull you up. One, two, three!” I shove my foot down and he kneels and pulls me up and back onto him. I land squarely on top of him, shaking with fear and adrenaline. I feel his arms reach around me and squeeze, almost pressing the last of the air out of me.
“Fuck, Brynn,” he whispers in my ear.
“Are you OK?” I reply, realizing he's landed on his back.
“Am I OK? Are you?” he says, sounding shocked.
“Um, I think so, though it's hard to tell right now.”
“Oh, sorry. Here, stand up,” he says, and I lean to the side of him. He jumps up then offers me both hands. I take them and stand, wincing as I put weight on my right foot. “What's wrong?”
“My ankle, I think.”
“Let's get back on the trail where I can look at it.” He takes my arm and wraps it around his shoulder. I feel his arm around my waist and I'm practically lifted off my feet as he walks me back onto the trail. He guides me down to a seated position and I lean back on my hands as he gently picks up my right foot. “It's a little swollen,” he observes, “but I don't think it's broken—probably a bad sprain. Think you're OK to walk back if I help you?”
“Yeah, I'll be fine,” I assure him. He helps me stand up and puts my arm around his shoulders. I take a deep breath as we take our awkward first steps back toward the boathouse, and I realize I'm in for a full hour of being pressed up against him. “You're really sweaty, you know that?” I say with a smile.
“Hey, you better be careful or I might lose my grip,” he replies.
“How high up was I?”
“Probably best not to think about it.”
“That's pretty high.”
“Well, I'm glad you're alright…mostly.”
I don't know if it's the scare from almost falling, or if we're both just tired, but the slow walk back takes place in almost silence. I wish I could think of something to say to break the tension, but having his shirtless body pressed up against me is too much. I can feel our sweat mingling together and our breath syncing along with the rhythm of our footsteps. As we finally sight the parking lot, he stops and moves in front of me, then bends over, looking back at me expectantly. I laugh and lift my bad leg up onto him, and then jump up as he hoists me the rest of the way. He walks with me on his back until we reach the car, then deposits me right next to the passenger side door.
As he jogs around to the driver's side, I turn to look around the parking lot. There are still only a few cars here, and in the corner is a blue sedan with a woman wearing sunglasses behind the wheel. I stare at her for a moment, because with her blonde hair, I thought for a moment that she was my mom. As we make eye contact she quickly looks away, and I hear the car start after a moment. Maybe she was just staring at Nate like the other women we encountered today. Or maybe she's a reporter…Pierce warned the family that there could still be a few hanging around.
“Are you OK to get in by yourself?” Nate asks, rolling down the window.
“Oh, yeah, sorry,” I reply, snapping back to attention. I open the door and use my left leg to hop into the elevated seat.
“Everything alright?” he asks.
“Yeah, it's fine.”
When we arrive back at the house, Nate basket-carries me straight from the car into the kitchen, gently setting me down on a chair in the breakfast nook. He kneels in front of me and unlaces my shoe, then slips it off and peels my sock off.
“Can you wiggle your toes?” I move them back and forth. “And now really slowly move your whole foot around.” I wince as I circle it and pain shoots up through my leg. “I broke my ankle playing lacrosse my junior year, and I don't think that's what this is. Let's ice and wrap it and see how it is tomorrow, or Monday. If it's still bad, I'll take you to the doctor.”
“You know how to wrap it?”
“Hey, when it's not my own hand, I'm pretty good at it.” I watch him take down that same first aid kit from the cabinet and set it down on the floor as he kneels in front of me again. He carefully wraps athletic tape around my ankle and then around the middle of my foot, hooking it around and around until my ankle is firmly stabilized. “OK, let's get you into the den so we can ice it.”
I begin to stand but he bends over and scoops me up again, carrying me through the hallways to the cozy den. He sets me down on the couch and then disappears. I grab a pillow and set it behind my back as I stretch my legs out, marveling at the sudden appearance of Nate's caretaker instincts. He reappears with a Ziploc bag of crushed ice and a glass of water, setting the latter down on the table next to me before lowering the ice down onto my ankle. I shiver as he places it down, and he pulls the throw down from the back of the couch. He grabs one end and unfolds it, then sits on the edge of the couch next to me to lay it over me, tucking the corners in around my body.
I become very aware of my own breathing as he moves over me. I watch his hands as they take the edge of the blanket and tuck it around my shoulders. His right hand moves slowly from the blanket onto the exposed skin of my neck. I hold my breath as he lightly runs his fingertips up onto my jaw, then over to my chin. With his thumb and forefinger, he gently tilts my head up until I look at him. He's staring at my mouth, and only pauses for a moment before he bends down.