Will McIntosh - Hitchers

What could I do if I got back into my body that Grandpa wasn’t already doing? Could I slide the chains up the post, try to rise above the water? I doubted it—the chains were wound tight.

Someone called my name. I thought it was Kayleigh, beckoning me back. But it had come from the beach.

Grandpa twisted to look toward the beach.

Summer was wading toward us, her arms raised out of the water.

“Help me,” Grandpa called. “For God’s sake, help me.”

Summer paused, lifted a phone to her ear. She was calling 911. When she finished she rushed out the last twenty yards.

“You stupid ass. What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Grandpa shouted over the crashing waves. “It was that idiot Finn.”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Summer said. She examined the chains pressed to the post, then grasped the lock and tugged at it. “Where’s the key?” A wave broke over her shoulders; she clung to the chains to keep from being knocked backward.

Grandpa motioned toward the water with his chin. “He tossed it. »

“Oh, that’s just great.” She swiped wet hair out of her eyes.

The howl of a siren rose in the distance. Summer looked toward the sound. “Hang on. I’ll be right back.”

The siren grew louder.

“Thank goodness your friend there isn’t as stupid as you,” Grandpa said. He laughed. “You’re not so bright. Next time don’t tell your girlfriend where you’re going to bury the body before you’ve even bought the shovel.”

Soon Summer was back, leading three fire fighters in big rubber boots. One of them had an ax. Shouting to each other, they waded out.

“You okay?” one of them asked. She was a big woman with acne-scarred cheeks.

Grandpa said he was. The firewoman signaled her buddy with the ax, then took a step back. I heard the ax hit the post, then the chains loosened all at once, sagging around my waist. The fire fighters lifted Grandpa, carried him to the beach where two EMS workers were waiting with a stretcher and blankets.

“I’m fine. Just put me down.” Grandpa struggled to rise as the fire fighters set him on the stretcher.

“Look at his hands,” one of the EMS guys said, holding the blankets up like a shield and backing away.

“Oh, shit,” the lead firewoman said, jerking her hands away as if Grandpa was scalding hot. She looked at Summer. “What the hell is going on?”

“Why the hell are you asking her?” Grandpa asked, sitting upright. “Give me a blanket, will you? I’m freezing to death.”

The firewoman kept her eyes on Summer.

“This is Thomas Darby,” Summer said, gesturing toward Grandpa. “He’s pushing his grandson, Finn Darby, out of his body.”

“The cartoonist?” one of the EMS workers interrupted.

“Yes, the cartoonist. Evidently Finn decided if he couldn’t keep his body, his grandfather wasn’t going to have it either.”

Everyone just stared.

“Somebody give me a blanket,” Grandpa said.

“For God’s sake, give him a blanket. He’s not going to bite.” Summer yanked the blankets out of the EMS worker’s hands, draped one over Grandpa’s shoulders, dropped the other across his lap.

Clutching the blanket around his shoulders, Grandpa stood. “Well, I’m going home.”

The emergency workers looked at each other, uncertain. Clearly they didn’t relish rushing a hitcher to the hospital.

“What’s to stop him from going right back out there?” the firewoman asked Summer.

Summer looked at the sand. “I don’t think he’s in there any more.”

“You don’t think who is in there?” one of the men asked warily.

“Finn Darby.”

From the look on his face, the guy who’d asked the question was still confused.

“You’ll make sure this one gets home okay?” the firewoman asked.

Summer nodded. She took Grandpa by the elbow.

The ride home in the Maserati was awkward. Summer and Grandpa didn’t have much to talk about. Not that I could concentrate on what they were doing. It took all of my energy just to stay in my body, like trying to hold a long series of numbers in my head while clinging to a windowsill.

Mick had been half an hour behind Summer, who lived further south and hadn’t wanted to wait for Mick. He’d turned around when Summer called with the news, and now he was ahead of us.

We were nearly home when Lorena took over. Her hands made for a jerky ride, but she managed.

“This is so messed up,” she said. “I died and left you here alone. Now I’m coming back and you’re—”

Barely hanging on. It was becoming excruciating. If I could hang on long enough, surely I would eventually get flipped back into the driver’s seat.

“Are you even there?” Lorena asked. “I’m so afraid you’ve already left me.”

“Oh, he’s still there,” Grandpa said.

Lorena glanced over at him. “How would you know that?”

Grandpa opened the glove compartment and retrieved a pack of cigarettes he’d stashed there. He engaged the car lighter, took his time unwrapping the cellophane and peeling back the silver foil. Lorena kept glancing over at him, waiting for an answer.

“When all this is sorted out, you’re the one who’s going to be around for me to sue,” Grandpa finally said.

“How do you know——”

“Because you can feel it,” Grandpa interrupted. “I felt him go when we were in the water, and I felt him come back. I know just what it feels like because he did it once before, only then I didn’t realize what it was.” He lit the cigarette with palsied hands, then muttered, “If I’d known what it was I wouldn’t have gone back for a piss, and I’d be done with him.” He exhaled a plume of smoke through his nose, pointed through the windshield at the turn up ahead. “Drop me at my house.”

“The hell I will. I’m going to Mick’s. If you don’t want to be there you can walk home.”

Grandpa glared at her. “We’re in the same situation, you and me. From what I can see the little miss you’re crowding out doesn’t like it any better than Finn, and I don’t have any more choice than you.”

“I didn’t burn down her apartment. I didn’t try to bankrupt her.”

“She didn’t steal—” Grandpa paused, because the shift back to me had started. I cried out with relief as I came back into my body.

“Get me to Aunt Julia’s house,” I said to Lorena. “Fast. Like my life depends on it.”

Mom answered the door. She held it partway closed, looking ragged and depressed, as I stood in the rain.

“I have to see Grandma,” I said.

“Who has to see her?”

I held my hands in front of her face. “It’s Finn. If it was Grandpa my hands would be shaking.”

“Oh God, Finn, I’m sorry.” She let the door swing open and called to Grandma.

For once Grandma didn’t even pretend to be happy to see me. She sat on the edge of Aunt Julia’s sofa while Mom took the love seat. That left an uncomfortable antique wooden chair for me.

I looked at Grandma; she looked at her hands. “I need to ask you something, and I need you to tell me the truth.”

Grandma didn’t respond; no nervous laughter, no offer of a cup of tea. Her wrinkled fingers worked furiously, as if she were darning invisible socks.

“I talked to Kayleigh,” I said.

Grandma’s fingers froze. She lifted her eyes and looked at me as Mom started to cry.

“God, leave Kayleigh out of this,” Mom said.

“She said she wasn’t alone on the pier that night,” I said, speaking over Mom.

Grandma put her palm over her mouth, shook her head. “I don’t know what—”