Elin Hilderbrand - The Love Season

Action heard a noise coming from the grass nearby. Even after eight weeks in the thick woods of all-but-forgotten West Virginia, Action was still freaked out by the wildlife-the bullfrogs, the owls, the bats, the mosquitoes. Action had grown up on Bleecker Street; her experience with wildlife had been limited to the freaks she’d seen on Christopher Street and in Alphabet City. The noise in the grass sounded suspiciously like a bullfrog. It made a buzzing, thrumming sound at regular intervals. Action shined her flashlight in the frog’s direction; if she kept her eye on it, it wouldn’t land on her -plop!- wet and slimy. She was wearing jeans and running shoes. She could step on it or nudge it away. The noise persisted. Action climbed down off the steps and hunted through the grass for the frog.

Her flashlight caught a glint of something silver. What was this? Action bent down, peering at the thing that was making the noise as if it were as unlikely as a moonstone. Ha! She snapped it up, triumphant. It was a cell phone, the ringer set to vibrate.

Eight weeks ago, discovering a cell phone in the grass would have made Action livid. Cell phones-and all other treasures from the world of IT-were strictly verboten at Camp Stoneface. Action and her fellow counselors took great joy in stripping campers of their cell phones, Game Boys, iPods, and laptops. But now, in the third week of August, discovering a cell phone in the grass, at night, while she was alone, was like a sign from the Virgin Mary herself. Action was supposed to call somebody.

She flipped the phone open. It was a Nokia, sleek and cool in her palm. And-would wonders never cease?-she got a signal.

Action felt a flash of guilt. Hypocrite! she screamed at herself in her mind. She hadn’t even let twelve-year-old Tanya, who was the youngest and best-behaved child at the camp, call her mother on her mother’s fortieth birthday. However, Action’s presiding sentiment was that enough was enough and she had had enough of West Virginia unplugged. If she had to sing “Take Me Home, Country Roads,” one more time, she would have a Tourette’s-like outburst. “ Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River .” No, sorry.

One call , she thought. I’ll only make one call . The call should rightly go to her brother, Major. Action received a letter from him every single day, written out in Miss Engel’s neat block script. He wrote about how he went to Strawberry Fields, ate ice cream, watched some kid fly a kite that looked like a parrot. It was hot, he wanted to go on vacation to the ocean the way they did when Action was at home, but Mom had work and Dad had work. I miss you, Action. I love you miss you love you . He always signed his own name, and this was what hurt Action the worst. His name in wobbly capitals, a smiley face drawn into the O . Action had never gone eight weeks without seeing him, and what she missed the most was him needing her. Of course, she had twelve needy cases evading sleep inside the cabin, but it wasn’t the same.

Action should have called Major-woken him up if he was asleep-but she didn’t. She’d had a Doomsday instinct about Renata all day long in the front of her mind. Action was worried that something terrible had happened-she’d gotten hurt, or she died. The girl never looked both ways before she crossed the street; she was constantly getting her foot stuck in the gap between the subway car and the station platform; in nearly every way, Renata Knox acted like a person who didn’t have a mother. However, that was one of many things that Action loved about her. Renata was her best friend, the sister she never had; she was special. Their friendship couldn’t be explained any easier than one could explain peanut butter and jelly. Why? Just because.

Action dialed Renata’s cell phone number, praying she wasn’t sleeping over at Watch Boy’s new apartment on Seventy-third Street. The phone rang. Action stepped away from her cabin and closer to the bordering woods, despite the hoots of owls. She didn’t want her girls to hear. The phone rang four, five, six times; then Renata’s voice mail picked up. Hi! You’ve reached the voice mail of Renata Knox . Action grinned stupidly. Voice mail was still the old girl’s voice, which Action hadn’t heard in eight weeks. I can’t answer my phone right now-

Because I’m being held up at gunpoint , Action thought. But suddenly that didn’t feel right. Because I’m cuddling up with Watch Boy . Yep, that was probably more like it.

Action cleared her throat; then after the beep, she whispered, “Hi, it’s me.” Action had never had a friend whom she could say those three words to. Before she met Renata, Action had never imagined having a Hi, it’s me , friend; she never realized how important it was-to be recognized by another person, known instinctively, whether she was calling from down the street or the Tibetan Himalayas, whether she was calling from the woods of West Virginia or the D train. Action hoped that for the rest of their lives they would be each other’s Hi, it’s me . “I found a cell phone in the grass and I decided to break the first commandment of Camp Stoneface and call. I’ve been thinking of you all day. I hope you’re all right. I have a funny vibe, like something is happening. Maybe you joined the circus today, maybe you found religion, but something is happening; I can feel it. Don’t call me back. I’m about to turn this phone over to the authorities where it rightly belongs. So…write me a letter. Tell me you’re all right. I’ll be wait-” Action was cut off by the second beep. Renata always accused her of leaving the world’s longest messages. Action thought to call back, to finish, but she had promised herself only one phone call.

I love you , she thought. Love you like rocks .

10:10 P.M.

In Room 477 of the Trauma Unit of Massachusetts General Hospital, Sallie Myers opened her eyes.

Ohhhkay , she thought. Very strange .

She registered hospital , herself pinned to a bed, stuck in both arms and attached to machines that blinked and beeped; she noted a white curtain to her right, shielding her from someone else, or someone else from her. She tried not to panic, though she had no idea why she might be in a hospital. Think back , she told herself. Slowly. Carefully . But there was nothing.

She was afraid to move; she was afraid she would try and find herself unable. So she remained still, except for her eyes, which roamed the room, and thus it was that she discovered a figure huddled in a chair off to the left, at the edge of her field of vision. She turned her head. Her neck was stiff, but it worked. It was … Miles in the chair. He was asleep, snoring.

Ohhhhhkay , she thought. What did she do to deserve waking up in a hospital room with Miles? Miles, Miles. She was still drawing a blank.

A minute passed, or maybe not a full minute but fifty or sixty beeps of the machine, which might have been counting the beats of her heart. Her heart was beating. Sallie figured she might as well try her arms. She turned her wrist. The right one moved just fine, but her left side felt fuzzy and not quite attached, like it was a prosthetic arm. Sallie gazed down. It was her arm. She touched it with her right hand. She could feel her own touch but she couldn’t make the arm move.

At that second, some people walked in. There was a gasp from one of the people-a woman, Sallie’s mother. Sallie’s father followed right behind, and then a dark person, who towered over Sallie’s parents like they were little children. Pierre. Pierre was here? Sallie couldn’t recall ever seeing Pierre anywhere but at the bar.