Page 27 of Jumping In

My shoulders sag with sadness for my small town; the businesses seem to be struggling but I’m not sure why. Visitors usually flock to Oakridge to take in the fall foliage. There’s a train station nearby that offers tours through the Oakridge Canyon and that usually means more people in town. I know it’s the start of summer, but things shouldn’t look as run down as they do.

We hit the freeway just outside of town and Mac turns on the AC, fiddling with the settings. “You should bring this by the shop soon. The AC is running a little warm. Probably due for a tune-up.”

Shaking off the thoughts of town, I nod. “Yeah, sure. Let me know when you have some time.” I look over at him and he has both hands on the steering wheel, the muscles in his tanned forearms on full display. His navy-blue T-shirt and jeans have grease stains along the hem and all up the thighs, but they look nice. I guarantee most of his clothes have some kind of grease stain on them at this point. He looks nice though . . . he looks good . . . more than good. I bite my lip and turn to look out the passenger window, watching the landscape change from the tall oak trees to open fields.

A few minutes pass. Still looking out the window, I gasp in awe at the smattering of color in the fields.

“What?” Mac must’ve heard me.

“The wildflowers.” I turn to him with a grin on my face. It’s late in the season for wildflowers to be this dense anywhere; they’re usually a mid-spring spectacle and we are right at the start of summer. I’m surprised to see the open field along the highway full of yellow, red, and purple. It’s beautiful and I can’t help but pick up my phone and start taking pictures and videos as we drive by. I’m wiggling in my seat to get the best angle when I feel the Jeep slowing.

“Where are we going?” I ask Mac.

He smiles at me and shakes his head. “Just wait a second and you’ll see.” He turns off the freeway and then down a paved road, driving for a few minutes. Anxiety gnaws at me, and if this was anyone but Mac, I’d be concerned. The Jeep dips off the pavement and the tires kick up dirt all around us.

“Mac, where are wegoing?” I repeat. His smile grows larger. I’m a planner, I plan ahead. I like to know exactly where we’re going and how long it will take to get there, so this little detour Mac has taken is not jiving well with me at all. We bounce over the rough terrain, and I look out the front windshield to take in our surroundings and then whisper, “Oh, my god.”

Mac parks the car and cuts the engine, and we both get and stand in front of the Jeep, taking in the field’s beauty. “Are we allowed to be out here?” I notice the cars zooming by on the highway and can’t help but wonder if they could see us out here.

“There’re no warning signs not to trespass. No fence. I used to come out here with the guys to go mudding. I think we’re fine.” He gives me a reassuring smile. Mac turns away from me walking toward the field. I take a step to follow, but stumble on a rock. He turns and reaches his hand out. “Be careful.” I take his hand to get my footing and then drop it to pull out my phone to take pictures.

We venture into the field, and I snap photos from different angles. Squatting down to get closeups of the rarer flowers, the reds and purples especially. I know Mac is nearby, but I lose sight of him until I stand up and turn to my right. He’s standing a few paces away, looking out at the field, but the way the light is hitting him, he looks like a god of golden light. I pull my phone up and take a few pictures of him like this. He must sense me because he turns, but I don’t stop snapping photos, catching every movement he makes.

“Hey now!” he yells. “You’re out here to take pictures of the flowers.” He gestures to the wide-open field in front of us. “Last I checked, I’m no flower.” He takes a few steps toward me, putting his hand in front of his face to block out my phone. For a second, I think he’s mad, but as he gets closer, I see the smirk on his face. I’m not sure what comes over me. Maybe it’s those blue-green eyes full of mischief. Maybe it’s the wildflowers, but something deep in my gut tells me to run. Before I can think about it too much, I turn and run away from Mac.

It feels like we’re kids again, playing tag in a vast field. I look over my shoulder and let out a squeal when I see he’s picked up on my game and is right on my heels. The field is not level by any means, and running in flip-flops is difficult; I know I won’t get far from him, but maybe I don’t want to. Maybe I just wanted him to chase me.

I turn back toward the Jeep, realizing I’ve run pretty far out into the field when I feel Mac’s hands on my waist. He grabs me, pulling me into him, and we both go tumbling down into the field of wildflowers. I let out an “oof” as we hit the ground. Well, Mac hits the ground, and I land mostly on top of him. Afraid of squashing him under my not-so-tiny frame, I quickly slide off his body and lie down beside him.

“You okay?” Mac props himself up on an elbow and looks me up and down. I do the same to him, assessing for any injuries. We did not fall gracefully at all. Thinking about how silly we just looked, I giggle. Mac’s eyes fill with questions and that makes me laugh harder. He chuckles along with me and the next thing I know we’re both full on belly-laughing laying in a field full of wildflowers.

Finally, I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself as Mac does the same. I lie back, gazing up at the sky, my hands at my sides. Mac stretches out beside me, his arm brushing against mine. The familiar ghost of a touch as his pinky touches mine makes the butterflies in my stomach roar with approval. It also makes my mind reel with questions—questions I’m not ready to ask or answer just yet.

“How’s your family?” I blurt out, which effectively changes the energy surrounding us. I feel him pull his hand away, and I instantly mourn the loss of his almost-touch.

“My family is okay. Dad is in remission again, but still really weak from the last round of chemo.” I suck in a breath, remembering how sick Mr. Macdonald was during our junior year of high school. Pancreatic cancer, I think it was, but I thought he was better and in remission when I went off to college.

“What do you mean by last round? And again?”

Mac sighs. “He was in remission for a few years. You probably remember the first round of chemo back when we were still in high school.” I nod. “About a year ago, they were doing the routine scans and found that it came back. We caught it early, and he only needed a few months of chemo this time. He’s still pretty weak and honestly hasn’t been the same since we first found the cancer seven years ago.”

I take a moment to process what he’s saying. “Wait, what about the shop? Have you been working by yourself all this time?” I know Mac hasbeen working there, but running it alone? That’s a lot for just one person.

“Yeah.” He sighs. “I never told you, kind of assumed the guys would have shared, but when we first got the diagnosis, the doctors told us he’d be down for the count for a while. No heavy lifting, no strenuous exercise, no overexerting himself. Plus, the chemo made him so sick and tired. Dad tried to keep going and doing everything, but even with my help after school and on weekends, we were falling behind.”

Mac sits up and I follow suit, sitting cross-legged in front of him. He’s fiddling with some grass that he pulled up out of the ground, tearing the little limbs off into strips. I sit quietly, waiting for him to continue.

“Jake was less than reliable. Especially after he graduated and started hanging out with a dangerous crowd from Cedar Bend. Getting into drugs, partying, the works. I slowly started skipping classes to help get stuff done at the shop. Classes turned into days, days turned into weeks, and I ended up dropping out completely. I told them I’d finish, but my family needed me. Mom still hates that I did it, but it’s what had to be done.”

Tears fill my eyes, and I suck in a breath. He looks up at me and reaches across the space between us to touch my leg in reassurance. I grasp his hand and squeeze it tightly.

“Hey, it’s okay. Dad’s okay now. The shop is fine. I work a lot, but we’ve kept it afloat. I didn’t graduate with you guys, but I got my GED a few years later.” He gives me a small smile.

He’s been dealing with all ofthis on his own for so long. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask shakily.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. There was a lot going on. You were so focused on getting out of here I didn’t want you worrying about me, I guess.” I nod, but I don’t really understand it. We were best friends. I was supposed to be his person. All this time, I thought I did something. I’m not that self-absorbed to assume I caused him to drop out of school. I knew there was something bigger going on. But for him to not tell me, to not share his worries—his struggles—with me, his best friend. It hurts.

We sit in silence for a bit, both lost in our own thoughts. I look down at my phone and see that we’ve been out here for a solid thirty minutes. “We should probably get going.” I start to stand up, but Mac grabs my hand and stops me.

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