Page 3 of Free Heart
“Because you’re going to need to stay the night,” Lowell says. “I don’t think you’ll want to drive two hours back tonight, and then go over again in the morning.”
“Oh.”
“If it turns out you have to stay more than the night—which is likely—someone can bring you clothes.”
“Okay.” I feel like Lowell is living on another planet where logistics are important. It’s wild.
I’mliving on the planet where the man I love is injured on a thousand-foot ledge and I don’t know if he’s going to live or die. I want to ask Lowell if he knows, if he has more information than he’s shared. Maybe he’s an actual archangel and he does. “Is he going to be all right?”
Lowell looks at me sharply. “No way to say for sure. If he’s got a head injury…” He clucks his tongue and glares out over the meadow toward El Cap. “If he doesn’t, then gotta hope for no spinal cord or internal injuries after that. If all that’s clear? Well, then I’d say chances are decent for him to be ‘all right,’ whatever that means to a man these days.”
Then he turns on his heel and starts out over the meadow toward the line of parked cars. The lookie-loos are out in force, and the media is yammering on about an injured free soloist being rescued from the wall.
After I’ve retrieved my backpack from the trunk of the car with the not-exactly-clean-but-not-really-dirty clothes from when I spent the night in Dan’s van before we moved into Peggy Jo’s place, I let Lowell lead me a bit further down the line of parked cars.
I see a pack of climbers off to the side, including the girl who originally explained free soloing to me back at Papa Bear months ago. She and her friends all look tense and miserable. One guy, though—fuck him—is giving an interview to some news reporter, and I hear him say, “Dan’s always been into extremes. It was just a matter of time before something like this happened.”
I nearly swerve to give him a piece of my fist because I was raised in West Virginia, and you don’t talk shit about a man while he’s down, especially not when you don’t even know him. And Iknowthis asshole doesn’t know Dan outside of being able to recognize him in a line-up.
“Ignore him,” Lowell says, taking hold of my arm and steering me toward what must be his truck. “It’s not worth it. Itwon’t help Dan to start something you can’t finish, or to start something that finishes with you in the back of a police car or in your own ambulance.”
“Did youhearhim? He doesn’t even know Dan.”
“I know.”
The truck Lowell pulls me toward is white and big as hell. I’m touched and a little tearful when Lowell opens the passenger door and helps me in like I’m fragile—which I am. It’s embarrassing, but tears drop down my cheeks as he hands me the seatbelt, closes the door, and walks around to the driver’s side.
“We can listen to the police scanner if you want,” he says as he gets himself settled in and starts the engine. He points at the scanner wedged in by the armrest console. “We can follow their progress, get updates.”
“I don’t know if I want to know.”
“Mm,” he says, and leaves it off.
We pull out onto the road and after a few quiet minutes, I realize he doesn’t plan to say anything else. So, I fish out my phone and look at the messages that have piled up and start to answer them one by one.
To Leenie, I reply with:By now you know it’s Dan. I’m on my way to Fresno to meet him at the hospital.
I copy the same message to Martin, Celli, and Gage.
Leenie replies first.You’re driving? You shouldn’t be driving!
I’m with Lowell Moody. He’s taking me.
Okay. Hey, you should call your dad. Let him know what’s going on.
No. I don’t even know what’s going on yet.
He’d want to know about this.
Leave it alone, Leenie. I can’t do this right now.
I could get Martin to watch the kids and join you in Fresno. They’re taking him to the trauma center there, right?
Stay with the kids. I’m fine. I’ll text you later with an update.
You don’t have to do this on your own.
I know. I love you guys. I’ll be in touch. I promise.
