Page 49 of The Doctor's Truth

“I can do this,” I say out loud, and in that second, I believe it.

I jump. I launch myself across the empty air between the dock and the ferry. There’s a scream from someone on the ferry. I scramble, reaching, and I manage to grab the railing. The force of hitting the side of the boat knocks the breath from my gut, but I made it.

The ferry is slippery, covered in snow and ice, and my shoes can’t get any traction. As I try to strengthen my grip, I feel myself slip, and I just barely catch myself, hanging half on the railing, half on the decorative garland that loops around the siding.

It’s a struggle to hold on, and the muscles in my arms quiver. A pair of hands grabs me by the jacket. “Are you insane?” the attendant asks as he hoists. Another passenger helps, and between the three of us, I manage to awkwardly scramble over the railing and finally hit the deck.

I’m short of breath, adrenaline screaming through me. But I’m alive. And there’s Otto—looking like a gazelle face-to-face with a lion.

I approach him, put my hands on my knees, and catch my breath. “Whew! Nothing like a hit of excitement to wake you up, right, bud?”

“I’m sorry…” Otto says, his voice shaky.

I need to sit down. I plop down beside him, leaning against the wall, and lift my hand. “I’m not mad,” I tell him, because he looks like he needs to hear it. “Just…can you please hold my hand?”

He does. I don’t let him out of my sight, and I don’t let go of his hand as the ferry chugs along.

26

Jason

I pull some strings and manage to convince the ferryman to get us back to the dock. Donovan is waiting for us. He looks pissed, though I can’t tell if he’s mad at me, or Otto, or both.

“Kenzi’s waiting at the house,” he says. We get in the car.

The excitement of the whole thing kept me warm, and I don’t realize how cold I am until I’m in front of the car heater. I put my hands on the vents and glance in the back seat. “You warm enough back there?” I ask him.

“I’m fine.”

Otto is somber in the back seat. He stares out the window with the eyes of someone ten times his age.

“I know it’s rough, buddy,” I tell him. “What you’re going through…it’s a lot for anyone to handle. But running away isn’t the answer.”

“Yeah,” Otto says, his voice small. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Donovan adjust his hands on the steering wheel.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.

He’s quiet for a minute. Then, finally, he says, “Sometimes, I feel like it’d be better if I wasn’t here. Then everyone wouldn’t have to worry about me so much.”

“I understand why you’d want to escape. But sometimes it’s good to just think about it, you know?” I continue. “Take a moment. Breathe. Have you tried meditation?”

Suddenly, Donovan hits the brakes, and the car gives a lurch forward. I brace myself with a hand on the dash and look at the road, expecting to see an animal. Nothing. It’s empty.

But Donovan’s jaw is tight, knuckles white on the steering wheel.

“Hey, you okay?” I ask him.

He exhales tightly. “We’re not meditating. We’re taking a detour.”

“Where?”

But he doesn’t answer. He just turns the car around.

He pulls us off the main street. We drive the strip of road that follows the coastline for about five minutes until he pulls into a patch of empty dirt on the side of the road.

“Everyone out,” Donovan says.

The three of us climb out. I recognize where we are—we’re on the other side of the boatyard, which is closed up for the season. The side of the road is covered in browned and frozen-over dune grass, and Donovan leads us down a small path through the elm trees. It takes us out to the edge of a cliff. We’re on the north side of Hannsett, nothing out here except a long stretch of water and red and green buoys blinking in the distance.

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