Page 70 of Set on You

Grandma Flo sighs with disappointment. “I just loved those lights. They’re a fortune in the stores.”

“You know what? Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out,” I reassure her.

“Thank you, Crystal. Love you, honey. Tell Scotty I said hi.”

“Will do. Bye, Grandma. Love you.” I turn to Scott, who’s standing with his arms crossed, seemingly dazed. “Think there’s a ladder somewhere around here?”

He turns, appraising the premises as if in slow motion. “Maybe. I’ll take a look. Stay here.”

I put my phone back in my pocket and wait, staring up at the massive tree. It must be fifteen or twenty feet tall, at least. Too tall to climb. Then again, I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge.

•••

THIS WAS OFFICIALLYthe worst idea of my life. It’s up there with the top three most moronic things I’ve ever done, including the time in kindergarten when I confidently ate a purple glue stick like it was a chocolate bar. I was sure of myself, scaling the tree like Spider-Man. I didn’t notice how high I’d climbed. And I’m not even within reach of the lanterns yet. Apparently, my fear of heights was also unknown to me. Until I looked down.

Scott made it worse when he emerged from the barn with a rickety-looking ladder that I doubt could hold more than one undersized, malnourished child, and berated me for climbing up.

Clutching the tree branch for dear life, trembling with lip-biting fear, I’m unable to let out a full breath or keep my eyes open. For the past fifteen minutes, I’ve tried to psych myself up for the descent, but I’m immobilized. The thought of moving my foot, or any part of my body, makes my stomach dip, as if I’m about to plummet to my death.

I never imagined I would die like this, falling from a tree outside an abandoned barn. Grandma is going to be devastated, bothbecause of my untimely demise and because of the lack of magical lanterns at her wedding.

Scott leans the ladder against the foot of the tree and tests it. He squints up at me. “Stay exactly where you are.”

I keep my eyes squeezed shut until his voice gets louder and louder, signaling his increasing proximity. When I dare to open my eyes, he’s three feet below me, one foot still on the ladder, hand extended.

“Sweetheart, listen to me.”

“Don’t call me that,” I snap. The last thing I need is to digest bizarrely timed pet names when death is nigh.

He doesn’t appear fazed by my tone. “You need to let go of the branch very slowly and step down so you can grab my hand, okay?” His voice is slow and measured. He breaks eye contact as a few droplets of rain sprinkle over us. I hadn’t noticed the clouds coming in.

Within seconds, the dark sky opens up with a crack of ominous thunder. Rain cascades over us. It’s cold, falling in icy sheets.

My hand begins to shiver around the now-wet, slick tree branch. I practically begin to hyperventilate as the rain splatters off me. “No, I can’t let go.”

“You’ll be okay. I’m not going to let you fall. You just have to give me your hand. We’re going to go down together.”

“No. I’m going to die up here. I’m okay with it. I accept it. Tell my family I love them. Play Lizzo at my funeral,” I order. I clamp my eyes shut again as fat, juicy droplets seep under my lids, rendering me half blind. I’m officially convinced nature has it in for me.

“Alright. Which song? ‘Tempo’ seems funeral-appropriate.” He cracks the first smile I’ve seen out of him all day.

I briefly flash him the stink eye. “Yeah. If you want to give Grandma Flo a heart attack.”

“Crys, you’re not going to die.”

“I am.”

“You’re not. Do you trust me?”

That is the question, isn’t it? Technically, I’m still sketched out about that two a.m. phone call, as well as his weird mood today. But I do trust him, with my life. I know he won’t let me fall to my death. So I make a pact to myself. On the count of three, I’ll let go of this branch and step down.

One.

Two.

Three.

His hand wraps around mine, filling me with warmth and comfort despite the cold rain pelting us.

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