Page 31 of New River Gorge(ous)
“Yeah. Matt. He’s my best friend. But that’s led to some awkwardness over the years, like when my grandma’s neighbor assumed we were boyfriend and girlfriend instead of brother and sister.”
“Hey, in my defense, it was an easy mistake to make.”
She huffs. “I hope not!”
“I was jealous.”
Her eyes turn to look at me, and there’s a hint of amusement playing behind in the sparkle. “Jealous. Of my twin brother.”
“I just knew that I’d treat you better if you were my girlfriend. I definitely would have kissed you goodbye.”
Brooke stops and blinks deliberately. “Is that what this is?”
In for a penny, out for a pound.
“It’s what I’d like it to be.”
Her lips form a wry smile, and then she nods. “We’ll see. But I like the sound of that.”
My steps feel just a little lighter as we walk hand in hand down the trail.
16
Brooke
Beck is a little like a clam. Or is it an oyster? He’s quiet, and not the easiest person to talk to, unless you’re Meemaw and being ridiculous, but when you get him to open up, pearls of humor and sincerity are right there. He told me he lost his dad, but I sense he doesn’t want to linger on that, so I don’t probe.
Beck walks with sure steps down the well-worn trail. We reach a rhododendron hell, which is a strange name, but really what the early settlers to the area called the patches of mountain thick with woody, viny, massive plants. A sign explains the name, and I, in true nature, stop to read it. I want to soak up every piece of information about this place.
Beck doesn’t complain. He doesn’t tug my hand or usher me away from the sign as I take my time reading it. And honestly, I’m testing him a little, because I’ve been done reading this sign for a minute, and I’m still pretending to read it. He stands next to me, my hand in his, and for someone who is used to rushing around because every second matters in his line of work, he’s acting like he has all the time in the world—like I could standhere and stare at this sign for the next twenty hours, and it would be fine with him.
I make eye contact with Beck. He smiles down at me, a crooked, bemused smile on his face and a knowing glint in his eye. “Rhododendron hells are that interesting?” he teases in that low voice, and I know I’ve been caught.
“Fascinating,” I respond. “I’m just glad to know you’re not the impatient—”
My thoughts are interrupted by shouts farther down the trail.
“Help! We need help! Call an ambulance!”
Beck looks at me for a moment, blinks rapidly, then drops my hand and runs toward the voices.
I stare at my hand for a moment, too stunned to move, as I process. It only takes a second before I understand why he ran. I take off after Beck.
Beck is faster than me, and he knows where he’s going. I don’t. By the time I find him at the end of the trail, on an outcrop of rocks, he’s kneeling on the ground and performing CPR on an older woman. Three other women stand around her, their pale faces framed by gray hair.
I stand back, transfixed by Beck. He doesn’t waver. He doesn’t stop. He continues for what feels like hours until finally we hear the sound of an ambulance, and EMTs come running down the path with a stretcher. They pull an emergency defibrillator out and take over.
Beck watches as they perform their job, eventually lifting the woman onto the stretcher and murmuring to the group of women. One of the EMTs approaches Beck.
“Dr. Whistler?” the man with a chocolate brown beard down to his stomach asks.
Beck nods, but his face is pale. He’s drenched in sweat.
“You saved her life.”
Beck nods again, not saying anything in response.
The EMT leads the three women back up the trail as they follow their friend.
