wasn’t automatically vetoing the idea. Mr. Safe. Mr. Cautious. Mr. Always Wear a Helmet. She looked up again. In the dappled sunlight JT was standing right behind Sam. He’d placed his hands on Sam’s shoulders, and now he bent down so that his face was level with Sam’s as he pointed to landmarks below.
“Hey, Sam!” Mark shouted, and when he had the boy’s attention, he held out his hands in a questioning gesture. Sam made a small indeterminable movement in response. Yes, I’m going to jump. No, you can’t stop me.
And Jill recalled a time long ago, senior year in high school it must have been, upstate New York, a sunny afternoon at a gorge. She watched her friends jump, one by one. And when she finally jumped, she felt her limbs go loose. She saw the blurred stone cliffs, bodies sunbathing on the ledges below, the sparkle of sunlight filtering through fat green leaves; and then she felt the hard, cold smack of the water. Her legs stung, and she swallowed a lot of water, and after she hauled herself up onto the warm rocks, she discovered a large plum-colored bruise on her thigh. But the thrill was palpable and lasted long into the night—the thrill of a reasonable, sensible girl living dangerously for one short moment on a warm spring afternoon.
Still: she’d been eighteen. Sam was twelve. And JT should have checked with them first. She felt that wobbly feeling again. If they had any chance to stop Sam, they would have to decide quickly.
“What do you think?” she asked Mark. She felt shy doing this, as though it were their first major decision together. Their house, their friends, their whole life in Salt Lake City seemed very, very far away.
“It’s just that there isn’t a lot of room for miscalculation,” Mark said. “Dixie? Is this safe?”
Dixie had no qualms. “JT wouldn’t take just anyone up there,” she told Jill and Mark. “He’s been watching Sam the whole trip. Sam’s a coordinated kid. He’ll be fine. And JT’s done it a million times. He knows this spot like the back of his hand.” She paused to wave at Sam. “Of course, it’s up to you and Mark. But I’d trust JT.”
That was the thing, Jill thought. You had to trust the guides. You had to trust them when they told you not to do something; but you also had to trust them when they gave you the go-ahead—not just because it was safe in their eyes, but because they knew you’d be better off for having done it.
“I think it’s okay, then,” said Mark.
“I think it’s okay too,” she said. And she found his hand and squeezed it.
Everybody was looking up now. JT had stepped back, and Sam stood poised at the edge of the lip. Jill waved to him. He wrung his hands at his side. She thought of changing her mind. Then Sam took a small step back and leapt straight out.
A collective gasp rose from the group.
Sam flailed in the air before hitting the water dead smack in the middle of the pool. The impact sealed in upon itself. The surface foamed; ripples rolled swiftly to the edges of the basin and then back in upon themselves. And then, five feet from the bull’s-eye, the water broke and Sam’s head popped up, his eyes wide with shock as he sculled about in a moment of disorientation before spotting the group on the nearby ledge. He swam toward them, and Dixie leaned over and extended an arm.
“Come on up quick, so JT can jump!” and she hoisted the boy up onto the ledge. His teeth chattered as he huddled against Dixie, and Jill had the good sense not to put her arms around him at this time. They all craned their necks again, and there went JT, falling in a half-seated position, hitting the water thuddishly in the exact same spot as Sam. Within seconds his head emerged and he gave it a shake, and with three strong breaststrokes he swam to the edge of the rock, where both Dixie and Sam extended their arms.
“So what’d you think, kiddo?” said JT, water dripping from his baggy shorts. It was clear he viewed Sam as a member of an exclusive club now.
“It was pretty cool,” said Sam nonchalantly. “Didn’t you want to go, Matthew?”
“No,” said Matthew. “I don’t like heights.” And Jill was flabbergasted at this level of maturity in her son, that he wouldn’t try to