The Fall Risk

by Abby Jimenez

I knew it was really early on, and we didn’t know each other very well, but I was protective of her. Whether she knew it or not, I was in. And once I was in, that was it. I’d do anything for the people I cared about—and I cared about her. Probably more than I should.

“Seth . . . you know how we talked about fall risks?” I said. “Yeah.” I paused. “I think you are a bit of a fall risk for me.” I could practically feel the smile through the phone. “You’re a fall risk for me too.”

I squeezed my eyes shut for a long moment. When I opened them, he was studying me. “I don’t ever want the stairs to come back,” I whispered. “I want it to stay like this.” “It can keep being like this—” “No, it can’t. Not when he can get to me.” “I won’t let him get to you,” he said. “He will have to go through me first.” “That’s what I’m afraid of.” I looked at him, my eyes sad. “I really like you,” I said quietly.

“They’re a protected species in California, so once one’s in the ground, it’s staying put. They can live up to six hundred years, so if you were to bury something under one of them, chances are that thing would never be discovered. At least not for a few centuries.” I leaned in. “If you ever come back here,” I whispered, “you won’t find her, you’ll find me. And then no one will ever find you.”