Page 60 of Restoration

He might die.

And the panic I experience at even the faint possibility of that happening is enough to darken my vision.

“I don’t want you to fall,” I manage to mumble, staring down at the sand.

He laughs, soft and almost gentle. “I’m not going to fall, Autumn.” He takes my chin and lifts my face so he can see it. “I’ve climbed trees before, you know. And, despite what you think, I’m not completely incompetent.”

“I don’t think you’re incompetent!” I glare at him as I pull my chin away from his fingers. “I’m just not sure it’s safe.”

“It’ll be fine.” He leans over to kiss me. “I promise.”

He’s set on this. There’s no talking him out of it. So I swallow and square my shoulders and take a couple of deep breaths as he secures his vine belt before walking over to the base of one of the trees.

I’m standing next to him as he grabs one of the lowest branches and swings himself up. It’s thick and so sturdy it barely moves from his weight.

“Please be careful,” I tell him in a wobbly voice as he maneuvers himself to stand on the low branch and reach for a higher one.

“I will. I’ll get several branches since it’s hard to judge lengths and sizes.”

“Okay.”

That’s what I say, but I don’t feel like it’s okay. I watch with my heart hammering as he moves up quickly branch after branch. I keep backing up toward the beach as he climbs higher so I can see him better.

Eventually he gets toward the top. He’s not moving nearly as quickly now. The wind is blowing the leaves and branches all around him.

I can’t even imagine how forceful the wind must feel at that height.

He’s keeping a good grip on the tree with one hand as he pulls out his knife from his belt with the other.

The branches are young, and so they’re not dried and easy to break. It takes a long time for him to cut through the first branch. I watch, trying not to tremble as I hug my arms to my chest.

He’s finally got the first branch cut and tosses it out from the tree so it drops to the ground. I run over to pick it up with shaky hands.

It takes another long stretch of time for him to work on the second branch. I was right about one of those afternoon storms. Clouds are blowing in, and the day suddenly grows darker when they block the sun.

“Hurry up!” I scream even though I’m absolutely certain he’s working as fast as he can.

He tosses out the second branch the same way, calling back, “I am!”

He sounds slightly bad-tempered, and who can blame him? Despite his nonchalance earlier, this isn’t an easy feat. And my yelling at him isn’t helping anything.

I just can’t seem to stop myself.

The wind appears to be stronger—although it might be my imagination. But I’m definitely not imagining the way the top of the tree is getting whipped around.

Edmund is still clinging to it, working on a third branch.

It feels like it takes forever for him to toss down two more branches.

There are four now. Plus the one I found on the beach. Surely that’s enough.

“That’s plenty,” I call up, trying very hard not to sound annoyed or upset. “This is great!”

He doesn’t reply and he doesn’t react. He starts working on another branch.

“Edmund, that’s enough!”

He ignores me again. He’s clinging to the trunk of the tree, which is a lot thinner so far up, as he cuts the base of the branch he’s working on.