The Distance Between Lost and Found by Kathryn Holmes Page A

she’s off the ground. She holds on to his shoulders. For a second, she thinks about how strange this is—to be held like this, to be held by Jonah. Then he starts moving, and she can’t think of anything but the pain.
    When they reach the clearing, Jonah lowers Hallelujah to the ground near the fire. He takes a step back. “Are you bleeding?”
    â€œI don’t think so.”
    â€œI’ll take a look.” Rachel squats down and rolls up Hallelujah’s jeans leg. She loosens the laces of Hallelujah’s hiking boot and slides it off. She folds down her sock.
    Hallelujah leans back on her elbows and stares up. She knows they have to see what’s going on, but her ankle hurts . The tears well up again, and she squeezes her eyes closed to hold them in.
    Until: “This isn’t good.” Rachel’s voice is low and serious. And so Hallelujah forces herself to open her eyes and sit up and look.
    In the light of the fire, it’s easy to see the swelling. The inside of her left ankle, where there should be just the tiny ankle-bone bump, is darkening and growing puffy.
    â€œWe have to elevate it,” Rachel says. She looks at Jonah for confirmation. He’s still standing about a foot away. Not helping. Hallelujah thinks, Why isn’t he helping? Rachel must be thinking the same thing, because she pauses for a second and then says, “Jonah, we need to get her foot above her heart. Can you find, I don’t know, a rock or a pile of branches or something?”
    â€œSure. Yes.” Jonah vanishes into the woods.
    Rachel turns back to Hallelujah. “Put your foot in my lap,” she says. “Lie back.”
    Hallelujah does as she’s told, a patient on an exam table.
    The knife-pain is lessening, but the throbbing is still strong. She feels it reverberating up and down her body. She feels it behind her eyes, deep in her skull. She focuses on breathing in and out.
    Footsteps. Jonah’s back. “This all right?” he asks.
    Hallelujah cranes her neck to see. He’s holding a rock the size of a toddler.
    â€œLooks good,” Rachel says. “Maybe find something soft to put over it?”
    â€œThought of that.” Jonah sets the rock down carefully. Hallelujah can see that his fingers are muddy, fingernails cracked and split, like he dug the rock up with his hands. “There’s some pine needles over that way. Should make an okay pillow.” He strides back off the way he came.
    Rachel has pulled her backpack toward her and is rummaging through it. She gets out a pink one-piece swimsuit with tie straps. She stretches and pulls at it, appraising.
    â€œWhat’s that for?” Hallelujah croaks. Her nose is starting to run. She wipes it on one sleeve.
    â€œBandage. We’ve got to wrap your ankle to try to keep the swelling down.”
    â€œOh.” Hallelujah leans her head back again, letting it rest on the hard ground. “How do you know so much about sprained ankles?”
    â€œI want to be a physical therapist,” Rachel says. She carefully lifts Hallelujah’s leg and sets the swimsuit underneath. “At my old school, they let me shadow the trainer for the girls’ sports teams.” She wraps the suit around and around Hallelujah’s ankle, aligning the bra cups with the worst of the swelling. “I don’t know much. But I’ve wrapped a few ankles.” She pulls the spandex snug but not too snug and ties the straps securely. As an afterthought, she moves the knot so it’s not directly on top of the swollen area. “How’s that?” she asks.
    Hallelujah looks down at her foot. It looks ridiculous, a puffy, pink polka-dot bandage. But it feels sturdy. “I think it’s good,” she says. “Thanks.”
    When Jonah returns, arms full of pine boughs, he doesn’t even blink at Hallelujah’s pink ankle wrap. He uses the boughs to create a pine-needle