by Ev Bishop
“You write too many romances, Chuck. And as I admitted, they’re lovely—but they’re also fiction. Real life isn’t like that.”
Charlie wanted to say she was wrong, that of course true love was real, could be healing, did overcome crazy obstacles. He turned toward the kitchen to start on the dishes. “Just think about it,” he repeated. “That’s all I’m asking.”
His thoughts weren’t on Sam when she left though. They were on himself. And Maureen. I want to believe again, he thought to her, so maybe you were right. Maybe love is worth any potential pain.
Standing there, alone in the empty kitchen, shoulders hunched and wrists submerged in graying, soapy water, his whole body shook. Not with sorrow. Not with relief. With gratitude. Regardless of what, if anything, became of him and Sam, perhaps there was an end to the dark tunnel he’d been trapped in, a clear exit to which small lights had been leading him all along. He just hadn’t been able to see it until now.
Chapter 20
The speedy click-click-click of fingers on a keyboard was louder in the hallway, but Sam had been able to hear it in her room too. Charlie was madly working away and had been since at least 4:00 a.m.
She decided not to disturb his flow just to tell him she was heading out for a while. He’d learn of her new accommodations soon enough.
She moved all her things to the porch, then quietly latched the door shut behind her. The outside air was damp and chilly, but also sweet with an invigorating hint of warmer days to come. It took her three trips and four curse words—one of which was caused by a soaker from a deep puddle—to move her stuff across the parking area and back into Silver cabin.
Returning from her last trip, she again considered popping into Rainbow to let Charlie know Jo had texted her to say Silver was available, but she’d no doubt see him later that afternoon when Aisha and Mo returned. Besides, Callum was already waiting for her by the SUV, hands shoved deep in his pockets.
“I hope this is no trouble,” Callum said, scowling.
Sam took a step back. “None at all.” She hit the unlock button on her key fob. “I was already up. Are you okay?”
Callum sighed heavily and pushed a hand through his hair. “I’m fine, perfectly fine.”
“Yeah, that’s convincing. Don’t tell me there’s trouble in paradise. Is Jo all right?”
Just hearing Jo’s name seemed to bring him out of his funk a little. “Sorry, Sam. Yes, Jo’s great as ever. There’s just a bunch of family drama as usual and I get tired of it. My mom, Caren—have you met her?”
Sam had met her, just once, a long time ago, but she shook her head.
“She’s thinking about leaving my dad, way past time if you ask me. My dad’s brilliant response? He wants to throw a thirty-fifth wedding anniversary combo family reunion thing this fall. Here at River’s Sigh. It’s insane—and now my car’s out of commission and I’m inconveniencing you—”
Sam pushed him lightly toward the vehicle. “I told you it’s no problem. Just go. This place isn’t so lame that being trapped here all day will kill me.”
That did it. Callum finally smiled, shaking his head. “Jo should be back around lunchtime or shortly thereafter, so you could always drive her pickup if you—”
“I’d never be that desperate.” She handed him her keys.
“I was just saying, in case. And the shop promises my car should be fixed by tomorrow, so I just need to put you out for the one day.”
“Would you leave already? Please. I’ll be great. I’ve already moved all my bags back to Silver and I have enough groceries to tide me over. . . . I’m going to go for a short walk, have the longest bath imaginable, then read and watch TV all day and not talk to another soul—well, I might pop by to see Aisha. Then again, I might just let her get settled and visit her tomorrow instead.”
“Sounds nice.” Callum got into the vehicle and started it.
Sam tapped on driver side window just as he put into gear.
He unrolled it a little.
“Try not to worry too much about your family stuff. I know crazy well. It’ll work itself out—or it won’t—but either way, stewing about it won’t help.”
He considered her words, and nodded. “Thanks, Sam. Really.”
As the Mercedes purred down the driveway, Sam adjusted her shoulder bag’s strap and felt around inside it to confirm she’d remembered her journal and breakfast—an insulated mug of coffee, bag of beef jerky, and small container of almonds—then tucked her cell phone into the bag’s side pocket. She wanted to check out that pretty place by the rocks she’d spotted with Jo. If it wasn’t too freezing, she’d do some writing there. Charlie’s last comments to her were still chaffing. Yes, she’d been feeling a need to get her life sorted and to pick a new direction . . . but surely she wasn’t pining away for what he seemed to be suggesting? At first it had shocked her, but as she lay awake late into the night she’d grudgingly admitted she liked being around Jo, Callum, Aisha, the baby, and Charlie more than she’d ever confess to anyone else. It scared the shit out of her, actually.
She took a deep breath and headed toward the trail she and Jo had taken together, hoping she could remember the right twists and turns—but worst-case scenario, even if she didn’t, she had her phone.
A good half hour or so in, a snuffling-panting sound from deep in the greenery made her jump. Then she heard a small crash and the cracking of tiny twigs. When she saw a flash of fur, she laughed in relief. “Hoover, you idiot. Go home. Go home!”
There was no response or obvious compliance—but the mutt didn’t even listen to Jo reliably so Sam wasn’t surprised.
Before too long she was completely absorbed in the sound of her own breathing and her footfalls on the rapidly thawing earth. The terrain had changed even in the few days since she and Jo had gone fishing. It was a lot wetter, for one. So she wasn’t delusional. Spring was on its way sooner rather than later.
When she came to the fork in the path she recognized as the one her and Jo had taken, she veered right and picked up her pace. Sure enough, she found an obvious trail that looked like it led the way through some craggy boulders in the right direction.
The river snaked, emerald and glistening, surprisingly far beneath her. She hadn’t realized how much the path climbed as she walked. She turned a corner and her breath caught at the view. Looking straight down, it was clear she was at the mouth of the canyon Jo had mentioned. For a drop of easily one hundred feet or more, sheer-faced stone formed what looked exactly like the walls of some ancient castle that disappeared into a deep jade pool.
Just ahead, where the path switched directions and began a downward spiral, a massive tree hung out over the water, securely rooted in the mountain she stood on. Years of weather had broken off many of its branches, creating a natural bench. It was the perfect place for coffee and thoughts.
She sped up, grabbing her phone from her bag to take a picture as she did, completely focused on her destination rather than her next step—
A sickening sense of falling jerked in her stomach. She reached out to grab something, anything, but there was nothing. She dropped through empty air.
Sam hit a rocky ledge, tailbone first. Then her head bounced against something hard. Her left leg cracked itself over a jutting root like she was intentionally trying to damage herself. A roaring fire of pain blazed through her.
She half lay, half sat until her mind steadied—and then panicked again as she thought of her phone, her damn phone. She’d been holding it—and, of course, wasn’t now. She glanced around frantically and caught a glimmer of bright metallic pink a few feet down from her on an impossibly narrow ledge. Her phone all right. But it might as well have fallen all the way to the bottom of the canyon for all the good it would do her there.
Sam tentatively pressed her fingers against her ankle and along her lower leg, hoping to determine how badly she was injured. She stopped almost immediately. The raging pain at even the gentlest touch made her think she’d vo
mit. She took a deep, steadying breath, peered down the sheer drop to the smooth as glass jade water, and shivered at how she’d only seen its beauty, not its danger. If she fell it would be like hitting concrete and she wasn’t the best of swimmers in a heated pool, let alone waters just above freezing. Still . . . there was no need to panic. There were hours of daylight left and Callum knew she’d gone for a walk—wait, she had told him, right? Well, regardless, someone would notice she was gone. Or maybe the agony in her leg would subside. Maybe it was just a bad bruise. Maybe she would somehow be able to climb back up to the path and walk out.
Chapter 21
Against her will, Sam drifted off. When she awoke her head was pounding, her mental processes sluggish. Damn, damn, damn, she thought. If I have a concussion, it’ll be the last straw. A minute or two passed and she decided, no, her brain was fine. She was cold though, and the pain in her leg and tailbone still raged. She stretched a little, decided it was ridiculously unfair that topping off everything else, the awkward position she’d slept in had cricked her neck, and pondered the sky. It was cloudy, something that was one part good, one part bad, and one part worse. Good because it kept the temperature relatively moderate. Bad and worse: It made it hard to tell what time of day it was or how much time had passed, and could potentially mean rain or snow, which would be catastrophic for her.
Her focus dropped to her phone again. The case shone tauntingly, snugly tucked against the cliff wall by a small piney sprig. It was completely maddening. The solution to her situation, perhaps even to her literal survival, lay in plain sight but unquestionably out of her reach. Damn it anyway!
She shifted her weight slightly, craning her head to look up. A fire bolt of pain shot through her at the minuscule movement, making her gasp. She estimated she was only eight or ten feet from the path, and a closer look revealed that the rocky face that appeared so smooth when gazing at it as a whole was actually marked by several uneven ledges like the one that caught her phone. They didn’t seem as far apart as the one holding her phone hostage either. Could she climb them?
No. She shook her head and something Jo had mumbled at her sometime or another in one of her endless enthusiastic rants about nature was how if you ever did get lost you should stay put. Wait for a search party to find you. Too often people tried to find their way out of the woods and only ended up getting more lost, or falling and getting injured. And the award for managing all three of those things in one shot goes to? Sam laughed a little and the rasping sound startled her ears. And then suddenly there was another noise—but not a human one like she hoped for.
That familiar grunting, snuffling sound again and a slight rustle of wet vegetation. Hoover? Or whatever that damn thing was that followed her around? She wasn’t naturally a superstitious person, but lying on a ledge in the shadowy otherworldly light, she hoped it was a living, breathing creature at least.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t be so lame,” she muttered. “Of course it’s flesh and blood, you idiot.” For some reason her sharp, spoken out loud words buoyed her a little.
“Hoover,” she called croakily, then managed a bit more volume. “Here, Hoover. Here, boy.”
The rustling sound increased and there was a soft panting. “Hoover, I will kick your dog ass if you don’t stop scaring the shit out of me!”
Yep, it really was pathetic. Talking tough to a pet that may or may not actually even be present was making her feel better, giving her a semblance of control.
And then, miracles of miracles, a canine snout did appear over the ledge, but it was long and narrow and a soft velvet black—a complete opposite of Hoover’s wiry graying-brown muzzle. A pair of soulful brown eyes gazed down at her and for a surreal moment, Sam felt like the animal was Charlie’s kindred spirit.
“You. Are. A. Moron,” she snarl-whispered.
The dog whined.
“No, no, sorry. Not you.”
They sat like that, the dog staring down at Sam, Sam staring up at her—or she assumed it was a female anyway—for a long minute. Suddenly she remembered her coffee and snack. Finally, one thing she’d managed to do right this whole stupid excursion. She’d packed a little food at least. Actually make that two things. She’d worn her bag around her neck and shoulder. It was safe on her body, unlike the phone. When she opened the bag, a small rattling sound further cheered her. Three things. She had a bottle of extra strength ibuprofen. Yay for menstruation and always being prepared for it to hit. (Now who’d have thought she’d ever get to say that, heh, heh.)
She swallowed two pills with her coffee that was now only slightly warmer than body temperature and took a handful of her precious almonds.
As she chewed them down, she opened her journal and scrawled the date and the words, “The peace of the great outdoors is sorely overrated—and there’s not a glass of wine in sight.”
Then she sighed heavily and wrote in slightly smaller letters, “I’m actually really scared, but I’ve survived worse and I will survive this.” She underlined the last bit three times and stared at the words. She didn’t write the next thought that came to her, but let herself curl into the knowledge and comfort of it. Her bold claim was true. She really had. She sometimes worried she was this hard, damaged person—but even if she kind of was, so what? Who wasn’t in some ways? She was also someone who survived things and kept on keeping on. She was someone who went after what she wanted. She was not someone who sat on her butt and waited to be rescued. If you don’t like your situation, change it.
She tucked the journal back into her bag and withdrew a large piece of jerky. As she tore off a chunk of the salty goodness with her teeth, the dog above her whined again.
“Of course,” she said. “How rude of me.” She took another piece of jerky and tossed it to the dog. It hovered feet short of the excited pink tongue and fell, rushing past Sam and plunging into the green water below her. She tried again. This time, success. The dog’s long muzzle reached, jaws snapped and the jerky disappeared in a gulp.
Some people would say she was “wasting” her food, but a friend seemed more valuable than a few calories.
The dog barked once, sharply.
“You’re welcome,” Sam said.
A few droplets of rain splattered her face and she contemplated the sky again. Directly above her, the clouds were dull gray and sparse—but a heavy charcoal mass was rolling her way, moving quickly.
And it had been hours now. Was at the very least mid afternoon. If it rained hard all night or turned to wet snow as the temperature dropped, she’d be in worse trouble—and would have no chance at all of scaling the stupid rock face. And she’d just remembered her parting words to Callum about a long bath and shutting herself in. There was a good chance—and by good she meant terrible—that no one would look for her until the next day. But even then, if they did suppose she was missing, what would make them search in this direction?
Gritting her teeth, she scooted backwards and braced herself on one of the rocks she’d banged her skull against. Haltingly, she made her way to standing. Don’t look down, she commanded herself. Don’t look. Her leg screamed. Her tailbone throbbed and sent out a sharp flare of pain . . . but she was on her feet. She tested her weight on her sore leg. Then raised her uninjured foot slightly off the ground. The fire in her leg burned so furiously she was instantly nauseated—but the leg held her.
“Thank you,” she breathed.
Above her, the dog was practically lying over the cliff’s edge, extended as close toward Sam as she could be, head resting on her front paws.
“Any chance you could pull a Lassie and run and tell Jo that Sammi’s in the well?”
The dog tilted her head, as if seriously contemplating the question.
Sam sighed and leaned against the rocky wall. Everything in her wanted to sit back down, but she wasn’t sure she’d make it to her feet again if she did.
What was the least stupid option? What?
A gust of wind kicked up, battering her
lightly, then died. The ominous clouds scudded closer. Right now the rock face was dry at least. And standing upright revealed the path was considerably closer than it originally appeared, maybe only three or four feet above her head.
If she tried to climb and fell . . . wouldn’t she just land back where she’d started? Or would falling from a different spot mean she’d land in a different spot too? Her gaze plummeted to the water so far below—
Stop it, she commanded.
She scanned the ridges above her and locked onto a long, weird, skinny tree—or maybe it was a root—growing, it seemed, right out of the rock itself. It was beyond her reach now, but if she could get up even one ledge, maybe . . .
A small plan started to form.
She adjusted her bag so it sat against her back not her hip, and turned to face the mountain. She reached as far as she could, straining her hands toward a sharp, knobby chunk of rock.
With a huff of relief and exertion, her hands closed around their intended marker. It seemed secure. She pushed off the ledge with her hurt leg, gripping her handhold with all her might and struggled to pull herself up, toes of her uninjured leg grappling for purchase. She found the ledge she sought and straightened on her good leg, panting. Her whole body shook with the effort she’d expended. She looked up. The dog peered down and seemed to smile. Slightly heartened by her already-much-closer face, Sam looked for the tree-root thing again. It was directly above her head. Would it work as the climbing rope she so desperately needed? She rested for another minute then reached out and latched onto the makeshift rope, doing her best to test its strength.
She only needed to get up two more ledges—or three at the most—and then she’d be able to flop herself onto the path where her dog friend lay, keening encouragement.
Compared to the first, getting to the next ledge felt way easier. It wasn’t as far a stretch, but she’d better move quickly. It was so narrow only her tiptoes rested on it. Not a good place to linger.