If We Make It Home

by Christina Suzann Nelson

  JENNA

  Nighttime in the hospital is almost as bad as it was in the wilderness. I sent Mark and the girls to the one hotel in town, though he really wanted to stay here with me. The hurt etched in Vicky’s face was enough to give me the strength to say no.

  There’s a television on a cart in our room. It doesn’t get many channels, and even those are in and out. And the clock on the wall—it ticks like a time bomb.

  I can’t sleep, though my body is thoroughly exhausted. I just lay here on this overly soft mattress listening to the ticking until the sound builds tension that will have to blow.

  Shaking out my arms, I try some of Ireland’s deep breathing techniques. In—two three, four. Out—two, three, four. Great, now I’m breathing to the ticks.

  I can’t take it anymore. I slip out of bed, careful not to wake Vicky, and head out into the hall. The doctor and the nurses here have been beyond kind, and I’ll be released to go home tomorrow. Vicky will likely be released too, but Ireland, she’s in worse shape than Vicky and me.

  Peeking into her room, I hear the soft sounds of her breathing. And I thank God that she is still alive. The injured foot is wrapped and held up in a sort of hammock. Ireland’s chemical-free body is wasted on pain and sleep medications. She’s a zombie. What if she wakes up and we’re gone?

  Tears punctuate my feelings. I wipe them on the front of my gown, and shuffle down the hall.

  Having left the environment of survival, my body is now in angry mode. Each tiny step is agonizing. The mixture of bruises and cuts, along with muscles that have been worked far past their ability, all equal pain.

  The hallway opens into a foyer that appears to be an old living room. There’s a couch on one wall with a coffee table in front of it. I plop down on the rough sofa and finger through the reading material. A stack of books in the corner catches my eye. It’s a series about the legends from the Cascade wilderness. I feel like one of those legends right now.

  Picking up the set of six thin books, I lean back into the couch’s shoulder and start to read the back covers. Number three halts my breath. Alongside the words, there’s a drawing of a rugged sort of caveman, dressed fully in furs. He’s a lot like how I’d picture Bigfoot. He’s tall and broad, his features chiseled and rough.

  The description goes into detail about the man who some believe lives in the wilderness, highly sensitive to anything man-made. I flip to the first page. The legend of the wildman. This is a story I own a piece of. Maybe I’ll write what happened to us. Is that actually something I can do?

  Insecurity tackles me, then I look at my bare leg, a bandage covering the outside of my right calf. I just made it through over a week in the wild without any experience and without a guide. Yes, of course I can write a story. How hard could that possibly be?

  There’s action outside the double door. Light, more and more by the minute. I stand and walk to the window, gazing out into the night. There’s a flash, then more.

  A nurse grabs my arm. “Come on, Mrs. Savage. Let’s get you back to your room.”

  “What was that?”

  “It appears the media has arrived. I’m sorry.”

  I look down at my attire. Great. That’s just what I want to have printed in my local newspaper.

  IRELAND

  The fog in my brain hangs on like it does in the valley, leaving the sky gray and the people wishing for some sign of spring. I hear the doctor talking about me to the nurse. They’ve just checked on me. I pretended to be asleep. It’s easier to avoid their prying questions.

  Now they’re outside my room. The man says he wonders what happened on the mountain that left me mentally broken. The woman’s voice responds. He thinks I’ll need therapy.

  He has no idea. It wasn’t the mountain that broke my spirit. It was the life before the mountain.

  Living each day to survive and get Vicky and Jenna home to their families was the closest thing I’ve felt to actual breathing in years.

  There’s a tap at the door.

  I turn my head, slowly because there’s a knot the size of an orange in the right side.

  Vicky and Jenna are dressed in street clothes. Not their own, that’s certain. Vicky is in a pair of off-the-rack jeans and a t-shirt advertising a business that sells farm implements. Jenna wears capris that make her look like her legs were cut short, topped with a red hoodie.

  But it’s not what they’re wearing that concerns me. It’s the fact that they’re dressed, and I am not.

  Jenna eases toward me, her hands clasped and her lips tight. She doesn’t have to say a word. They’re leaving.

  Before the horrible news is out of their mouths, the same nurse who checked us in yesterday floats into the room. “I’m so glad you’re awake. We didn’t get to finish our paperwork, you were so exhausted yesterday. You only gave me the phone number to contact your employer. I’m sure that was a mistake. We need the number for a family member. Someone who will take care of you while you recover. The doctor wants to make sure they understand the situation with your foot, and he also would like to conference with the physician who will take over your medical care.”

  Her eyebrows lift, her fingers ready with the pencil to jot down the information I don’t have.

  The room falls silent aside from the buzzing of the heater under the window sill.

  “Her mother lives in Canada.” Vicky eases onto the chair in the corner of the room. “I’m sure she’d be willing to come help out for a bit.” She looks to me, and I turn away from her gaze.

  “No.” Jenna’s voice rings firm into the sterilized air. “That’s not going to happen.”

  Vicky’s chair squeaks as she rises. “Why on earth not? You’re a mother, Jenna. Wouldn’t you drop everything to come care for your daughter?”

  “Of course I would. We’re not doing this any longer, are we, Ireland?”

  My leg is pinned up in a sling that won’t allow me to do what I need most. To run away.

  The nurse taps her pencil. “Ms. Jayne. I just need a name and phone number.”

  It’s like a pressure cooker in here, and I’m a piece of meat these three are planning to eat for dinner. I can’t take the constriction. “My mother doesn’t live in Canada, Vicky. It’s a lie. I don’t have a mom.”

  Jenna skirts the bed and comes to the side where I’ve been boring my gaze into the wall. There’s a smile on her face, and I can’t understand what’s behind it. “Ireland will be coming home with me. I’m her family.”

  My mind replays a scene from a book where the empty-nest mother takes an innocent bystander as a hostage to care for.

  “I think I can take care of myself, can’t I?”

  The nurse shakes her head. “It’s a week with someone else to help you out, or a week at a rehab facility.”

  Now I’m remembering the things Jenna yelled at the mountain man. I can’t do a week in a nursing home any better than he could take a year in prison. “I’ll go with Jenna.”

  “I want to go too.” Vicky lays her head on my shoulder.

  I thought I was going to be the one left behind.

  Chapter 30

  VICKY

  I pull my legs under me on the hospital bed. Jenna is seated on the edge of the other one. She’s already tucked in the blankets, even though I’m sure she knows the nurse will strip it down as soon as we leave.

  “So, that’s the story. Ireland never had a mom in Canada. She never really had parents at all.” Jenna clasps her hands and gazes down at the floor.

  The truth turns my stomach into knots. “I can’t believe she never told us.”

  “She has now. That’s what matters.”

  “No. She told you.”

  Jenna shuffles toward me. The bed sinks to the side as she sits down.

  I stare at her hand over the top of mine. It’s warm, and I don’t pull back.

  “She would have told you too.”

  Loud voices come closer until Brooklyn and Cameron explode into the room.

>   Brooklyn plops down onto a chair. She hasn’t even looked at us, but keeps her gaze securely fastened to her cell phone.

  “Mom, are you ready?” Cameron’s hands are tucked deep into the pockets on his jacket. “I need to get out of Hicksville. This place could syphon the intelligence out of Stephen Hawking.”

  How did I manage to ignore the attitudes of my children for so long? These are the people I’m releasing out into the world. People who I was charged with raising. They’re supposed to make the world a better place, but they’re self-absorbed. Like their mother.

  My shoulders slump.

  Jenna reaches an arm around me and squeezes. In her position, I would have left my friend with a supersize serving of my judgement. Jenna gives me comfort.

  “Well?” Cameron’s eyebrows rise.

  Daniel steps into the room; his hair is messy and there’s a scowl on his face. “Enough, Cameron. Not another word from you.”

  “Come on. You can’t possibly like it here. Did you hear what they were talking about at that hole-in-the-wall restaurant you took us to for breakfast? Cattle thieving. Like that’s even a thing.” He pulls the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and pushes in earbuds.

  I stare at Daniel, my mouth open, but I have no idea what to say.

  He shakes his head. “I’ve made arrangements for you and the kids to fly from here to Portland. From there, you can catch a flight home. It’s only an hour or so to the first airport, but you’ll have to take a small plane. They don’t fly the big ones out of here.”

  My face buzzes with a flush. “What about you?”

  “I have the truck. I started this way as soon as I talked to Mark. I was worried when I didn’t hear from you all weekend. Then you didn’t come back on Monday, and I knew something was wrong. Mark told me about the survival week. He’s a great guy. I really like him.”

  My heart rate fires up in my chest. “I want to go with you.” It’s sudden, maybe the fault of a healing concussion, but I want to go the long way home, with my husband.

  Daniel examines the floor tiles. “No, you don’t. I came in the old truck.”

  “All the better. It will be like old times.” Butterflies flitter in my stomach. I look at the kids. “And when we get home, there will be some changes.”

  Neither of them look away from their devices. I hope it isn’t too late.

  IRELAND

  “I don’t understand. Why do we all have to do this press conference? Aren’t the reporters just here to get a photo op with Vicky?” The throbbing pounds in my foot as the nurse lowers the sling.

  “You’re all big news. Three untrained women making their way through the wilderness to safety. That’s not how these stories usually end.” She rolls a wheelchair next to the bed and sets the locks.

  I tug at the synthetic sweater they brought me. It’s too short and the fabric has the texture of woven plastic. I can almost smell the petroleum. But there isn’t anything else aside from a drafty hospital gown to choose from. We came away from the ranch with only the clothes on our backs. Everything else is tucked under the porch of some men I hear are in the local jail. Maybe we could ask the sheriff to retrieve our bag. But what’s in there that we can’t live without now?

  “Ready?” Vicky breezes into the room, her face coated with cosmetic spackle. “It’s time to get this show going.”

  Behind her, Jenna trails like an overwhelmed mascot.

  “Can’t you do this without us?” I’m sure I can get a different answer from our personal celebrity.

  “They asked for all of us.” Vicky’s shoulders fall back into a relaxed position. “Listen, I don’t want to do this either. I lost my edge somewhere in the mountains. And I’m not sure I want it back, but there’s a crowd out there, and we have to get through them if we want to get home.”

  I nod. “I’ll go, but only if you agree to chisel your face out of that mask first. You look much better without the goop.”

  “That’s what I’ve been telling her for the last hour.” Jenna lays back on the bed I just vacated. “Wash your face, Vicky.”

  Behind the veil of cosmetics, I see the fear in Vicky’s eyes. This is a new world for her, scarier than the Cascades could ever be. “How about we just wipe off some of the foundation?”

  Her chin bobs in short nods. “All right. I can do that.”

  It’s the small steps that sometimes mean the most.

  Vicky runs a washcloth under water at the sink near the door. Rubbing it over her face, the terrycloth becomes a solid beige, but even under the fading rash and bruises, Vicky glows. The confidence and false image I’ve seen on television washed off with the makeup.

  I wheel over to her and hold her hand. It’s not a natural move for me, but she’s stepping well out of her comfort zone. I can take a step to join her. “Come on. Let’s show them how wonderful you really are.”

  Vicky moves behind me and takes control of the wheelchair. As we head down the hall toward the buzz of the reporters, I feel like a human shield.

  Cameras flash as we enter the foyer. There’s a small table set up at the back of the room where we’re to sit and answer questions. The scene is pretty much what I was warned it would be. Vicky wheels me into position and sits in the middle seat, Jenna on her other side.

  We just sit and take the hits from cameras for what feels like months. Finally, a man I haven’t met steps up in front of us. “These women have been through a lot, and this is a quiet town that doesn’t appreciate a lot of media craziness. You’ll have ten minutes to ask your questions, then this circus ends. Am I understood?” He nods toward the sheriff and three deputies stationed at the side of the room.

  Questions about Vicky’s skin and will she require cosmetic surgery come at her like daggers. She answers with the vagueness of a pro.

  Then one reporter points his microphone my direction. “Dr. Jayne, reports tell us that you’ve been suspended for improper behavior with a student. What do you have to say about that?”

  My stomach plummets. I should have seen this coming. But McCormick Wilson has been out of my mind for the last few days. Lord, I don’t know what to do. The cry of my heart shocks me. I wonder if God is having a similar reaction.

  Tapping my toe on the floor, I let the tension fall from my shoulders. Vicky reaches my hand under the table and holds it tight. “To answer your question, I plan to fight the allegations.” Strength is running through my body. The battle begins here. “Mr. Wilson thought he could grow a story that would allow him to get his way without having to do the work other students manage. He thought making an allegation against me was going to bring him an easy victory.”

  I pull my hand free and press both into the top of the table. “One of the worst things a human can do is wage a false accusation against another person. In this world, there are true crimes and assaults. Each of those is minimized by the manipulating ways of people who choose to use this kind of accusation to get their way. I will not allow it to happen on my watch.”

  As I lean back in my wheelchair, my body begins to shake.

  Jenna stands. “That’s all. Thank you for coming.” She pulls my chair back and follows Vicky down the hall.

  In the quiet of my room, I hear the thumping of my heart. Now, I’m ready to go home.

  JENNA

  The frightened look on Vicky’s face as she and Daniel pulled out of the driveway with the kids and Vicky squeezed into the cab of the truck makes me want to go after them and get her back. But I’ve learned my lesson. Hiding from a problem does not make it go away. It’s like fertilizer. The trouble grows roots and vines.

  Mark and the nurse help Ireland into the back of the rented Suburban. We decided driving home would be more comfortable for her because we could keep her foot elevated while we travel.

  The girls left this morning, back to their separate colleges. And it didn’t hurt as much this time. I think I was even a bit happy for them. This is such a great time in a young woman’s life. It’s a time wh
en lifetime friendships are formed and relationships bloom.

  “You ready?” Mark holds both of my arms in his large hands.

  “So ready.” I step forward, molding my body into his chest, listening to the dialogue of his heartbeat. “You’re a good man.”

  “Only because I have a good woman beside me.” He kisses the top of my head.

  How beautiful to have another chance to love my family and my friends. This is truly a blessed life.

  Chapter 31

  IRELAND

  My office smells musty and the woodwork is dark and suffocating. It’s hard to believe this was my sanctuary only a few short weeks ago.

  I lean my crutch against the wall and look out over the sea of students making their way from one lecture to the next. Academia is a beautiful creature. The thirst for knowledge exists at our core. I love being a professor. And I’ll love it even more if I can do it somewhere besides here.

  There’s a rap at the door. I expected as much. I’m sure I was spotted walking through the main hall. Since the end of our survival experience, people have been bold with questions. And for once, I don’t really mind answering them.

  “Come in.” I pull the ball out from under my desk, think again, then push up with my good foot to perch on the desktop.

  Dr. Doogan crosses his arms and takes two steps in. “So it’s true. The survivor has survived another ordeal.”

  “If you mean I made it off the mountain, yes, it’s true. But I won’t be signing up for that adventure again.”

  “Sure. Leave the extreme stuff to the youth. They’re still foolish enough to enjoy a good life-or-death kind of vacation.” He comes farther into the room, then leans against the window sill, his arms tight against his chest. “What’s next, Ireland?”

  “Professor?” This position, with my feet dangling, has started the damaged foot throbbing again. I slide down. “What do you mean?”