“Amelia!”
His voice dissipated in the air. “Spread out,” he said to Darek, and now John, Ingrid, and the other searchers.
They began to walk through the brambles. “Amelia!”
Trees edged the clearing, the perfect hiding place for wolves or bears.
“There’s fresh bear scat over here,” Darek said, about twenty feet away.
“I found her jacket!” Ingrid stood on a fallen tree. “And the grass is trampled. I’ll bet she was here, waiting . . .”
Roark glanced at Darek, then at Ingrid, then at the trail. “If she was sitting there, and a bear came ambling up . . . why didn’t she run down the trail?”
“Maybe there was something in her way,” Ingrid said. “Like a cub.”
“Where would she run?” He looked toward the edge of the field. To the cliff.
No. Please.
Darek seemed to have the same idea. He started off at a run. “Amelia!”
“Darek, stop!” This from John, who stood twenty feet ahead of them. “There’s a ravine here. It’s hidden in the brambles.” He walked along the edge away from them. “It gets wider.”
Roark approached the ravine, a narrow slit at the top of the field, growing wider as he ran along it. Thirty feet down maybe, darkness gathered at the bottom, along with boulders and debris. More brambles jutted from the edges. “Amelia!”
He heard Darek calling, all of them peering into the shadowy slit.
“Here! There are broken branches!” John, peering over the edge, got on his knees.
Darek ran up beside him.
“Do you see her?” Roark jogged to the edge. Here, it seemed the bottom might be even farther, forty feet, a desperate distance to fall. Oh, God, please . . .
“I’m going down there,” he said. “Darek, give me your rescue pack.” Blanket, water, flashlight, first aid. Of course, in his haste Roark had left his in the truck.
Darek shrugged it off.
“Are you sure? Maybe we should wait until the rescue squad gets here,” John said, but he lacked conviction.
Thank God—really—Roark had learned how to climb.
“Get the rescue squad!” He turned himself inward to the cliff, stepped down.
“Please don’t fall,” Ingrid said.
Roark wedged his hand into a crevice. “There are plenty of handholds here. I’ll be fine.”
It was then that a scream lifted from deep inside the ravine. Haunting. Feral.
Hurt.
Ingrid pressed her hand to her mouth.
“Hurry,” Darek said.
Amelia had used her last breath on that scream. Hadn’t quite realized she had it in her after dropping into exhausted unconsciousness. But something roused her. A nudge inside the darkness, her name in the wind, pulling her to the sunlight.
She’d pried her eyes open with not a little pain, a groan starting at her belly, working through her bones to emerge out of her throat via an involuntary shudder.
She couldn’t feel her legs or her arm, but that might be merciful. She heard her name again, wanted to shout, but nothing emerged. I’m here.
That’s when she tried to move, to sit up or maybe throw something. She turned her head, now throbbing, trying to locate a rock.
It took a second for her eyes to register what she saw, lying ten or more feet away from her. Pants, dress shoes, a shirt, and inside it all, a mangled body or what was left of it.
Another scream bubbled out, hard and fast, leaving her heart thrumming, fat and hot in her chest.
A body. A decaying dead body, and she’d spent the night with it mere feet away.
She flopped back, breathing hard. Her eyes began to close, pain tunneling up to swallow her whole. Oh . . . “Help me,” she said, her voice a whisper.
“Amelia!”
That voice. She knew it. It had found her once before as she huddled, afraid, and it reached out to find her again.
“Amelia!” Closer now.
She wanted to open her eyes, to help him. Here. I am . . . here . . .
“Oh, my—I found her!” Footsteps on the rocky, moist ground. Then hands on her, behind her head, checking it for injury.
“Amelia, sweetie. Hang on.”
Her mouth moved, but nothing came out.
Water, fresh and cool, touched her lips. She tried to swallow, but it spilled over her chin. Still, it loosed her tongue, soothed her parched lips.
She felt a blanket go over her, pulled up to her chin, but it did nothing to warm her. She blinked, fighting the light that pierced her brain. “Roark—”
“I’m here.”
And he was. He leaned over her, such tenderness in his expression that she wanted to weep. “You . . . found me.”
He made the funniest noise, a sort of moan. He kissed her forehead softly, then moved back, his eyes glistening. “Oh, God, thank You, thank You.”
He turned away from her as if hiding his face, but she saw his palm go into one eye, then the other.
When he turned back, he tried and failed a smile. “Yes,” he said, his voice thin. “I’ll always find you. I promise.”
Then his face wrecked, and he leaned over her again, weaving her fingers into his. He kissed her hand, held it to his cheek. “Please, Amelia. Don’t die. Please don’t die.”
She swallowed. “No . . . worries.” It had gotten harder to breathe as the night waned, before she passed out. Now her lungs felt as if they were squeezed in a vise. “We have . . . more . . . to do.”
“Yes, darling. So much more. We’ll go anywhere. Do anything.”
“Coming down!”
She heard something falling, breaking trees, and Roark got up. “I’ll be right back.”
More shouting, Roark hollering back. Gray filtered into the edges of her vision. “Roark—”
And he was there, close, his hand in hers again. “I’m right here, darling. They’re coming. The rescue guys will be here any moment, just hang on.”
“I know . . . I know who . . . I’m supposed to be . . . with. . . .”
“I know. And I understand. I just need you to be okay. That’s enough for me.”
More voices and now footsteps.
“I think she has a collapsed lung. She seems to be having trouble breathing.” Roark moved away from her as a face she should recognize came into view.
“Hey, Amelia. Remember me? Joe Michaels? We’re going to give you a little oxygen now, make it easier for you to breathe while we figure out how to get you out of here.”
He put a mask over her nose, mouth, but she reached up, hiccuping breaths, and pulled it away.
“R-Roark.” She’d started to shiver, especially since they slipped off the blanket to check her vitals.
“I’m here. Put the mask back on.” He moved in next to Joe. “I’m right here.”
“I . . . want . . .” Her breath caught. Joe set the mask over her face, but she fought it. “I want . . . you. You.” She breathed out, leaned back.
Closed her eyes.
Roark, I want you.
“We need that backboard now!”
Movement on her arm made her cry out.
“Careful,” Roark growled.
“I think her wrist is broken. And there’s head trauma.”
Hands on her, around her neck, and a brace snapped into place. She groaned again, the gray turning to black.
But . . . wait . . . She opened her eyes, gulping in the fresh, sweet air, longing for it to fill her lungs, fighting the terrible anvil that pressed down, harder, harder.
Roark. She met his eyes, tried for a smile.
Roark’s hands cradled her face, his lips on her forehead. He backed up, met her eyes, his own fierce.
“No, Amelia. You will not leave me. I have crossed an ocean for you, and you’re right: we do have more to do. Much more. But you have to stay alive. Be brave. Hold on.” His face crumpled, his voice ragged. “Please.”
But the darkness was creeping in. She blinked, reaching up for the light, but it cre
pt away.
“We’re losing her!”
MAX WALKED DOWN THE HALL, abandoning the family in the waiting room. He’d been checking his text messages all day, waiting for the right news. Now he burst outside into the sunshine. The cloudless day had no right to be so spectacular. Or maybe it did. Because maybe they needed it.
He searched the parking lot. A seagull flew overhead, calling as if in anticipation.
Max stuck his hands in his pockets. How he hated hospitals, always had—the smell of them embedding his skin, the sense of despair, the long hours of nothing to do. He’d read every magazine on the tables—everyone had—and paced the halls, unable to look at Ingrid and John one more minute. The hope in their eyes every time the doctor walked in. The grief when he walked away.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Not for Amelia. Not for any of them. If anyone was supposed to go first, it was him.
He recognized the person walking toward him and raised his hand. “Pastor.”
“Max.” Dan gave him a smile, something reassuring. Of course, he’d worn the same smile for the last two days. How could he be so hopeful when they knew so little?
Amelia’s lung had collapsed down in the ravine, and while Joe had managed to relieve the pressure, to drain her chest, they’d had to reinflate it at the hospital. Then her heart stopped. Twice, as a matter of fact. And there’d been so much internal bleeding from her fall that they’d had to give her a transfusion.
They’d set her wrist, set her ankle, x-rayed her swollen knee to find it only bruised, and given her a CAT scan. Thankfully, the head trauma had proven to be less than they feared. Still, she hadn’t woken up. Two days, and she hadn’t yet woken up.
“Family’s inside,” Max said.
Dan nodded and headed in.
She’d had a slew of visitors over the last two days. So many volunteers had offered their time to find her. Roark managed to raise an army. No one mentioned it, but overnight he’d become a Deep Haven legend. Mostly because everyone knew it cost more than the town’s entire EMS budget for a year.
Poor Roark was in so much pain Max could hardly bear to be in the same room as him, watching him sit with his face in his hands, despair bowing his shoulders. He got up now and again, walked the length of the corridor, sometimes pressed his forehead to the window glass as if seeing some escape from the nightmare.
And right next to him had been Seth, equally distraught. He’d left a few times to shower but always returned, sitting just two chairs down from Roark.
Allies in pain for the woman they loved.
If Amelia didn’t wake up today, the doctors would transport her to Duluth, put her in ICU there, start running more tests.
Something had to happen soon. They needed something—anything—to brighten their spirits, give them hope.
Max saw the car as it appeared over the hill, followed it with his eyes until it turned at the driveway. A smile formed inside his chest, worked its way to his mouth, and by the time the sedan pulled up to the entrance, he wore a full-out grin.
Martha got out of the car. Gave him a nod. And then she opened the door to the backseat.
Yulia flew out, already unbuckled. “Papa!”
She’d said it again. He’d thought he’d dreamed it the first time, but now it fell into place—the word, the name he knew belonged to him.
He dropped to a crouch and opened his arms, and she launched herself into him, clinging to his neck.
He wrapped his arms around her and twirled her. “Yulia,” he said. “I promised that you’d come back.”
“Papa. Papa.”
Gently dropping her to her feet, he took her hand, walked over to Martha. “Thank you for bringing her back. We really needed her.”
“I understand the paperwork will take some time, but with your in-laws being foster parents, it should work just fine. I don’t know how you managed to smooth out the legal process, but I have to admit, I’m glad we didn’t have to put her on a plane.”
He was too. “Once I found out that her adoptive sister had been given guardianship, it was simply a matter of transferring the adoption to us instead of Yulia going back into the system. My lawyer says it’s called re-homing. Taking a child from one home and adding her to another.”
Martha nodded. “It’s rare for that to happen, but it can work.”
“Well, she’s home now, and she’s never leaving.”
“I’ll be in touch.” Martha got in the car.
“Thanks a lot.” Max looked down at Yulia. “Ready to go see . . . your mama?”
That felt right too.
Yulia nodded, smiled as if she understood.
He led her into the hospital, then paused, bent down. Probably she needed briefing.
“We’re at the hospital because Amelia—you remember her, Grace’s sister—had an accident. She fell a long way. She’s sleeping right now, and we’re all very worried about her. But I promise you, everyone will be so glad to see you. And we won’t stay long. We’ll go home soon.”
Yulia stared at him with beautiful brown eyes and gave a small nod.
Max took her little hand. “Okay then.” He walked her down the hall, turned the corner to where the family sat. An alcove, really, where they all jammed in among chairs and coats, purses, take-out containers. The lot of them, just sitting, waiting.
Ingrid looked up first.
Max met her eyes.
Her mouth opened. “Oh,” she said, her voice shaky.
It elicited a response from John and Ivy, Darek.
And then Grace.
His wife gasped, jumped to her feet. “Oh. Oh, my.” She advanced, falling to her knees as Yulia unlatched her hand from Max’s and ran to her.
Yulia caught Grace around the neck, and Grace fell back onto the floor, laughing. She ran her hand over Yulia’s hair. “What are you doing here?”
Max answered, “It was time for Yulia to come home.”
Grace sat up, kissed Yulia’s cheek, caught her hands. “Yes, you’re home. Finally.” Then she looked up at Max, her blue eyes changing from amazement to warmth to a deep joy. “Thank you, Max.”
He helped her off the floor, keeping hold of her hands. “I realized something when we lost her, then sitting here the last few days. It’s time to be happy, to trust in the life God gives me. I’m not afraid to love life anymore. Life isn’t worth living if you don’t have the people you love with you. Love makes me stronger and better, and I know I will survive longer if I have both you and Yulia—and God—to hold on to.”
“Yes, you will,” Grace said. “And when you can’t hold on, we’ll hold on for you.”
He touched her forehead to his, and she kissed him, the kind of kiss that held promise and the hope that their tomorrows would be just as rich as today.
I want . . . you.
Amelia’s words, softly spoken, had settled inside Roark like a rock, the only thing he had to cling to as the hours slipped into a day, then two.
He should have found her sooner—why hadn’t he found her sooner?
Rather, he never should have left her at all. Because he could have been there for her, could have gone with her, protected her. Instead he’d let his own broken heart drive him away from the only woman he’d ever truly, without reservation, loved. Leaving her alone to pursue her dreams.
We have more to do.
Yes, they did. Anything. Everything she wanted.
Roark sat in the tiny hospital chapel, staring up at the cross. He felt prayed out. How many times could he say, Please save her, Lord?
If God was listening, He clearly knew what Roark wanted. And Roark prayed He was listening. He had to be, right? Because they had found Amelia. Miracle of miracles, they had found her. God had given him that much.
He wanted to believe God was so good that He’d give Roark more. Forced himself to believe it because he had nothing else.
He dropped his face into his hands. Breathing, just breathing. Waiting. Listening to his own heartbeat.
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He’d called his uncle about two hours after he found Amelia. Told him that no, he couldn’t return to Brussels, not now or anytime soon. That he was sorry for again going back on his word. Strangely Uncle Donovan seemed to understand.
“Hang in there, son,” he said. “We’ll be praying for her.” Terminology his uncle didn’t normally use.
Roark should probably go back out to the family, sit with them, but they had each other, and for the first time since meeting them—well, since being a part of their campfire and their lives—he didn’t quite belong. He sat at the outskirts. They tried—Darek came after him a couple times, and they pulled him into their prayer circles, but Roark stayed away, the intimacy too much for him. Somehow it felt easier to bear it by himself.
That’s always how it was, wasn’t it? Him bearing his own grief. His own guilt, his own shame. Alone. Staring up at God and shaking his fist.
There would be no shaking his fist today. Just him on his face, praying.
He heard footsteps behind him.
Ivy, the baby on her hip. She looked tired, although she’d gone home a couple times to sleep and to look in on Tiger, who was staying with his other grandparents.
“She’s waking up,” she said.
Roark leaped to his feet. “Oh, please—”
He didn’t wait for Ivy, just sprinted down the hall. A small hospital, so few rooms—he arrived in seconds, pushed into the tiny two-bed ICU, and found Amelia’s family gathered around her.
Ingrid held her hand. John stood behind his wife, his hands steady on her shoulders.
Oh, Amelia looked beat-up. Of course, he’d seen her before, numerous times, but now it seemed too brutal. Her beautiful face had turned purple around one eye, where she’d smashed it into the ground. Thankfully, nothing fractured, her wrist taking most of the blow. Her other eye blinked against the light. Her lips, too, had swelled, cracked and purple. An oxygen cannula fed air into her nose, plaster encased her arm, and a cast bound her ankle. Machines beeped around her, indicating life. She’d suffered two broken ribs, one that had nicked her lung, slowly releasing air into her body, crushing her. If Roark hadn’t found her when he did, she would have suffocated.
Darek, arms folded, mouth grim, leaned against the wall. Grace stood by Amelia’s head. Ivy and baby Joy had stayed in the hall. Even Raina held vigil, texting updates to Casper, who was somewhere in Montana.
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