by Lisa Harris
“I just mean… we’ve come so far.”
“This is a big mountain.” He tossed her sleeping bag beside his own and yanked a tent peg from the ground. The fabric fluttered to the bracken. “We might be close. We might be nowhere near that cave. Assuming it even exists.”
“What does that mean? Now you don’t believe me?”
“I believe… I believe you believe what you’re saying.”
“Wow. So now you think I’m crazy.”
“It was a long time ago. You can’t remember everything. And it’s not worth risking your life to possibly save Ella’s. We’ll go down, tell the police—”
“I’ve told the police!” Her shout reverberated off the rocky hillside. She lowered her voice. “More than once.”
“But now we can tell them someone tried to scare us away.”
“Someone is scaring you away.”
He glared at her. “It’s not safe for you, Cassidy. I have very little to lose.”
Why would he say such a thing? James, who’d always had everything. Who’d always had such a strong faith. Someday, she hoped to delve into those questions with him. But not now.
“The police don’t believe me. They think I’m a murderer.”
He sat back on his heels. She waited for whatever words he was gathering, but he returned to the task of folding up the tent pole, then shoving it in the little fabric bag it had come in.
“What?”
“They’re not sure you’re a murderer. They think you kidnapped Hallie. They’re not convinced her death wasn’t an accident.”
“Wow.” She laced her words with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “That makes all the difference in the world.”
“I’m just saying—”
“I’m just saying that Ella is out here.”
He rolled the tent fabric into a tight ball and shoved it in its protective sack, then attached it to his backpack.
She snatched her sleeping bag and shoved it in her own. “Do what you want. I’m not quitting.”
Over his shoulder, he said, “You’re not staying up here.”
“It’s a free country.”
He stood and faced her. “Only for people who aren’t wanted by the police.” His voice was cold, steady.
“Is that a threat?”
“You’re not staying up here by yourself. Someone’s watching us. Someone wants us to leave.”
He didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand.
“I swear, Cassidy. Either you come down with me, or I’ll call the police myself and tell them where you are.”
“Good. Do it. Then they’ll come up here looking for me. At least it would get them on the mountain. They might even accidentally save Ella’s life. I don’t care how she gets rescued, James. I don’t care if I end up in prison. I’m not leaving without her. I can’t be responsible again—” She cut off her own words.
“Responsible.” He stepped closer, peered down at her. “Do you feel responsible for Hallie’s death?”
She put the backpack on and started walking.
He grabbed her arm. “Do you, Cassy? Are you responsible for my sister’s death?”
She glared up at him. “A man took her. I told you—”
“You just said, ‘I can’t be responsible—’”
“Because I couldn’t save her.” She yanked her arm away. “I’m not going to live with it again. I’m not going to live with knowing I could’ve saved Ella, our friend’s daughter, but didn’t because I was too afraid. And Addison, too. If I’d stayed, if I’d faced it instead of running away, they might have caught the guy. But I didn’t stay. I was afraid, and I ran, and now one little girl is dead, and another will be soon enough. So I don’t care what you say. I don’t care what you threaten. I’m not leaving this mountain without her.”
James slipped his hand around her upper arm again, but, this time, the touch was tender. His hard expression softened. “I’m afraid for you, Cassy. Don’t you understand? I’m not willing to risk your life.”
“It’s my life. You don’t get to decide how I spend it.”
He dropped his hand.
She turned to walk away.
“Wait. Just… wait a second, please.”
When she turned, he pointed to the fallen tree-turned-seat.
She sat, and he stared above her head.
“I searched the area this morning,” he said. “Saw signs of someone”—he pointed behind at the rocky hillside behind her—“up there.”
“He’s gone?”
James shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe he knew I’d come looking when the sun came up, so he found a spot farther away to watch us.”
Fear raised goosebumps on her arms, and she peered into the thick forest all around.
“You can pretend all you want that you’re not scared,” James said, “but you’d be a fool not to be. And you’re no fool.”
“Fear isn’t a good reason not to go on. And before you say anything, neither is hunger.”
Despite her words, hunger already gnawed at her stomach. How long could she last, climbing, without food? They’d eaten often the day before, and it hadn’t ever seemed enough.
Jesus lasted forty days in the wilderness without food, though, and she was worrying about a day or two? Surely it wouldn’t take longer than that to find the cave.
There were too many unknowns. What she did know was that she wasn’t going to leave Ella on this mountain alone any more than she’d been willing to leave Hallie.
After a minute, James settled beside her.
“What are you going to do?” she asked him.
“I can’t very well throw you over my shoulder and carry you down.”
“You could leave me.”
He bumped her shoulder gently. “You know I’d never do that.”
Did she know? The James she used to know wouldn’t have, but this man was very different from that one.
The James from her childhood had an easy laugh and an easier smile. He’d been relaxed, happy, filled with faith.
This man was brooding and solemn and suspicious, hiding behind the beard and the long hair and the anger he ducked inside like a turtle’s shell.
He took out the map and laid it on the ground, crouching beside it. “We’ve covered”—he tapped the paper—“a lot of ground here. We know you were at a high altitude because it snowed there long before it snowed in town.”
“And the air was thinner. It got hard to get enough oxygen.”
“Harder than now?”
She took a deep breath and blew it out. “Yeah.”
“We’re still a ways from the summit.” He folded the map. “We’ll keep looking for a little while.”
She’d keep looking until she found the cave, but she didn’t say that. One hurdle at a time.
“We can only do what we can do.” James tucked the map in the backpack. “But, if our stalker thinks that, by stealing our food, he’s forced us back down… He’s probably gone. We can search a little more. But if he comes back, if he threatens you, we’re leaving.”
Chapter Eighteen
The man left not long after dinner. Ella had a tummy ache and spent the night squatting over the metal can, her legs trembling ’cause they were so tired. By the time the man came back, the cave was filled with the stink of her diarrhea.
He stepped inside, sniffed, and gave her a long look. “The McDonald’s didn’t agree with you.”
Which was why she didn’t want his stupid s’mores.
“Do you still feel sick?”
Her stomach felt empty and achy, like the time she’d been trying to climb a tree but had fallen on a branch and landed on her belly.
“You can tell me. I’m not like Mommy. I won’t get mad at you if you’re sick.”
Why would a mommy get mad? If that was how mommies were, she wasn’t sorry hers lived so far away.
“I should have been here for you.” He sat beside her and slid his arm over her shoulder. “Things are hard right now. It’s
taking a lot of time to get everything in place for our new home, but once we’re on the beach, I’ll never leave you again. That’s what brothers do. They protect their little sisters. That’s my job.”
She wouldn’t admit that she’d cried all night for Daddy. That she’d wanted somebody to promise that her tummy would stop hurting and she’d be better soon. That, during those last couple of hours when she’d hovered over the bucket, she’d wished the man were there to help her, to keep her butt from falling into the stinky poop-filled tub.
“Mommy wasn’t a very good nurse, but I am,” he said. “I should have taken care of you, like I did that time you got the flu. Your temperature was really high, but Mommy wanted you to go to school anyway. I snuck you back home after she left for work and took care of you all day long. Mommy was so mad when she got home, she smashed my head against the wall. But I didn’t care. And I didn’t let her hurt you. You never even knew, did you?”
He looked at her as if waiting for her to say something.
She shook her head.
“I kept her from hurting you then. She won’t hurt you now, either. I promise, nobody will hurt you now.”
Chapter Nineteen
Try as he might, James couldn’t ignore the gnawing in his stomach. They’d been hiking for three hours, and for every minute, his hunger had grown. He hated that he needed food so badly. Hated the weakness that seemed more obvious as Cassidy followed him, seemingly unaffected. If he needed to, he could search for edible plants and berries, but he didn’t want to take the time to do that. He wanted to find that cave, find Ella, and get off the mountain. Nothing else, not even the gnawing in his stomach, mattered as much as that.
He glanced behind him, and Cassidy tried to smile. “Everything okay?”
“Sure.” She hadn’t mentioned food, so he wouldn’t either. “Anything look familiar?”
She looked around. “Not yet.”
“Think we’re headed in the right direction?”
She shaded her eyes and looked up. “Sun seems to be in the right place. Or close to it. I don’t think we’re high enough yet.”
He continued the trek, and she followed. She’d been following all morning. Not leading. Not offering helpful suggestions or trying to guide him in a particular direction. She truly didn’t know where they were going, only what they were looking for. Which tracked with what she’d told him. He was starting to believe she was innocent and back in Coventry only to try to save Ella. What other reason would there be for this climb?
Unless Ella was already dead, and Cassidy was trying to establish an alibi for herself and using James to do it.
Did that make sense?
It was all so convoluted, and he couldn’t think straight.
Stupid hunger wasn’t helping.
“Can we stop for a second?” she asked.
A rock was jutting from the slope just above, and he climbed it and held out his hand to help her up.
She let go as soon as she was steady on her feet and plopped down.
“My legs are shaking,” she said.
He took out their bottles of water, which he’d refilled at the stream an hour past, and sat beside her. “Your shoulder still hurt?”
“Hardly. Hip hurt when we first started, but it’s loosened up now.”
She took a long sip of her water, then replaced the cap. “Doesn’t exactly take the place of a stack of pancakes.”
“With real maple syrup.” He could practically taste the food.
“I prefer the fake stuff. Mrs. Butterworth.”
He glanced her way to find her smiling. “Just sugar and artificial flavoring.”
“We never had the real stuff, not at my mom’s house, not at any foster home. I think it’s too sweet.”
“Too sweet? This from the queen of chocolate.”
“Chocolate is the perfect amount of sweet.” Her stomach rumbled, and he felt gratified that he wasn’t suffering alone. She stood and brushed off her jeans, so he did the same, glad she didn’t want to linger.
After he started climbing again, she said, “So, how about you? Anybody in your life who wouldn’t like that you and I shared a tent last night? Girlfriend?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
The slope was gentle here. No excuse not to talk. “Haven’t met the right woman, I guess.”
“Have you been looking?”
“Sure. Of course.” A lie. He’d not dated anybody in years. After his mother died, he’d lost interest in dating. In everything.
“Where do you meet women?”
Women. Like he was on the prowl every weekend. “I don’t know. Around, I guess.”
They hiked for a few minutes before she started again. “What do you do for work?”
Was it not clear he didn’t want to talk? He tamped down the urge to snap at her that it was none of her business. He was hungry, not angry.
When he didn’t speak after a few minutes, she said, “I’m sorry. Just trying to kill time.”
He forced himself to breathe through the irrational irritation. “I still own The Patriot, but Tip manages it for me. In the summer, I give backpacking tours.”
“On Coventry?”
“People who pay for guides are looking for more adventure than that. I take people on the Presidential Range. Four days, six days—just depends on what they want and where they want to go.”
“That explains why you’re so prepared for this trek.”
He shrugged.
“Keeps you busy, I guess.”
Kept him away from town, away from people who knew too much about his life, his past.
“And in the winter?” she asked.
“My dad used to collect coins. He used to spend a lot of time at it, but when he and Mom married and he opened the restaurant and the other businesses, he had less time for it.” Dad had owned a number of businesses in town—two restaurants, the ice cream stand by the lake, a shop for tourists. After Hallie’s death, he’d sold them or given them away one by one. He’d kept The Patriot, his first business, to pass on to James.
“What kinds of coins?” she asked.
“Rare coins. Just whatever spoke to him. That’s how Dad put it—they spoke to him. He used to go to coin shows and spend hours looking through coins to buy one or two. He loved it.”
“I never knew that.”
“When I was a kid, he’d take them out and tell me their stories. It was something we did together. Even though he’d quit going to coin shows, he never lost his passion for them.”
“Your dad was such an amazing man,” Cassidy said. “So passionate about… everything he did, I guess. But mostly his family.”
“Yeah.” James let the wave of grief roll over him, allowing himself to recall Dad the way he’d been before Hallie’s death. The bright eyes, the optimism that laced every word, the faith that undergirded their family. So much loss.
The hill got steeper, and he kept quiet until it leveled out. But her question was still hanging out there.
“After he died, Mom gave me the collection. I was trying to get close to him, to love something he loved. I went through it, spent a lot of time valuing what he had. I had no intention of selling them. I just wanted to see what was there. Then I realized it was more than just a few shoeboxes full of old coins. It was history. It was connection. Next thing I knew, I was going to coin shows, trying to see what Dad saw. I started buying and selling and…” He shrugged. “It’s my job in the winter. I trade coins, mostly online. Most rare, but I also dabble in bullion. Buy low, sell high. You know.”
Behind him, she chuckled. “Not really. What exactly is bullion?”
“Bullion. You know. Gold, silver, platinum, palladium?”
“Palladium?”
“It’s a metal valued… well, usually around the same as gold, sometimes higher, sometimes lower. Sort of looks like silver. Used in jewelry and dentistry and catalytic converters.”
She chuckled. “That’s a strange list
of uses.”
“Yeah. Something about it cleanses exhaust or something. I don’t know. I’m more interested in the value of the coins.”
“You own a lot of palladium?”
“Nah. Traded it some, but it’s not exactly plentiful. I’m more interested in the rare coins, but I’ve collected some silver and gold over the years. It’s sort of my version of a retirement account, I guess.”
“Ha. Retirement. I’m lucky to scrape up enough money to pay my rent. I’ll have to work till I die. Maybe I’ll get lucky and die young.”
He shot her a look. “That’s not funny.”
“Not trying to be funny. I know where I’m going after this life. I have no reason to want to put it off.”
Her words raised his frustration again. “You have no idea what it’s like to bury someone you love. If you had any care for the people who love you—”
“Quite the assumptions you’re making there.”
He let her words roll around in his brain, but they never ordered themselves in a way that made sense. “What assumptions am I making?”
“That I’ve never buried anyone I love. And that there are people who’d grieve me.”
“Of course there are. The kids you serve, if nobody else.”
“The few who would shed a tear wouldn’t fill a church pew.”
“People you work with?”
“Acquaintances. Friends, sure. But not… not family. Nobody whose life would be different if I weren’t in it.”
What a sad thing to say. To believe about your own life.
“It’s just one more thing people with families don’t understand. I’m not saying I don’t have people who love me. And I’m not saying my life doesn’t matter. It does. I make a difference in girls’ lives. I’m just saying, when you don’t have family, who’s there to care? Who will the hospital call when I die? My best friend, I guess. But since she married and had a kid…” Her words trailed, but he could imagine. He’d been happy for Reid when he and Denise married and Ella was born. But he’d missed the friendship they’d had before. Even after Denise left, Reid had been too busy playing both father and mother to spend much time with James.
