by Dianne Drake
Or if he even deserved it.
CHAPTER TEN
IT WAS too early in the season for all this snow. It had been coming down for hours now. Steady, heavy, going from periods where it was a lighter fall to periods of near-blizzard proportions. At Aeberhard, they weren’t snowed in. Far from it. This was ski country after all, and snow was welcomed. Even worshiped, in the widest sense of the word. Yet Catherine worried a little about matters like how to get the patients in and out of the facility, or what to do about medical supplies if they were cut off. She even worried if there was enough food in the storehouse to last for a period of days without a delivery, should that happen, even though they kept a well-stocked pantry.
She’d been here for the snowy season last year, but she’d paid little attention to the winter weather details as she had been so new to her position. To be honest, she wasn’t even sure she remembered that much snow, that’s how involved she’d been in getting used to her medical duties.
But her worries were even greater now that she was part-owner. Her responsibilities had grown. Everything fell to her—not only the medical side of operations, but every last speck and nuance of Aeberhard, from the shoveling of the walkways to the back-up generators to the supply of staple foods in storage.
She trusted the people who worked here to do their jobs. Yet she was still restless as the snow kept falling. Probably a mixture of everything piling up on her. It had been a bumpy few days after all. First, Dante coming here. Then learning the truth about her father. And the truth of her feelings for Dante. On top of that, thinking about what Max had said to her, that she didn’t stand up for what she wanted. There were so many things to consider, so many things with which she had to come to terms.
No wonder she was about to jump right out of her skin. She had too much pent-up aggravation going on without an escape valve.
“So I’ll make one,” she said aloud, as she grabbed her coat from the peg by the door. A little walk in the snow, some nice, invigorating fresh air. That would clear her head.
Brilliant idea, Catherine thought, heading off down the hall, clutching a notebook to her chest. She was ready to work off some of her frustration by taking an inventory of non-critical medical supplies in the outermost storehouse—tongue depressors, bandages, emesis basins and a whole host of other things not vital enough to earn themselves a place in the clinic’s main storage.
Just a few minutes…that’s all she wanted. A few minutes away from work to think, to sort out her life and, if she was lucky, find a bit of perspective again. In these last few days it seemed like she’d lost every bit of what she’d come to count on in herself, but what was moving in to fill the void left behind scared her. Yet, oddly enough, she welcomed it.
Catherine opened the door, forced herself out into the bitter face of the wind, only to discover that the air was even colder than she’d thought it would be. The first slap of it against the little bit of her skin that was left exposed snatched away her breath, and it was several seconds before she got it back again. Still, the sting of it felt good, made her feel alive, and vital. Those were things she hadn’t felt much lately. Not outside her work, anyway.
Fighting her way step by step, and taking care not to slip and fall, Catherine ducked her head to the blustery force as she pushed forward into it, its whistling shrill in her ears. She did give a brief thought to turning back, but dismissed it quickly. There was a brute, exciting power in this storm, and she, the one who’d never risked anything in her life, was feeling an unexpected thrill, being part of it. This was the day she dared, perhaps for the first time. And she dared only because she needed to understand how. And why.
She made it to the storehouse without any problems, spent about ten minutes engaged in what turned out to be worthless inventory-taking, as the inventory list was complete, then clicked off the light and stepped back outside, quite surprised to find how much worse the weather had become in that short time. Across the way, she could make out the form of the clinic but, with the way the snow was blowing now, not the details. It wasn’t that far away, she told herself, as she started off towards the building.
Three minutes into the trudge, three that felt like thirty, she stopped to catch her breath, realizing only then that she had started this trek at the same time the blizzard had been on the verge of striking. Three minutes out and she was now in near white-out conditions. Time to return to the storehouse. Wait there. It was cozy, warm. Safe.
She spun around to return, discovering that she’d totally lost her sense of direction. The storehouse wasn’t there. Nothing was there! Just white. Cold, stark white.
She was lost! Standing out in the middle of a blizzard without her bearings, and the first things that came to mind, naturally, were all those stories about people who perished in these conditions, only steps away from safety, because they simply couldn’t find it.
Were they true? She didn’t know, didn’t want to think about it. Yet, that’s all she could think of as a claw of panic reached out and ripped at her throat. She couldn’t see…couldn’t breathe…Her pulse hammered, creeping up from her chest to slam at her temples. Her lungs seized, constricted deep within a chest that refused to expand. The muscles in her legs began to give way.
You can do this! her brain shrieked at her, but her body fought back, wouldn’t move, anchored her to the spot,
“Catherine!”
She straightened, shaking herself from the stupor trying to settle over her. Then she made herself breathe. Forced the cold air in, forced it back out. Again…again…
Don’t panic!
Catherine wiped the snow from her face, brushing away the tiny ice crystals clinging to her eyelashes. When she could see again, she turned slowly in a circle, fighting to regain her bearings.
The storehouse had to be close. Think, Catherine, think!
“Catherine!”
She fought to look, but all she could see was whiteness. Everywhere. Every direction. All around her whiteness. It was exhilarating, yet frightening. She might be mere inches from a safe, protective doorway, or not. She didn’t know.
Keep your head. You can do this.
Adrenalin was coursing through her body now. She could feel the tingle, the heightened awareness. Her senses were so alive, so tuned into the vast emptiness all around her. Funny how fright was not overtaking her as it should. As she’d thought it would. Was this how her father had felt on the precipice, or at the moment he jumped from an airplane? Was this what Dante felt when he stepped into his car?
Catherine shut her eyes for a moment, trying to visualize where she was, but the image of Dante popped into her mind. She did love him, but this was one hell of a time to think about it. Yet he was there, in her mind, standing in front of her, urging her into his arms. Calling out her name…
“Catherine!”
One step, two, three…Towards Dante, even though he wasn’t there. “Dante,” she whispered.
“Catherine!”
As Catherine continued to fight her way through the snow, the wind was picking up even more, a full blizzard on the verge of dumping its worst down on her. Keep moving, she told herself. To Dante. But her body was beginning to stiffen, her legs starting to balk at the steps. Yet the adrenalin kept welling up, causing her heart to pump even harder—pump so hard it was fighting back the very breath she was drawing in. Her lungs hurt, turning her breathing into a conscious effort. She had to will herself to take that breath, or collapse.
“Catherine!”
Breathe…breathe…
After a minute of struggling with her respirations, the lightheadedness finally found its way in, and her toes and fingers started prickling. Her blood gases were adjusting in a fatal swing. The doctor in her realized that. Realized it as her lips went numb. Realized it as her thinking became muddled. Have to keep going.
“Catherine!”
Another step forward, then another, then another, then…Catherine crumpled to the ground. “Dante,” she whi
spered. Then nothing.
He’d seen her go out, then minutes later he’d gone after her. It was time to talk, to set things straight. But she’d walked straight into a blizzard, and at the precise moment he realized that she was out in the very worst of it, all he knew was that he had to find her, and nothing else mattered. Not even the fact that the bitter cold of the snow through which he was trudging felt like icy knives stabbing through his ankle.
“Catherine!” he shouted, making slow progress into the snow, intermittently walking and calling. Then listening.
But all he heard was the wind. Even the sound of his boots crunching in the snow was blown away.
This wasn’t easy, wobbling around on a bad ankle, using a cane that hindered more than helped, under conditions that even the most able-bodied would struggle against. Only a minute or two out and his ankle was already aching like somebody had sawn through it with a serrated knife. Overall, he was in good enough shape and under different circumstances this wouldn’t have been such a struggle. But as he continued, pushing himself through the snow, his ankle twisted, and threatened to give out. He couldn’t stop though. Something in his heart, in his soul, told him Catherine was in trouble.
Dante hadn’t gone far, still fighting heavy wind and snow, when he heard it…Was that his name? Not a shout. More like a soft cry being blown towards him on the wind. He stopped again, listened, struggled to see though the falling snow, but he couldn’t. So he called Catherine’s name, and called again. Then continued…his steps slow and very deliberate. The wind was picking up even more now. Staying upright becoming more difficult.
He couldn’t imagine how Catherine was enduring, prayed that she was, and moved on.
After an eternity, he stopped and called her name again. He didn’t expect an answer, but once again he heard his name blow in on the wind. Another few steps forward, then… “Catherine!” he cried, dropping to his knees and scooping her up in his arms. He brushed the snow from her face, threw off his gloves and felt her neck for a pulse. Steady and strong. A bit fast, but not critical. “Catherine,” he said, and she woke up to his voice.
She opened her eyes to nothing but white, and choked in a panicked breath. Then she flailed at the snow for a moment, not to make a graceful snow angel but to push away the snow drifting up around her. She was cold, but not paralyzingly so, which meant she hadn’t been down too long. Minutes, probably. Or less.
“Catherine, are you OK?”
She felt the touch on her mittened hand. Someone tugging at her. Dante tugging at her. “Where are you?” she screamed into the white void.
“Here, Catherine,” he said, taking hold of her other hand now and pulling her up to a sitting position.
“How did you find me?” she sputtered, spitting out a mouthful of snow.
“Saw you leave. Came after you.” He gave her one final tug and she popped up to her feet, right into Dante’s arms.
He wrapped his arms around her, but only for a moment, then he shouted, “We’ve got to get inside. It’s getting worse!”
“Which way?” she called back to him, fighting her way through the daze that had come over her.
“Damned if I know for sure, but I’m guessing we’re not far from one of the outbuildings. Don’t know which one.”
It didn’t matter which one. A roof was a roof, and all the buildings were heated. “Dante, I don’t know which way…”
“Hold on,” he shouted, then started to move forward through the snow at a slow, steady pace, taking a step then steadying himself with his quadcane before he took another step.
Instinctively, Catherine moved in next to him to support him, and while she lent him her physical strength to plow through all this, it was his emotional support that got her through. Just knowing Dante was there with her was all she needed. She was restored, her will to move returned. And for the next minutes, as the two of then battled against the wind and struggled through the mounting drifts, holding onto each other, Catherine never once doubted the outcome. Which turned out to be one of the outbuildings. They stumbled into the side of it, groped and clawed their way around to the front and found the door.
They were safe. Alive, and safe. Tumbling inside, still clinging to each other, it was only when the door was shut behind them that he realized how close they had come out there…close to death. One misstep, veering off in a different direction…so much left to the fates. Their deaths…the fact that he’d even found her. Surviving together.
So much left to the fates indeed. Right then all he knew was that he loved her. That was part of his fate. But the rest of it…he really didn’t know.
It wasn’t as warm inside as she’d expected. The generator was out, but the residual heat was trapped inside the old tool shed. It was small, cramped and very dark. And blessedly safe.
Once Dante forced the door shut, Catherine finally let go of him and slumped to the floor, too exhausted to move towards the rear of the shed. She wasn’t sure she could move anywhere ever again. No point in the dark. “You OK?” she asked, gasping for breath.
He didn’t answer for a moment, and she was instantly alert. “Dante?” she called into the darkness, looking around, thrashing out, trying to find his form. But she couldn’t even discern the shadows.
“Fine,” he finally panted. “We need to get out of these wet clothes. Is there anything in here we can use to keep us warm?”
She thought for a moment. “Some old packing blankets we use when we move furniture. Don’t know where.”
“I’ll look.”
His voice was odd. Hoarse, but not weak. “Your ankle?” she asked, as she struggled out of her garments.
He didn’t answer again, which was when she started to thrash out in the dark one more time, panicking, trying to find him. “Dante?” she cried. “Where are you?”
“Back here,” he called from somewhere much deeper in the shed.
Now she could hear the shuffling and clanking of various tools, hear what she thought was a very difficult gait on the cement floor. She recognized the sound of his limp, of his struggle to drag his foot. Her first horrified thought was that he might have re-broken his ankle. To come after her! Nausea assaulted her stomach. “Dante, sit down. I don’t want you putting any more weight on your ankle.”
“I’m fine,” he snapped.
“No, you’re not,” she said, trying to sound calm, even though every last nerve in her body was rioting. He was injured. It was her fault. She’d hurt him! “Just sit down, please.”
Dante didn’t answer, and Catherine held her breath for a moment. Then she called out to him again. “Dante…”
In response, a light from the back snapped on. A small beam from a torch. He held it to his face and she saw the smile tweaking the corners of his mouth. “Remember that night when we had that thunderstorm? The electricity was out…”
“And you found some candles,” she said, thinking back to the way that night had ended.
“And you knocked one of them over and started a fire.”
In spite of herself, Catherine laughed. “Small fire. You put it out.” And in doing so had started an even bigger fire between them—one that hadn’t been put out so easily.
“You burned up my lab coat and my shoes.”
“Good thing you weren’t in them.” They had been in a heap on the floor, next to her clothes. Nice memories from a very nice time in her life. The best time in her life. “Look, you really do need to come sit down.”
“You’re right. I do.” He limped back to the front of the shed, dropped a pile of thick packing quilts down on top of Catherine, then slid to the floor next to her.
“Can I look at your ankle?” she asked.
He didn’t give her permission, but neither did he protest as she eased into position and pulled off his boot, then his soggy sock. “Point that light down here,” she said, beginning a gentle prod, first the inside of Dante’s ankle then the outside.
So many scars from so many surgeries, and n
ow she wasn’t sure that there wouldn’t be another surgical scar there soon. “Where does it hurt?” she asked.
“Nowhere in particular,” he said, even though as she attempted to move his ankle in an anti-clockwise circle, he sucked in an intense gasp.
Nothing felt broken from what she could feel. Not all breaks were palpable, though. The good thing was that he still had good residual range of motion. Stiff, very painful, but good. He was trying to be brave about it, though, and she recognized the subtleties—the change in breathing patterns, the flinching of muscles. “Dante, I’m so sorry about this.”
“Not your fault,” he forced out, as she reversed the movement to clockwise circles.
“You came out after me. I shouldn’t have started out in the first place, but…” She ran her fingers over the top of his foot, assessing each bone as she did so. Satisfied that nothing was obviously broken, her fingers wandered lightly towards his ankle. Dante sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth as she reached the tops of his toes, and Catherine automatically pulled her hand back. “Sorry,” she choked.
“Not pain,” he said.
“You’re not gasping from pain?”
“Not everything that elicits a gasp is painful. Remember that night, after the fire?” He reached out and took her hand. “We were good together, Catherine. I think we still are. If you want us to be.”
“But I can’t, Dante. As much as I want it…want us…want you, I can’t.” She rid him of his other boot, then helped him struggle out of his soaked jeans. She followed suit, shedding herself of everything soggy and cold, then she spread out one of the packing quilts on the floor and pulled the other two quilts on top of them—one over Dante and one over her. Two quilts that kept them decently separated. “I’ll need to get some X-rays of your ankle when we get back into the clinic, but I don’t think you’ve done any permanent damage. I didn’t feel any broken bones, the tendons felt fine and there was no swelling. You may have a nasty twist, but I don’t think you’ve done anything to set back your progress too much.”
