by Pam Withers
He sits back on his haunches and waits for answers.
“I’m sorry,” I say, ashamed for having lowered myself over the cliff, and at a loss to explain why I had brought a rope. “I — I thought I saw something down there, caught on the wall.” He stares at me for a long time, until I add, “Something of my dad’s.”
His face softens.
I stare at the ground. “But it wasn’t anything to do with him.”
“And you brought the rope just in case.”
“S-sort of.”
He punches my shoulder gently and unties my rope from the boulder. “Let us head home, Tristan. Your mother needs you. I will buy you a cola on the way.”
CHAPTER 10
“Mom, wake up. We have to talk.”
“She has been sleeping all day,” Dean informs me as he stands staring at the family photos on her dresser, his hands jammed into his jeans pockets. “Like, all she ever does is sleep.”
“You’ve been here all day?” My fault for trusting Elspeth, selfish dipshit that I am. But since when is it responsible for Elspeth to leave a twelve-year-old in charge?
“Yeah. For twenty-five bucks.” He grins like he just won the lottery.
“And when will Elspeth be back?” For me to strangle.
He shrugs. “Who knows?”
“Tristan?” Mom mumbles.
“Yeah, Mom, it’s me. I’m back.” I sit beside her on the quilt.
“Back from where?” She looks muddled, prompting a stab of guilt in me.
“Tracking, Mom.”
“Lucky you,” Dean says with his elfish grin.
Mom pats my hand and closes her eyes again.
“Mom, please, can you concentrate for a few minutes?” I say softly.
She makes an effort to prop herself up and asks for a glass of water. Dean has it in her hands before I manage to rise.
“Oh, hello, Dean. Have you met my son, Tristan?”
I frown, but tell myself she’s just sleepy. Or dopey from too many drugs.
“What is it you need to talk about, dear?”
“Dean, can you please leave us alone for a few minutes?”
“I’ll only listen from the other side of the door.”
My flash of annoyance fades to amusement. The kid’s honest, got to give him that. Who cares what he hears, anyway?
“He’s lovely, dear. Let him stay,” Mom says, patting my hand again.
I cough to clear my throat, then dive into the speech I’ve rehearsed all the way home from the tracking trip.
“Mom, I’ve decided I’m going into the Lower Canyon to try to find some sign of what happened to Dad.”
She sits up straighter and digs her fingers into my arm. “No, no, no, Tristan! Pleeeease.”
“Mom, I know Search and Rescue found a few things, but this is something I’ve got to do. So I need you to remind me what he was wearing the day he left and stuff like that.” I’ve racked my own brain but have little memory of his departure. After all, he went canyoneering a lot, and no one, including him, could have expected that goodbye to be his last.
She bursts into sobs and hides her face in the pillow. Dean runs a finger through the layer of dust on her bedside table, then cocks an eyebrow at me.
I look away and find myself gazing at her open closet, where Dad’s boots and shoes are lined up neatly, all polished by Mom before that fateful day. I know the sole imprint of each and every piece of footwear he wore while tracking with me. How we loved stalking each other around the woods, from the time I could barely walk. Only one pair is missing: the black canyoneering boots he wore into the Lower Canyon last October.
Pulling my eyes away from Dad’s stuff, I wait until Mom’s tears have spent themselves, then I repeat my request more gently.
Between occasional sobs, she finally says, “The green sweater I knitted for him, his light yellow windbreaker, his black canyoneering boots. His usual wetsuit and gear, and his red bandana.”
“That’s good, Mom. And his orange backpack?”
She nods as more tears fall. “I told all that to Search and Rescue, Tristan. Don’t try to do their job. It would be dangerous. And I don’t want to lose you, too.”
I sigh, torn and racked with concern for her. “I know this is hard for you, Mom, but what else can you remember? Is there anything you didn’t tell me before? About where he said he was going, who with, and why?”
The sobs turn into violent moans and thrashing. Dean’s eyes widen, then he slinks out the bedroom door.
“Mom,” I whisper, my face near hers as my hands clutch hers. “Please calm down. Just answer that question, and I won’t ask any more.”
“He — your father” — she gestures toward her dresser — “left his wedding ring behind.”
She slides under her covers, flops over, and buries her head so far into her duck-down pillow that I fear she’ll smother herself. Her hands are balled into fists that are making feathers fly out of the pillow.
I walk over to the jewellery case on their dresser and check. Sure enough, my father’s wedding ring. What does that mean? Nothing. I know for certain Dad often took it off before we did trips. Lots of people don’t like rings pinching their fingers while rappelling down rope.
Her head reappears. “He said he was headed to the Lower Canyon for a few days,” she whispers. “But he was —” Her voice trails off.
“He was what?” I prompt.
“— excited,” she whispers, raising her hands to cover her eyes. “More excited than usual,” she says even more softly. “And — secretive. I think he was … hiding something from me.”
“And he was going by himself?”
“Get out!” she screams at me. “Get out of here, this minute! Stop asking me these questions! Of course he was going by himself!” The sputtering words turn into a wail that frightens me.
I move to close the window, so the neighbours won’t hear.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I say. “So very sorry.” I grab the cup of water from beside the bed and offer it.
She bats it away, spilling some on the quilt, and stares at me through angry, watery eyes.
Better sad than mad. Did Dean really say that to me once? What did he mean?
“I’m leaving now, Mom. I appreciate your help. I promise I won’t ask any more —”
“Out!” Her shaking hand points to the door, slightly ajar, where I can see Dean cowering. “But I forbid you from going into the Lower Canyon!”
• • •
“She hasn’t told you everything,” Dean says as I shut the door quietly behind me.
I freeze on the landing. “What did you just say?”
“Nothing.” He runs down the stairs three at a time and all but knocks over furniture on the way out the front door.
By the time I reach the porch, he’s sprinting up the driveway so fast that Elspeth’s approaching moped veers into the overgrown hedge to avoid him.
“Dean! Dean!” she shouts. “Come back here, young man.” But Dean has vanished.
“What did you do to make him run away like that?” she asks me.
“Nothing. Mom’s wailing scared him.”
Her foot delivers a healthy wallop to the moped’s kickstand. She rises from her bike, removes her helmet, and shakes out her pink-streaked hair. “I see. And for what reason is your mother wailing?”
I’m about to say none of your business, when I remember that Elspeth is caretaking — if you can call subcontracting to Dean caretaking — for free. And me? I had let it happen by running around with Dominik. But the sight of the red napkin I thought was Dad’s bandana has done something to me today. Made me certain, somehow, that there is something I need to find in the canyon. And that finding it will put our family back together, our reduced family of two.
Before questioning Mom, I h
ad collected the address of the local Search and Rescue office, and that’s where I’m headed next. So I’ve got to be nice to Elspeth a little longer.
“I tried to calm her. Maybe you can do better. Um, thanks for arranging Dean to help out.” I really said that?
“You’re welcome.” Her jaw looks tight.
“Okay if I go out for an hour, or do you have to go home now?” My shoes are edging down the driveway.
“An hour’s okay. No more than that if you want the meatloaf and apple pie tonight right out of the oven.”
I force a smile to my face. “Thanks, Elspeth. Anything you need from town while I’m there?” Not that I have a dime to pay for anything, but it’s a generous bluff, in my opinion.
“I’m good,” she says as she hurries toward the house.
• • •
“I’m sorry for your loss, Tristan. And your mother’s,” says Major Dirks, the heavy-set man with a curlicue moustache who gestures me into his cramped office at Search and Rescue.
His face is weathered and kindly, and his Armed Forces uniform is full of badges that make him look important. The walls of his room are jammed with framed photos of him shaking hands with politicians, police officers, and rugged-looking teams of searchers.
“We assigned both rotary and fixed-wing aircraft to the search at the time, and made a considerable investment in officers and volunteers: trackers, canyoneers, and other highly experienced people. Your mother was fully co-operative, considering her understandably distraught state. And she accepted our conclusions when we finally called off the search. My files indicate you were included in our interviews. So pardon me for being curious as to the reason for this visit months later?”
I sit straight-backed in the chair across from his desk, place my hands neatly in my lap, and meet his eyes with all the confidence I can gather. “I was younger then, and too shocked and scared to even think of asking questions. But now, well, I can’t help thinking about stuff. And since my mom doesn’t want to talk about it, I thought maybe you’d help me.”
“Do you have new information? Are you asking us to reopen the case?”
“No,” I say quickly, leaning forward and placing my elbows on his desk. “Just a few simple questions.”
“Okay, shoot,” he says, failing to hide a frown.
“What was he wearing?”
Major Dirks opens up the file folder in front of him and lists off all the items my mother had named half an hour ago.
“Okay. And was he on his own or with anyone else?”
At this, the officer lets the file folder fall shut, folds his hands, and pushes his office chair away from his desk. He stares at the ceiling for a second, then looks at me sympathetically. “You’re referring to the woman?”
“What woman?” My voice cracks.
“The woman canyoneer whose body washed up a few weeks after your dad entered the canyon.”
My throat dry, I recall Harry and Angela’s mention of the two incidents. I also remember reading and ignoring the news reports about the woman at the time. With my dad gone, I couldn’t handle a story about the death of someone else — someone I’d never heard of.
“There was brief speculation in the press that they might have been connected, but we ruled it out. The woman, a geologist from Lillooet, was found many miles downstream weeks later.”
“Geologist? Lillooet?” My brain takes a minute to make the connection. “Brigit’s mother —”
The officer nods grimly. “Evelyn Dowling. Single mother of two. Our investigation concluded that she and your father did not know each other and were definitely not in the canyon at the same time.”
“So, he was alone?”
“We believe so, yes. Your father’s last anchor was found on Plunge Falls. As you know, we also found a few contents of his pack — his sleeping bag and a few clothes — floating just below Twin Falls, a little farther downstream. But not the pack itself.”
“Oh.” Again, that break in my voice. As my face goes warm, I recall now that they told Mom and me all this months ago, but I quickly blocked it from my mind. Somehow I needed to hear it again, now that I’m thinking more clearly. Who knows what Mom has ever told Elspeth.
Major Dirks attempts a sympathetic smile and he sighs as he looks at me. “As you know, we found webbing, anchors, and rope at various points down to Plunge Falls.”
“Plunge Falls?” I hear the panic in my voice.
“I’m sorry, Tristan,” he says. The major rolls his pencil between his palms. “His rope was frayed — chewed through by friction against the rock face of the falls, we presume — one hundred feet down. The falls is two hundred feet high, and there are boulders in the pool at the falls’ base.”
He stops and stares at the wall across from us. There’s a long silence, like he’s done. But I lean forward and wait, my fingers pressed on the edge of his desk, until he is forced to look at me again.
“There’s no way of knowing how far he fell.” He halts, then searches my face. “But something less than one hundred feet.”
Another long pause as he shifts in his chair. “We assume he was killed … on the boulders below, and … well, the currents, log pileups, and so on kept … his body from reappearing.”
I swallow hard. “Did you remove his rope?”
“My team left the anchors in place, but took the rope.”
“And who was on your team?” Strange that I’d never even wondered that before, let alone thought to ask. It wasn’t impossible I’d know someone. Have I been in denial all this time? Unwilling, unable to contemplate the details? If so, why am I waking up now?
“The canyoneering squad was led by Alex Carney, one of the most competent canyoneers in the area.”
Yeah, right, I can’t help thinking. Except for being about profits over safety, according to Dad.
“He and his team were in constant radio contact with our officers on the rim, in aircraft, and at the station.”
He meets my silence with his own for a long minute.
“No further anchors or personal items were found,” he continues more gently. “No signs at all much below Twin Falls. And despite our best efforts …”
“Thank you, sir,” is all I can force out.
“You’re welcome, Tristan. I understand that sometimes knowing the facts puts family members’ minds more at ease. We supplied you and your mother with the names of grief counsellors back when your father … disappeared. If you would like that information again, I can … It’s especially advisable where there is … no body —”
“— to grieve over. Thanks again for your time.” And I’m out of there.
• • •
“You okay?” Elspeth asks as I sit fiddling with my fork over the steaming slice of apple pie.
“Uh-huh.” I can’t believe the woman whose body washed up in the canyon near the time of Dad’s disappearance was Brigit’s mother. Why hadn’t I put it together before? She lost her mother last year, she learned canyoneering from her mother — and she has a chip on her shoulder. I feel sorry for her, I really do. But it doesn’t mean I’ve warmed to her.
“Elspeth,” I say as I pierce the apple pie slice and lift a morsel.
“Yes, dear.”
“If I go into the Lower Canyon to see if there’s anything else of Dad’s that Search and Rescue missed … ”
“Oh, Tristan! I’m so glad you’ve come around …”
“ … will you look after Mom for the two or three days it’ll take?”
She leans down and hugs me — a long, warm hug. For once, I let myself melt into her sympathetic touch.
“You know I will, Tristan. Of course I will. I’ll handle your mother. And I trust you to be careful.”
CHAPTER 11
“Hey, the Lower Canyon, no amateurs, and two overnights. This is going to be fun,” Dominik says f
rom the back seat of Alex’s pickup truck, where my Polish friend and I sit with Dean sandwiched between us. Brigit is up front beside Alex, who’s driving.
“You have to let me go, too. Why not?” demands Dean, kicking his sister’s seat from behind, as Alex pulls the Chevy into the driveway of Brigit and Dean’s rundown bungalow.
“Not even a remote possibility, little guy,” Alex says with an exaggerated laugh, prompting Dean to aim poison-dart eyes at his sister’s boss.
“Dean, sweetie, I’m really sorry, but we’ve discussed it enough now,” Brigit says in a firm voice, turning around and trying to pat her brother’s head. Instead he arches back and kicks the seat again. “Someday I’ll let you, honestly. Maybe in a few years. But it’s a very serious piece of canyon, and you have to work up to it. Besides, this is an important mission, a search to help Tristan.”
“I’m not getting out of this truck!” Dean declares, reaching to click the door lock. “And I’m not staying with that woman again! You can’t make me!”
Alex chuckles like it’s all an amusing game as he punches the control button that unlocks the pickup’s doors, then jogs around to open the one needed to evict his employee’s little brother.
“You’re one determined boy, that’s for sure. That’ll work in your favour when you’re a real canyoneer. But no small fry allowed on this trip, buddy. Besides, Elspeth is getting very fond of you. I think she’s even taking you to a movie tonight.”
“Like I’d be seen dead with her at the movies,” Dean retorts.
It takes all my willpower to smother a smirk as I step out of the truck on the other side, but the smile vanishes from Alex’s face.
He leans over, grabs Dean by his T-shirt, and says, “Out, kid. Brigit, can you please deal with this brat?”
“Dean! So good to see you,” says Elspeth, gliding up the path in a tie-dyed T-shirt, shorts, and multicoloured tights. “And look at all of you, a rugged team if ever I saw one.”
She gives Alex a peck on the lips, which startles me. Are they an item? If so, my respect for Alex has just nose-dived.
