by Loree Lough
“The girl is home, safe and sound. GPS in her cell phone led ‘em right to her, all curled up in a ball, crying like a baby.”
“Okay. That’s good. I guess. She’s okay, I take it? No frostbite? Broken bones? Bruises on her backside where her parents kicked her bee-hind?”
“She’s fine, but Honor’s missing. Been missing for two days.” Matt was on his feet, pacing when he said, “No way. She’s the most careful, cautious … She teaches SAR for the love of Pete.”
“I’m just telling you like it is. Like Elton asked me to do.”
“You know, for a newspaper man, you talk like a real dope sometimes.”
“Hey. Don’t shoot the messenger. So here’s the deal. Elton says you’re as good, maybe better, at this SAR stuff as Honor is, and that if anybody can find her, it’s you.”
At most, he was a two-hour drive from Spruce Knob. Harriet could stay with the boys. And he’d come equipped to ski, so warm clothes weren’t an issue. But he’d need ropes and climbing gear. A tarp and first-aid kit. A compass. Maps. A radio. Flashlight and batteries. Plenty of batteries …
“I’ll make some calls,” Liam said, “make sure you have all that and then some in the next hour. And I’ll call in a favor. Get you transported over there by helicopter.”
Until Liam spoke, Matt hadn’t realized he’d recited his list aloud.
“You sure this is wise, Matt?”
“Wise? What do you mean?”
“Well, y’know how they say doctors shouldn’t treat family and friends—because they’re too close to make impartial decisions.”
“I’ll be fine. And so will she.”
She had to be.
34
How infuriating that mere inches from her stiff and trembling fingertips, she had matches. A heavy tarp. Water and energy bars. A radio to call for help. And warm dry socks. It was all she could do to remember to wiggle her fingers and toes, flex her calf and thigh muscles to keep the blood flowing. Honor had been with SAR long enough to know she’d broken her left arm when she lost her footing up there and got hung up between two boulders. She’d dislocated the shoulder and cracked a couple of ribs, too, and quite possibly her left collarbone. The only benefit she could see to being this cold was that it helped numb the pain, a little bit, anyway.
She’d been hanging like yesterday’s wash for nearly two days now. She could see her cell phone down there, twenty, thirty yards deeper into the fissure. At first, she’d thanked God, because surely it was sending a signal to some nearby mountaintop tower. But if that was the case, help would have arrived by now. At the very least, a search plane would have coasted overhead, one guy piloting while another peered through high-powered binoculars, looking for her telltale red vest.
She’d done her best to keep the snow from piling up on it, but it was falling too hard and fast. The only thing she’d seen overhead in the past day had been a bald eagle. A red-tailed hawk. A peregrine falcon. She’d seen a black bear up there, too, and he’d sniffed the air, trying to figure out where the scent of human was coming from. But his poor eyesight and short arms worked to her benefit, and he padded away to find an easier-to-reach meal.
Right now, Honor just wanted to go to sleep. Just close her eyes and slide into slumber and let the Grim Reaper have his way with her. But that same something inside her that made her fight every time her drunken uncle Mike crept into her room? That something kept jerking her awake, reminding her how Mike had done just about every vile thing a man could do to a girl … everything except that, because her will had been just enough stronger than his drive to violate her.
In the battle between sleep and fear, the score was Sleep 3, Fear 5. She couldn’t just quit. Because what if she found herself staring into her uncle’s crazed, glittering gray eyes again? What if her punishment for not going to church, or saying her prayers was … sharing the same dark corner of hell with Mike, the way her parents had made her share the corner of her room with him after he’d finished his National Guard training at Camp Legeune? Hell wasn’t out of the question, because she hadn’t always lived a stellar life, and who knew that better than God!
And what about poor Rerun? Sure, he’d be content, living with Mercy and Austin and—and little … little … Lord, what had they named their baby girl!—but he’d wonder where she’d gone, and even though the Finleys fed him and kept a roof over his head, it wouldn’t be the same. He’d always feel as though she’d abandoned him, the way her father had
when she stupidly stupidly told him what his brother had been doing …
“Oh, Honor, what an absolute mess you are,” she slurred. “You had a chance at happiness, two chances if you count John, and you blew ‘em both. Didn’t have the guts to put your foot down and keep John from going to Ground Zero. Didn’t have the spine to admit that Matt was the best thing, the very, very best thing …”
Why, you sound like just like your drunken Uncle Mike, Honor Mackenzie. And isn’t that just a big fat hoot! Because thanks to Mike, she’d never so much as swallowed a drop of alcohol. Now really, that was funny enough to inspire a good, long cackle …
… if she could summon the strength …
… if she had the room …
“… if I had the space to take a breath!”
She looked down. Saw the mirror-like curve of her flashlight’s lamp, peeking from the left-side pocket of her snow pants. Could she reach it? And if she could, would she have enough strength in that hand to grab it?
“Well, dummy, you’ve gotta at least try.”
The pain was excruciating, but it was proof she hadn’t died.
Yet.
If she could make her weak, numb fingers grip it, just long enough and just tight enough to transfer it to her right hand, then maybe, just maybe she could get it working. And that way, if a plane coasted overhead or even J. R.‘s helicopter …
A little bit of hope glimmered in her, and she didn’t know whether to believe in it, or see it as proof she’d made it to heaven, but didn’t have enough sense to admit it.
Yet.
“Wouldn’t be the first time you didn’t have the sense to admit something good.”
She should have called Matt that Tuesday before Thanksgiving.
Should have gone back to Baltimore.
And told him how she felt.
Because now … now?
“Good thing you memorized that poem. Because now you’ll have something pleasant to focus on.”
Honor closed her eyes, and let the warmth wash over her as the words he wrote echoed in her head: Born in silence and weaned on ice, his heart beat, beat, beat with strength. His voice keened, long and low, deep into the night. Up it rose, like warm steam that rode upon the air, and floated in the streams, its echo reaching, seeking, touching every corner of the earth; a call, a plea, a prayer that he might find the one who would love him, just love him … when the time was right. When life grew bitter and cruel, though he taught himself to mirror the meanness, his strong and honorable heart wasn’t in it. After the battles, he stood proud in his high place, looking, listening, waiting for the one who would love him, just love him … when the time was right. Then, at long last, he had found the one who loved him, just loved him … for now, the time was right. This was the one for whom he’d fight, to the death if need be, for he was White Fang, who was loved fiercely because he loved fiercely. The spirit of this wolf-dog lived in Rowdy, and lives in Rerun, and in the heart of their mistress, who is loved fiercely because she loves fiercely.
“I love you, too, Matt,” she whispered. “Sorry I didn’t say it sooner …”
“G’bye …”
35
Good grief, Dan,” Matt said, shaking the radio, “how’d this happen?”
“My fingers are numb. It slipped out of my hand. Sorry, Matt. Maybe we can fix it?”
It was getting dark, and that storm was close. If they didn’t get out of here, right now, all three of them would end up like Honor. Much as it pained h
im to do it, he had to call off the search. He had two young boys at home. Dan had a daughter and Bill a son, and both men had wives.
“Never mind,” he said. “Let’s just—”
“What. Is. That?”
He looked in the direction Bill had pointed and squinted. And still unable to believe what he saw, Matt knuckled his eyes and looked again.
“Is that … is that what I think it is?” Dan said.
All three men stood, gap-jawed and leaning into the wind, staring at the same spot.
Matt held his breath. Three short, three long, three short.
“I don’t believe my eyes,” Bill said. “It’s Morse code, all right.”
Dan shook his head. “Think she’s got a working radio?”
Matt nodded. “But it’s either out of reach or inoperable.”
“Well, let’s get a move on.” Dan started moving forward.
“No, wait,” Bill said. “From the looks of that light, she’s a good two, three miles out there.”
“He’s right,” Matt agreed. “Snow this deep … it could take half an hour to go that distance. Hand me that radio, Dan. They know approximately where we are. If we can get the thing working long enough to call the base …”
“… they could have a medevac unit here in no time.” He dug in his pack and withdrew the cracked device. “It doesn’t look all that bad,” he said, popping off the black plastic backer. “We can jury-rig her, I’ll bet.” Matt grabbed his flashlight. “Give me a beam, Bill.”
“You want I should signal back to her, let her know help is on the way?”
“Not yet,” Matt said. “Might make her think it’s okay to quit.”
“But we know right where she is.”
“We do now. But the way the wind is blowing the snow around? That whole landscape is gonna shift and change a hundred times before we get to her.” He shook his head. “Let’s just get this baby working and worry about telling her the cavalry’s on the way once the cavalry’s actually on the way.”
Her voice was so rough and raspy that she could barely whisper “Matt!” But after a sip of water, Honor managed to croak out, “I never thought I’d say this, but when I first saw you, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.”
Relief surged through him as he gently wrapped her in a space blanket. “Shh,” he said. “Lie still.”
She huddled deep into the silvery cloak. “H-how did you find me?”
“We had your last coordinates as a starting point. And then we saw your light. Now seriously, pipe down. You’re a mess.”
Dan held up the radio. “He’s right. Not that you’re not a mess. Well, you are, but that’s not …” He waved a hand in front of his face. “Help really is on the way.”
She was trembling from head to toe and almost as white as the snow, yet she managed to say “You sent a message … with that?”
She was having trouble focusing. Matt could tell because her eyes were rolling in their sockets.
“It looks worse than the one I dropped down …” Pausing, she licked her lips. “… down into …”
“Matt jury-rigged it.” Dan held it closer, so she could see the bootlaces that held the back in place. “You think this looks bad, you should see how it looks on the inside.”
She started to say something, but Matt cut her off. “Honor. I’m not kidding. Hush. You’re in shock. You know what that means as well as I do.”
Nodding, she said, “Okay … MacGyver.”
She was smiling when a seizure took hold of her … and then she went completely still.
During her ten-day stay at Johns Hopkins, Honor was in surgery four times. The first operation stopped internal bleeding and reinflated the lung punctured by one of three broken ribs. Next, the docs needed to set the compound fracture of her femur. Two steel pins replaced her ulna and radius. And her fourth and final trip to the OR repaired a shattered nasal bone.
Through it all, Matt didn’t hear a word of complaint … but a big box of chocolates coaxed the truth from a savvy old nurse. “She’s as compliant and cooperative as can be when she’s awake,” Esther told him while Honor was down getting X-rays.
“Maybe it’s the drugs?”
“Not a chance. She’s hooked up to a fentanyl pump, but she isn’t using it.”
“But they carved her up like a Thanksgiving turkey. How’s she handling the pain?”
“Y’got me by the feet. I couldn’t do it. Mmm-mmm-mmm, no way.”
Matt shook his head. The longer he knew Honor, the more he saw her as a puzzle, with pieces forced into places where they didn’t belong, and pieces missing.
“But when she’s asleep,” Esther continued, “oh, the scaryawful dreams that poor girl has!”
Esther told him about Uncle Mike, the drunken inventor, and Daddy, who claimed if he stayed, he’d end up in prison for murdering his pedophile brother. “Then there’s Mommy, who found all sorts of creative ways to pay the rent … and died of AIDs two years after Daddy disappeared. And the whole muddled mess is entirely Honor’s fault, don’t you know.” Esther popped a vanilla butter cream into her mouth, then put the lid back on the box and tucked it under one arm. “I’ve asked her about the dreams,” she said from the doorway, “but she acts like I’ve confused it all with a grade-B movie. It’s a crime, I tell you, what she’s been through.”
She’d been gone all of two minutes when an aide rolled Honor’s wheelchair into the room. “Good to see you,” she said, smiling.
“Good to see you, too. You look sleepy. Want me to come back in a couple of hours? Give you a chance to take a nap?”
“Do you think it’s too soon for you to bring the twins in to see me?” She shrugged her good shoulder. “On second thought, I guess I’m pretty scary looking, with all these bandages and casts and tubes running every which way …”
Matt didn’t know how he felt about bringing the boys around, even after all the wires and tubes and casts were long gone. “It won’t be long now before they move you to a rehab facility, so you can get your mobility and strength back.” Honor had a lot of healing to do, inside and out.
“I can promise you this: I’m going to work hard, harder than I’ve ever worked at anything, because oh, how I want to go home.”
Home to Queens? Or to her little house in Baltimore? “Understood.” He’d had a lot of time to think and pray on things since that night in Queens, when she’d cooked him supper. “So, have you talked to Buzz lately?”
“This morning.” She brightened a little. “He says Rerun is doing great.”
“Bet he misses you like crazy, though.”
“I miss him, too.” She shook her head. “But if I ever hope to be strong enough to get him back, to get my life back, I have to concentrate on getting better.”
“Well, that’s the sanest thing I’ve heard you say since you got here.”
She frowned. “Is that even a word? Sanest, I mean.”
“Hey. Who’s the Pulitzer winner here?” he teased. Then he stooped to drop a kiss on her forehead. “I’m outta here. Get some sleep, will you?”
“I’ll try.”
“Someone very smart once told me ‘Do or do not; there is no ‘try.’ “
“You said it to me first.”
“Did I?”
“You did.”
“I almost forgot to tell you. Remember that girl who went missing months ago? Macy somebody?”
“Yes. How could I forget? Broke my heart when they called off the search.”
“Well, then you’ll be happy to know she’s home.”
“Alive?”
“Yep. And getting ready to start high school.”
“Where was she?”
“Seems despite the perfect picture her folks painted, she had a few, shall we say, problems. I have a feeling Mom won’t entrust medication dispensing to Macy anymore.”
Honor got a far-off look in her eyes. “So she ran away …”
“To a shelter in the city, where she gave the admi
nistrators a phony name and convinced them she’d been abused and abandoned.”
Eyes narrowed now, Honor frowned. “What a horrible thing to do.” She heaved a frustrated sigh. “What made her go home, finally?”
“She missed her mother.”
“Hmpf. As I recall, she disappeared on the very night her teacher told her she got the lead in the school’s production of Sound of Music. Looks like Macy’s perfect for Tinseltown.”
“Well, she’s home, anyway. Safe and sound. Which is where I’d better go before the boys think I’ve abandoned them.”
He’d said it without even thinking, and when Matt saw her flinch in response, he groaned inwardly.
“Tell Steve and Warner I said hi.”
“You bet.” He kissed her forehead again, this time as a silent apology for the slip of the tongue. “Get some rest,” he said again, backpedaling from the room.
He wanted to do the right thing, for Honor and his boys. For himself, too, if the truth be told. That meant he had lots to think about, lots more to pray about.
Because his decision would impact four lives in a very big way.
EPILOGUE
Hard to believe it had been two years. Some days, it seemed like twice that. And others, it felt like yesterday. Honor hadn’t explained why, when Buzz all but handed her a chance to come back to Baltimore—same title, same pay— she’d chosen to stay in Queens. It didn’t make a lick of sense to him, because she didn’t know a soul up there and couldn’t participate in nearly as many of the SAR missions she loved so much.
It hadn’t been easy, letting her go, especially after spending countless hours in the rehab center, cheering her on as she struggled through painful exercises, holding her up as she graduated from the wheelchair to crutches, from a cane to standing on her own, holding her close when she got word that Buzz died of a heart attack.
His conscience was clear because he’d kept every promise made to her. How much easier life would be, he thought, going through life the way Honor did: if you never made a promise, nobody could hold your feet to the fire when you broke it. No, not easier, because when all was said and done, what did she have to show for her less complicated life?
