by Rebecca Rode
“Mom would love this.” There’s awe in Zara’s voice. “She’s a chocoholic.”
“And do you share her love of chocolate?”
“Yes. Every possible chocolate opportunity from this dessert bar will find its way onto my sundae.” She scoops mint chocolates, M&Ms, and salted peanuts on top if the hot fudge, then finishes it all with whipped cream. She slips her skillet onto the table and says, “I’m going to go out and call—check on things. I’ll be right back.”
When she doesn’t come right back, I have a feeling that something’s wrong. I throw a wad of money on the table and tell the server to keep the change as I pass by her. Although I haven’t seen our bill, I know she’s going to get one fabulous tip tonight.
Just outside the door, I run into Zara coming back in. Her eyes are red, and she looks freaked.
“My phone must have shut off when I put it in my pocket. Ruth tried calling several times. Mom wandered off again.” Zara’s hand pulls on my arm, and I follow her out. “I thought she would be fine—Ruth was there.” As she finishes the sentence, we’re walking—well, running—toward the car. We jump inside and take off.
Zara keeps checking her phone. “I can’t be mad at her or blame anyone. Mom’s slippery—I haven’t been able to keep track of her all the time either.” Zara stares down at her phone.
I reach over and give her arm a gentle squeeze. “Are you all right? Where are they looking? Do they have any idea where she went?”
“She went to our old house. The one I grew up in.” She shows me the face of her phone. A map of grid lines crisscrosses the screen with a yellow dot flashing in the middle.
I put my eyes back on the road. “What’s that?”
“I bought a GPS tracker. It’s a bracelet, and this app shows me where she is. When I called and found out she was gone, I called the police and told them right where to pick her up. Her dot has started moving again.”
Zara’s phone buzzes. “It’s a text from the police. They have her.” She punches a few buttons and Ruth answers. Zara has it on speaker phone and I can hear Ruth crying on the other end as Zara talks to her.
“I went to the bathroom. When I came out, the window that leads to the widow’s walk was open,” Ruth explains. “I don’t know how Rachel did it, but she climbed out a window and onto the little platform.”
That shakes me up a bit. I can tell Zara feels the same way, her eyes wide with maybe surprise, maybe fear for her mom. That widow’s walk is around the third floor of the mortuary. We got in big trouble for playing up there once. Zara and I both realize how easily her mom could have been hurt of killed with one little slip.
Ruth’s continues. “She must have gone down the emergency ladders on both stories. They’ve both been unlatched and pushed down.”
“Ruth, it’s okay. I’ll be there in a few minutes too. I’m glad Mom was wearing the GPS bracelet I gave her—bless someone’s little genius brain for inventing that.” Zara lays her head back and breathes deep. I’m sure the adrenaline in her blood has made her muscles tense, but I hope she has the same relief I feel now, knowing that someone safe has Mrs. Hollis.
The police car is still behind the mortuary when we arrive. Aiden’s car parks at the same time we do. Zara ignores him and runs up the stairs to her apartment.
I slap Aiden on the back. “Thanks. I’m glad you were there.” When I reach the front door, I see Zara sitting on the couch with her arms around her mom. I slip around the corner and stand next to Ruth.
Zara’s mom is sitting small in the chair—her shoulders rounded, and her hands clasped in her lap. “I haven’t seen your dad all day. I thought he must have gone home. He didn’t know I was visiting you today, Zara.” She looks around the room with a puzzled expression. “Can you take me home now? I’m tired.”
“Mom, we are home.” Zara whispers softly. Tears slide down her cheeks, but her arms stay around her mom.
“Where’s Tom?” Her voice sounds like a child. “He should be home.”
Zara leans back and pauses for a moment. Her voice is thick when she finally whispers, “Dad’s gone, Mom.”
“Gone?” Rachel’s eyes squint and roam like she’s searching her memory. Her hands wring in her lap. “Is...is he dead?”
Zara’s eyes close, forcing more tears down her cheeks. She scoots close, leaning her forehead to her mom’s. “Yes, Mom,” Zara whispers. “Dad died.”
“No.” Mrs. Hollis wraps her hands across her stomach and bends forward, sliding off the couch to the carpet, bawling. Zara moves close to her and wraps her arms around her.
How many times a week is his death news to her? How often does Zara have to tell her mother about her father’s death? Or help her mother grieve him again? How many times does she bear that grief anew?
My heart aches for Zara. She hurts for the loss of her father each time, and for the loss her mother feels. I imagine the pain of watching your parent grieve again and again. Each of those times would be more evidence that she’s losing her mom too. Even a mortician can only bear so much.
Ruth slips to the floor beside the two and hugs them both, all three women in tears.
A few moments later, Ruth says, “Rachel, how about a cup of tea? We can sit at the table and talk.”
Mrs. Hollis shuffles behind her and past me to the kitchen.
Zara stands, but her shoulders slump in defeat. In two steps, I wrap her to me and hold her.
When it started to become obvious that our business had a problem, I felt like I should do something, so I decided to visit the offices. I should have finished snooping around the Colorado office by now and headed to the Idaho one to do the same. After cleaning the building each day, I’ve gone through every file and drawer in the place. There’s nothing. The same nothing I found at the last two offices.
Nolan and I have built our business from the ground up, being involved in each new acquisition. Now, I feel helpless. We had hoped that it would be easy to figure out what was wrong, but it’s hidden.
I’ve found something I didn’t know I was looking for, though. Being with Zara and having her in my arms, feels right. I could come back for this—or stay. My mind starts wondering how to make that happen.
9
Zara Hollis
I HADN’T REALIZED HOW INTENSE my life has become. I’m in a constant state of dread about what will happen next to Mom. And since the incident a few days ago, I realize how much I need other people and that lovely GPS tracker. Ruth has been a lifesaver, vising with Mom every week so I can take some time away.
But Trev…just being held in his arms means the world to me. My struggles seem lighter now that he’s here. He’s given me back the mountains—I’d forgotten how much I loved the outdoors. He’s a best friend in a way that Elena and Sienna aren’t, like he and I could be more together.
We don’t have any events at the mortuary today, and Mom’s healthcare aide is with her. I’m taking a rare full day off to go on a long hike.
It starts out pretty ordinary, but now Trev and I stand on a ledge overlooking the river. We crossed this bridge before noon. The sky was crystal blue with a few small, puffy clouds around the edges of the horizon. There was a light breeze. Nothing that would hint at the scene I see before me, but that’s how it is in the mountains. Rain in one location can mean a flash flood somewhere else, and today, it’s here.
Although the bridge wasn’t very high, maybe six feet above the water level, it has a span of at least thirty yards from one side to the other. Now the bridge is only inches above a torrent of muddy water these four hours later. Because of the curve in the river, the far side of the bridge is anchored where the path of the water blasts against the side, undercutting the soil in the bank above.
We both stare at it mutely for a long moment as the sky begins to sprinkle. Then Trev breaks our silence. “It looks like we’d better get across. I think it’s going to be underwater soon.”
The hillside is slippery from the light rain we’ve had off
and on, and I walk to the side of the trail and hang on to bushes and branches to stabilize me while I make my way down. Trev is doing the same. When we get down, we have to walk parallel to the current to reach the entrance to the bridge.
The water crashes against the opposite bank, muddy sprays leaping high into the air. I take one careful step after another, but keep an eye on the powerful surge. The clouds overhead are turning from a pale gray to an angrier charcoal as the storm intensifies around us, roiling and thickening. Wind whips my hair into my eyes.
My downhill foot slips, and I drop to my left hip and slide until my hand tightens around the limbs of a shrub and my foot bumps against a large rock downhill. With a little panic, I realize I could have slid into the river. I take a deep breath.
Standing at one end of the bridge, I notice that the water is occasionally splashing over the surface. Leaves and debris wash over it too. Fear rips through me, but I shove it down. This is the quickest way back to town, and back for Mom.
“Let’s go.” I pull my pack from my shoulder, holding it in my hands. If I go under, at least that won’t act like a weight to drag me down. I can just let go. I try to sound rational and in control so I’ll convince myself. It doesn’t work. My gut tightens, and my brain chants, Don’t fall.
I step onto the bridge and immediately feel the vibration from objects pummeling against the underside of the boards, making my heart race. My mud-caked boots are slippery on the wet deck.
Trev is right behind me as we both move slowly, clinging to the handrail. The water roars beneath us. Giant rapids churn on both sides. My clothes feel wet and heavy.
We’re only a third of the way across when the tremors erupt into a deafening crash. The bridge below my feet twists. Beams shouldn’t be that flexible. Something’s very wrong. It rises several inches and buckles. I scream and start to turn back toward the bank I just left.
The far side of the bridge snaps, and several boards are thrown underwater and downstream. The railing jerks from my hands.
My foot slips off the edge. I grab for the rail, for anything. My knee hits the corner of the deck, shooting pain up my leg as I’m sliding toward the edge. I cling to my backpack, which has caught on a metal support. My legs dangle in the cold torrent, the current trying to drag me downstream. How long can the straps of my pack hold me with the added pressure of the river? I fight to keep my hands fisted around the narrow strap.
I know what will happen if I go into the water. I won’t come out. I’ll hit a rock, or a tree will hit me. My body will wash up in some shallow spot after the flood recedes. I’ve read about it too many times. My breath is quick, and my muscles burn.
The side of the backpack begins to rip, and I feel myself slide with the current. My eyes squeeze shut. Please, no. Frantically, I kick my feet as if I could swim up the bridge deck. My hand feels numb. Will the zipper stop the rip? I hope so.
I stare up at my hand as if willing it to hold me, and see Trev inching toward me on his stomach. Only the toes of his shoes on the other side of the bridge anchor him. The bridge shakes and moans—another support beam breaks away. My heart pounds in my chest.
Trev scoots to the edge of the bridge. I want to reach for him, but if I go under, I’d take him with me. I shake my head, but he moves closer, leaning over the edge. I can’t let go to hold his arm. Instead, he grabs my belt loop and my shirt, pulling me into the middle.
The bridge is no longer anchored to the other side and begins to drift with the current. The supports behind us groan with feeble resistance to the force of the water.
We stand on shaky legs. I look down my knee—it seems okay, but it’s going to have a great bruise in the next day or so. At that same moment, Trev’s arm wraps around my waist and pulls me back against his chest until I’m stable.
I’m too afraid to look behind me—to see how close to death I hung.
Suddenly releasing me, he yells, “Let’s go.” We turn and run back up the treads toward the bank.
I fall to the bank, tripping on willow roots. A large crack echoes around us. The bridge sways back and forth, back and forth, pushed by the flood with only one anchor still holding.
Over my shoulder, I see several tree trunks race into view. They slam against the bridge, pulling it from the remaining anchor. The bridge snaps off and is thrown downstream only to lodge against hidden boulders and the narrowing of the streambed.
Trees and debris pile against it, making a dam of sorts. The water rises and rolls upstream in a massive undertow, then surges up and over the fallen bridge.
“Awesome.” His voice has a worshipful tone to it. He gives me a hand up. “But the river’s still rising,” he yells over the roar of the water.
“Let’s get out of here,” I call at the same time.
The rain has increased and is running as rivulets down the steep embankment we’re trying to climb. My feet slip back with each step. I grab and wrap branches around my fists and wrists to help me pull my way up.
From the top of the small hill, I look back and catch my breath. More trees have ripped out of the banks and half submerged, bob like toy boats. They’re pulled under only to appear again yards down the river.
We’re less than an hour’s hike from our car, but we’re separated from it by the flash flood.
We can’t cross here. “What do we do now?” I ask, but Trev is shaking his head slowly.
Suddenly, his arms circle me in a tight hug. His face presses into my neck, then he backs away. His gaze returns to the river.
“Have you ever seen anything like this?” His eyes are open wide. “Never even imagined.” He looks up the stream, and I follow his gaze. Then he pulls out his phone and clicks a couple of pictures and a few seconds of video.
I’ve never thought of water as being a destructive force. It’s so fluid, life giving, peaceful. Now that I see this, I’ll never forget its power, like a brick wall moving through this little canyon, destroying. All from little drops of water. I’m enthralled by the incredible power before us.
“Come here.” He pulls his phone into position, and I slide in next to him while he takes a selfie of us with the river in the background.
Huge boulders hidden by the raging water collide and rocket up with a blast of mud and foam, then continue downstream.
Finally, Trev says, “We’re not safe here.” I don’t know if he’s warning himself or me.
I can’t tell if his voice sounds excited or panicked. I have to admit, I feel both.
“Let’s get back up the trail.” He grabs my hand and pulls. “We can watch this from above and wait for the surge to subside.”
As we make our way back up the little climb to the meadow, I can’t help but worry if Mom is okay. Ruth’s staying with her again, and this time, she brought backup. Her husband is going to watch TV while the women have their party, but he’s a second set of eyes to keep Mom out of trouble and in the house.
Trev and I sit at the top of the ravine. Across the small canyon where a silver ribbon of a water trickled over the cliff this morning is a powerful, roaring waterfall several yards wide, dumping into the torrent below. Water from the falls pushes boulders from the rocky walls into the swollen river.
“The water doesn’t look like it’s going down any time soon.” Trev pulls his pack from his shoulder and sets it on the ground. “I think we’re here for awhile.”
I study the river for a moment. The bank on both sides is eroding, with large chunks of earth breaking away. He’s right. It’s higher now than it was a moment ago when we were below. We sit in silence, almost hypnotized, watching the power displayed down the trail. Seriously, I thought the time when Trev cracked his head against the cliff had been our worse date. Nope. This one right here.
“The sun will set in a few hours.” I nudge Trev’s leg to get his attention. “If the water level doesn’t drop, we’ll need to find another way out.”
“Okay, but let’s give it half an hour and see.” Trev nods. “The next br
idge across that stream is about five miles south, and a lot taller. That’s our backup.”
At first, I notice the wind is cooler, but I thought it was because it was afternoon. Now, as I look around, I notice the whole sky is changing—gray clouds turning black, the storm front nearly upon us, carrying the threat of much more than the sprinkles we had earlier. It smells like rain. I love that smell. Maybe this was the storm that sent the flash flood our way earlier today.
Trev must have noticed the same thing because we’re both pulling our backpacks to our shoulders to move.
“There?” I point across the meadow to another short cliff. The rain is now falling in sheets.
Trev nods, and we take off. By the time we reach the hill, wind has whipped up enough to drive rain into our eyes as we walk against it.
A burst of wind shoves us from behind. I’ve felt this kind of wind before—a microburst. We need shelter now. We pick up the pace. Limbs and debris pelt us and fly past. There’s a stand of trees, but we turn toward the rocks instead, looking for an overhang as small pellets of hail bounce off us.
A sharp whistle draws my attention. “Here,” Trev yells, pointing behind some shrubs. The area looks big enough for both of us, and Trev prods around for animals inside before we crawl in.
The overhang is more than long enough, but very narrow. We push our packs above our heads and lay down inside.
Apparently, survival training kicks in for both of us. I keep thinking, Never assume you’re fine. Over-prepare, as I pull out my emergency blanket and a LED lantern.
Trev has done the same. We scoot his blanket below us, and position mine above.
Basic survival—find shelter, stay warm, conserve rations and water.
I’m immediately aware of Trev along the length of my body. Warmth is not going to be a problem. And hunger has nothing to do with rations or water.
I’ve been kidding myself to think I’m just Trev’s friend. I mean, if that’s the way he wants it, I’ll do it for now, but it’s not what I want long term, or even now. Every time I feel that we’re moving closer, he pulls away. What is he afraid of?
