by Julee Baker
***
The next couple of weeks passed uneventfully. Was that good or bad? With emotions still waging war within her, maybe it was good. At least she got some quality work done.
But, truth be told, she was a little disappointed she hadn’t seen a certain rugged sculptor around town. It wasn’t for lack of scanning the street every time she went out. Lake shook her head. Foolish.
The weather had turned cloudy and chilly again, making it easier to focus attention on winding up “Timeframes” without being lured outside. Casey called a couple of times about some issues and they discussed the forward for the book. Casey wanted her to write it. Have the daughter’s perspective. It made sense, but Lake was no writer and it would take her some time. Of course, Casey was right on this. It was appropriate. She’d be proud to do it—but how to compress all her thoughts and feelings about her parents into a few pages?
She was trained in the art of, “a picture is worth a thousand words”, not the other way around.
With that thought, an idea formed . . . perhaps she could do a sort of narrated family album at the beginning of the book, through a few family pictures. Let those say the thousands of words for the most part. Lake would work on that angle. Casey agreed.
Then there was marketing. Yikes. They discussed promotion of the book once it was in print, probably early summer of next year. That would be good timing. Summer would be easier to arrange. Riv could come with.
The fact that River was in the picture, and the fact that neither them had been on a plane since . . . well . . . travel would be a little trickier. At least there was time. The idea of getting on a plane again, for either of them, would take some time to wrap their heads around. How would River react to the idea? She might need professional advice on this one.
Yes, it would certainly take more advanced planning. Not her strong point.
She was used to deadlines, of course, but she had always pretty much had the freedom of jumping in the jeep or on a plane when inspiration struck. Now she realized what a luxury that had been.
She wouldn’t trade River for any amount of convenience her single life had offered. His love and care, no matter how difficult at times to fit into her life, was a blessing, and she would never allow herself to forget it. Her mind echoed with the sound of his busy footsteps up and down the stairs at the back of the studio . . . his laughter . . . his contagious enthusiasm.
A fantasy skipped its way through Lake’s head about what it would have been like to have a bigger family—more brothers and sisters, but, it wasn’t meant to be.
Her thoughts strayed into the family area more and more lately. Only natural, she supposed, considering what had happened. What she was missing.
Lake tapped the eraser of the yellow, wooden pencil on her lips as her gaze drifted out the studio window. Children of her own . . . In her mind’s eye, a hazy scene swirled past, with children around a table . . . two . . . three . . . four . . .
What?! She blinked hard. Where had that come from?
Funny thing was, when dating Jeremy, those kinds of thoughts never entered her mind. Why not? They’d dated for over a year, but neither had ever even broached the subject of what they envisioned.
Looking back, had they really talked about anything that mattered to building a quality life? Except work. They were both passionate about their work.
She supposed the death of her parents and River’s full-time entrance into her life triggered all the—what am I doing with my life—thoughts. Only natural. But, the thought of a roomful of children appealing to her? Huh, who’d have thought.
With a jolt, Lake realized she’d been staring in the direction of Shadow Mountain. Blinking herself back to reality, she couldn’t ignore the lingering question. Could she find an answer there?
Trouble was, it took two to make the little daydream developing in her mind’s eye happen in real the real world.
Frowning, she popped the thought bubble with a vengeance.
EIGHT
It’s All Coming Back
B
efore Lake knew it, the day rolled around for her first survival class. Fran had enthusiastically endorsed the idea and volunteered for sitter duty.
“Now there’s a smart idea.” she approved with gusto. “I’m glad Hawk Matthews suggested it.”
Lake narrowed a look at Fran and the extra zing she added to his name.
“Considerate of him to show an interest—don’t you think?” she pressed on.
Lake’s outdoor skills might not be the best, but she recognized a fishing expedition and wasn’t about to bite.
“I’m sure he is trying to avoid a future emergency call for the GRRR squad. Doesn’t want to have to scrape me off the bottom of a ravine, or chip me out of a snowbank somewhere,” Lake continued, as she stuffed a small notebook and pen in her over-sized leather shoulder-bag.
“I’m sure he wouldn’t want to do that. The question is, what does he want to do with you?”
“Fran. Really. Stop. It’s nothing like that. Believe me.” Lake inserted extra emphasis and a frown to her denial and with a shake of her head added, “He’s just trying to help.”
She pulled on the fitted blue jacket that matched her eyes, pretending to ignore the fact that Fran was smiling like the Cheshire cat.
Thankfully, River was oblivious to Fran’s innuendos.
“Do you have to take anything with you?” River chimed in. “Like a backpack, or notebook, or anything?” His interest in the class was bubbling over, and was disappointed he couldn’t go along, but seemed satisfied with her assurance that she would teach him all she learned and promised to look for a wilderness class for his age group.
“No, Riv—just a notebook and pen tonight. All in here.” She patted her bag and slung it over her shoulder, then bent to give River a hug.
“You have fun with Fran, but remember,” she looked at him seriously, “pajamas on by eight-thirty and bed at nine.”
“Aw, can’t I stay up ’til you get home? I could practice my reading.”
“You know the answer to that, but nice try you little conniver.” She ruffled the hair on his head as he gave a guilty grin. “I shouldn’t be too late. I’ll come and tuck in your covers when I get back.” She gave them a quick smile as she pulled the door shut.
***
Six fifty-three. The class was scheduled to start at seven p.m. She nodded and smiled to the other students she passed on her way to a desk at the back. Her spot. The best place to observe the scene. The best place to get the angles, the right shots. Force of habit.
Well, that was part of it. The other was a natural tendency. She was not the one to pick if you needed a parade led, or a rally run. No, she was much more comfortable behind the scenes, getting the big picture . . . considering all the angles.
She checked her watch again. Five to. From the looks of it, there were about a dozen people attending.
An older couple, four athletic, twenty-something guys, who appeared to know each other from the way they were talking and laughing, three women sitting right in front of her—two looked to be in their twenties and one probably late thirties, a teenage boy and herself.
A gray-haired gentleman in a slightly crumpled khaki shirt, probably the instructor, entered the room and walked to the desk. Huh, a little older than she would have expected, but he probably had loads of experience in the back country. Nothing like having lived what you were teaching. Lake settled into learning mode, focusing on the instructor. She watched as he placed items on the desk . . . a small mirror, a few feet of rolled up twine, a light stick, a . . .
Funny, he seemed uncomfortable as he looked around. Why? As his glance met hers, she smiled and he smiled back. Was she wrong? Was he new? She doubted it.
The sound of the door opening drew his attention and put a relieved grin on his face. “Oh, there you are. Thank heavens. I thought I was going to have to start teaching the class myself.”
Oh, boy.
After signaling the dog to lie down beside the podium, Hawk gave a brief glance around the room. Had he noticed her react? Be cool.
“Had a GRRR call this afternoon, Ed. Sorry to make you nervous, but I figured I’d make it on time if I hurried. And look, we’re here, one minute to spare.” He patted Ed on the back.
Ed’s relief was apparent. “Good-timing. I’ll just get out of your way then. Have a good class.” The older man gave Elle a pet on his way out of the room.
“Thanks Ed.”
Hawk turned to his students.
“Hello everyone.” He glanced around. “I do know most of you, but for the rest, I’m Hawk Matthews. I grew up around here and for the past twelve years I’ve been privileged to work with Glacier Rescue Rapid Response. Please, call me Hawk.” He reached down and scratched the wolfish dog behind the ears. “And this is Elle, short for Cinderella.”
At the curious glances, he continued with a smile and pat on the shoulder for Elle.
“I was fortunate enough to adopt her after the West Slope fire five years ago. She was a pup and covered in ash—all cinders and soot when we found her wandering out of a hot-spot. But, she’s a survivor. Aren’t you girl?” He patted her flank. “We searched everywhere we could think of for her owner, but nothing, so I adopted her. A few burns, but she recovered nicely. She’s family now . . . and a great asset. Great nose—tracks beautifully. Sociable too, in case any of you want to make her acquaintance after class.”
As if on cue, Elle sat up and raised a furry paw to shake, followed by a round of “Aws", from the class.
Hawk straightened up from returning the shake, smiled and started, “Okay. I’ll be your guide for the next three weeks as we talk about respect for nature.”
There were a few frowns.
“Oh, right. You thought this was a survival class.” Lake was glad she was sitting as Hawk flashed a smile her direction. “Right. It is. First lesson—big—important—lesson. Respect nature. It’s not referred to as the power of nature for nothing. We are bit players in a huge system. It can be beautiful. It can be inspiring. It can be deadly. Never forget that.”
Well, he certainly commanded the attention of the room, she’d give him that. The formerly rowdy guys were paying close attention and the women, well the women could only be described as transfixed. Not a major surprise, she supposed, since their instructor looked like he’d just stepped out of GQ on his way to an Iron Man triathlon.
She smiled at their reaction, then noted, her own eyes seemed to be glued overlong to the GRRR logo on the front of the sage green t-shirt stretched across the well-defined musculature of his chest. Must lift weights. He wasn’t muscle-bound, but you could tell the man worked out. She continued the appreciation of this fact as her eyes traveled to his biceps, then back to his eyes which were—which were looking straight into hers.
Busted. She looked down and grabbed for the hand-book on her desk, deftly knocking it to the floor with a slap. All heads turned toward her. Sugar. She retrieved it, but couldn’t help but note Hawk’s amused expression when she was brave enough to look up again. She hoped she’d masked her startled expression in time. Had he caught her appraisal of his physique? Double sugar. He might get the wrong impression—or—the right one? Arrrgh.
The trace of a smile still evident, Hawk cleared his throat and continued, “First of all, I want to thank you for coming, for taking the time to protect yourselves and take charge of your own survival. One of the most important things I’ve learned in the past twelve years of my involvement with GRRR, is that the people who do not view themselves as victims, who are informed, active participants in their survival are much more likely to do just that. Survive.”
“Second, I want to personally thank all of you for becoming informed, which will lessen the chances of Elle and me having to leave our warm cabin in the middle of the night to pull your sorry butts out of some jam you’ve gotten yourselves into out there—stuck in a tree, or on the side of a sheer cliff, or on a log about to go over Harmony Falls, or turning yourselves into human popsicles, or Smokey the Bear’s supper, or whatever other creative ways people seem to keep coming up with. Granted, life-threatening situations happen that cannot be avoided, but we are here to talk about the ones that can be.”
Lake wondered what you would call his voice. Clear and strong. Baritone? Tenors were higher, weren’t they? Hmmm. Did he do any singing? The church had a choir but it sang at ten-thirty and she’d been taking River to the service and Sunday school at nine. Sam mentioned Hawk went there too. How their conversation had traveled there, she didn’t remember, but you’d think with a voice like that it would sound good singing. She forced her attention away from the sound of his voice back to the content . . .
“So, tonight we will talk about pretty basic stuff. Simple-basic-stuff. Not glamorous, but effective. The first is a little thing I like to call—the plan. Many people, who shall remain nameless—except for those who end up as front-page fodder—start their wilderness trips with little more than a spirit of enthusiasm.
Lake managed to keep her jaw from dropping as he focused on her in a silent exchange—which his eyes and expression said—this means you. Mercifully, his gaze traveled on before the full effects of her blush hit.
Cool down, Lake. You know he’s right.
“The plan involves looking at a map, doing research on the area you’ll be traveling, and, this is a big one, pay attention people—letting someone know exactly where you are going, what time you are leaving and what time you expect to be back. Super important. I can’t emphasize this enough. If more people would use “the plan” technique of wildness excursion, our calls at GRRR would probably be cut in half. No kidding . . . in half.” He topped off this fact with an intense look around the room.
“So—okay. Let’s say you’re on your hike, full of enthusiasm, out there appreciating all the good things the Creator has provided and you get lost in the moment . . . become literally lost, or heaven forbid . . . you trip over a rock while in amazement at how tall the trees really are and break a leg.”
He looked up at the ceiling and raised his hands and eyebrows in mock awe at this point, bringing a chuckle from the class. “If people know where you are headed, there will be people looking for you when you don’t show up when you were expected. That is—if you used ‘the plan’”.
The pretty blond flashed a sideways smile at the brunette and whispered loudly, “I’m making a plan right now to get lost, if he’s the one who’s gonna come find me.”
“Maybe you’ll get lucky and be on call nurse for a GRRR rescue flight with him,” the brunette whispered back.
Oh, they’re nurses, thought Lake, as the full effect of their conversation took hold of her. Rescue flight . . . Rescue flights? Hawk Matthews goes on rescue . . . flights. Of course he did. Small planes. Lake’s stomach did a serious turn. Her palms were getting sweaty. Rescue flights . . . small planes . . . How could she forget the fact? Why had she only pictured Hawk Matthews on ropes and backpack kinds of rescues? She took a shaky breath.
Small planes . . .
Somewhere in the background, Lake was aware of Hawk’s voice . . . something about a compass, a mirror . . . light stick . . . with you. But the brunette nurse’s whispered comment had thrown her for a loop.
GRRR rescue flights . . . Lake was unprepared for the onslaught of emotion . . . the memory of that fateful telephone call . . . flight down . . . your parents flight . . . jarring images of emergency vehicle lights flashed through her mind—and the sound of newscasts: “World-renowned photographer couple’s flight downed by freak blizzard.”
The classroom dimmed from view, and, like rows of dominos tumbling over, memories clattered to the front of her consciousness, vivid as the awful day they’d happened. Even worse, the memories continued tumbling, to three days
later when the weather cleared as first, the broken wings were discovered, followed, a short-time later, by the crumpled pile of metal that had been the fuselage. The memory of Fran’s hands trying unsuccessfully to hold her back from seeing the aerial reports of the crash scene on television . . . trying to keep her from seeing . . . seeing what she never should have seen. No child, whatever age, should see their parents . . . like that.
Through bleary eyes Lake fought to clear her focus. God help me, I’m losing it. Where was this coming from? She hadn’t had an episode for months. Vaguely aware her hands were shaking, she fumbled for her purse. Tried to calm herself. She looked to the front of the room and through the fog, registered the concerned expression pointed at her from Hawk.
What is going on? Why is this happening again? Now? Get it together.
She had to get out of there. Get home.
Heart pounding, her eyes darted to the door. Could she slip out without making a scene? A quick glance around evidenced it was too late for that. She grabbed onto her bag and started down the aisle, stumbling a bit over the brunette’s purse on the floor.
“Sorry. Oh, sorry,” she mumbled, head down on her way past the desks and curious glances. “Something I ate,” Lake fibbed and bumped her way to the front of the room.
Don’t look up. Don’t look at him. She saw Hawk’s legs move to stand from his sitting position on the desk, but knew she couldn’t face any questions. She couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes right now.
Why had the words rescue flight hit her like that? Now, after all this time, had they triggered the onslaught of vivid, painful memories? She must have heard the word flight hundreds of times since the accident. Why tonight? Why now?
Mouth dry, heart pounding, Lake felt she’d run the length of a football field as she made for the goal line—the door.
Still trying to catch her breath, Lake was in the hall, rounding the corner headed for the parking lot, when a voice from behind stopped her.
