I feel like I’m aging exponentially, gaining more aches and pains by the minute as my body speeds up breaking down.
After this, I will need to sleep forever.
But not right now.
It takes me several tries to find what I’m looking for. I have to pull over, regard the printed map by flashlight, set out again. Then, shortly after midnight, I’m there. It takes me another nerve-racking, horrifying hour to confirm what I suspected.
Back to the motel, where the room is now pitch-black and silent, broken only by the rumbling sounds of Daisy’s snoring, I remove my coat, fumble with the tactical blade at my waist. Then, the trickiest part, bending over and slowly easing my sneakers off my feet.
When I finally manage to straighten, I’m done. There’s not another ounce of energy left in me. I collapse back fully clothed.
I close my eyes and will myself to sleep.
Tomorrow will be hard enough.
CHAPTER 44
In the morning, I wait till we arrive at the hospital before making my next request.
“Sheriff Kelley will be arriving in about thirty minutes. Can you and Daisy meet him when he gets here?”
“Why? What are you up to, Frankie?”
I ignore Luciana’s question. I made two calls while she was in the shower: one to the hospital, one to the sheriff’s department. Both were useful.
“Text me when you and he are together in the lobby. My Tracfone doesn’t make these things easy, so my reply will be short. But it’ll matter.”
“What’s going on? Talk to me, Frankie. I’ll help.”
“You will,” I assure her. “Just not yet.”
She huffs out a breath but relents. We hit the diner first thing in the morning, ordering two of everything. But my appetite gave out long before the food did. I’m like that when I’m nervous.
Daisy trots happily between us as we cross the parking lot. Just the sight of her search uniform has her energized and ready to go. Luciana is right: The dog loves her work. Daisy also recovers much more quickly than her human counterparts.
We stop at the main desk, signing in as guests. True to Luciana’s prediction, no one questions Daisy’s presence. Of course, Daisy looks especially charming today as she tilts her head to the side and offers an enormous doggy grin.
I head straight to Miguel’s room, shuffling along as fast as I can. I spy Neil still folded into the guest chair, his short brown hair sticking straight up. Somewhere along the way he gained a blanket as well as wraparound sunglasses.
But the real surprise is when I walk into the room and Miguel is sitting up in bed.
“Hey,” he says.
The wash of emotion that floods through me . . . I can’t speak, can’t move, can’t breathe. I stare at him, mesmerized by the sight of his patched-up face.
“I thought you died,” I hear myself say.
“I thought I did, too.”
“You were shaking so hard with the cold. Then you weren’t anymore.”
“I remember you touching my hair. I remember being grateful that at least we were together.”
Now I am going to cry. I suck in the tears, finally moving bedside so I can touch his hand, his cheek, his hair. I repeat the process twice.
“I think I’m all here,” Miggy assures me, “but only because every inch of me hurts.”
“Me, too!” Then we laugh and it feels good again. Nearly normal, and after such an intense experience, normal is exactly what everyone needs.
“I’m feeling better, too.” Neil speaks up from the chair.
“Nice shades.”
“Nurse brought them for me. I will treasure them always.”
“Your families?” I ask, being careful not to divulge Neil’s secret by mentioning Anna’s name.
“My parents are arriving later this morning,” Miguel offers up. “Funny—they ran into a woman in the airport who also mentioned having to make an emergency trip to Wyoming to assist with an injured friend. Apparently, she’s dating this dude named Neil. Been together for years. She’s madly in love with him and beside herself with worry. At least that’s what my mom said.”
Neil, from behind me: “Oh, about that . . .”
I give Miggy’s hand a final squeeze, then leave him and Neil to sort through the mess.
When I phoned earlier, I was given another piece of good news: Scott had been upgraded to stable and moved out of intensive care. Now I ease open the door of his room. He’s sound asleep, tucked in tightly in the middle of the bed. His color looks better, the rise and fall of his chest steady. A huge bandage obscures most of his right shoulder, but he’s still with us. Against the odds, he survived those damn mountains after all.