Scott can’t speak anymore. He pinches the bridge of his nose, then wipes at his eyes. We’re almost back to the others now. I pause, giving him a moment to recover.
“This is all so shitty,” he whispers. “The way Josh and Neil and Miggy look at me. Martin’s total hatred. I know finding Tim won’t magically change any of that, but at least it’ll finally be over. We can lay his bones to rest. And someday, Latisha and I will take our kids to visit his grave and tell them about this really great guy we both loved. We’ll share stories. We’ll keep his memory alive.
“That’s what Patrice wants. She knows Martin is too pissed off to remember. So we’re the keepers of Tim’s flame. And maybe it’s twisted that Tim’s former fiancée now married to his friend are the ones carrying it, but I don’t see the others stepping up.”
“Then my best wishes to the two of you,” I tell him honestly. Because I also know what it’s like to love someone so much that, years later, the loss still feels like a razor’s edge. And the only person I can share my sadness with is his widow. The woman Paul loved, calling the woman who loved him. Scott’s right: Grief makes for strange bedfellows.
“I need this to end,” Scott declares with a final rub of his tear-stained face. “I need Daisy the SAR dog to be brilliant. I need all of us to get this done. Then I need to go home to my wife and baby and never think of these damn mountains again.”
“Sounds good.”
A sniff and a nod. “All right, let’s do this.”
We can hear talking. The rest of our party is just beyond this wall of trees. Scott points himself toward them.
At the last second, I grab his arm. “Quick question. Do you know anything about Bob the Bigfoot hunter?”
“Never met him till two days ago. Why?”
“Luciana and Daisy?”
“Also just met. More acquaintances of Martin, I guess. He never quits this. Never.”
I let his arm drop, just in time for him to now stop me.
“Wait, does this have something to do with our diminished food supplies?” he asks.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
“I thought an animal did that.”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
Scott studies me. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“No idea. But if I ever solve the puzzle, you’ll be the first to know.”
He blinks at me, but I really don’t have answers. I shrug. He stares at me and I shrug again. Then, finally, we thread our way through the line of ghost trees and join the others.
CHAPTER 17
In the end, our impromptu search is a bust. Daisy doesn’t pick up any scent trail. The humans don’t stumble upon any visual evidence. We have the makeshift campsite, that’s it. Daisy is clearly forlorn and requires much patting, as well as a twenty-minute break. Martin is equally frustrated, but nobody pats him. I eye the chocolate in my pack with longing but, figuring the day will only grow more torturous, settle for another protein bar instead.
Day two in the wilderness and I’m already making deals with myself: If I just survive this trek, I will never eat protein bars ever again. It’s the little things that get you through.
Nemeth must be timing us, because I no sooner crumple up my wrapper than he’s standing expectantly. There’s a collection of low groans, then one by one we rise to our feet, adjust our gear, and stagger forth.
We are a wordless procession, snaking through the woods, then crossing a broad stream into a vast meadow. The sun has climbed higher, warming our faces and glittering off distant snowy peaks. In this moment, it’s easy to believe we are enjoying a gorgeous day hike, complete with dancing wildflowers and gentle flowing streams. After the desolation of our last search area, I want to appreciate this beauty. Bask in the scent of meadow grasses, the singing of birds, the feel of the wind on my cheeks. The sky so impossibly blue and stretching out . . . forever. So very different from the last few places I’ve stayed. It beckons and I can feel our answering call in the fresh bounce of our steps. Even Daisy has recovered and is prancing along, snapping at blowing grasses and pouncing on random insects.
Walking through this section of the canyon, I can understand the mountains’ appeal. What would draw someone like Tim—restless, adventuresome, confident—to test himself against the great outdoors. I am starting to build a picture of him in my mind. I can imagine him striding along, knowing he was lost, but still taking a moment to admire the scenery, still upbeat enough to think he was one footstep away from solving this latest problem. From saving himself.