38. Chapter 38
Chapter thirty-eight
Tuesday evening: Frankie
H e was twenty-seven hours and forty-two minutes late.
For someone who regularly spouts off adages like If you’re on time, you’re late or Punctuality is the soul of business, he sure had some nerve in making her wait. And worry ! How dare he? She was the younger sister, goddammit! The older sibling is supposed to be the habitually stressed one in the family, not the baby. Her life was supposed to be carefree and shrouded in brotherly overprotection. It’s his job to look out for her, stay up late wondering where she was or if she’s lying in a ditch somewhere. Not the other way around.
But with Jonathan sitting on that camping chair, huddled in too-small sweats and that gaping cut on his chin, Frankie couldn’t regulate the ebb and flow of burning anger and bone-chilling panic. For the moment, she’d turned off the facial expressions that would have surely played out in a manic display and instead deployed her trusty RBF (or the resting bitch face that her best friend in seventh grade, GiGi, had diagnosed her with).
Jon looked so fragile, with the medic knelt down, tending to his slashed jaw and the sheriff peppering him with questions. Normally larger than life, her gregarious, brave, dad-joke-loving big brother curled in on himself, barely making sense.
Shouldn’t he have gone with them in the ambulance?
She got that EMTs have the final say on who does and doesn’t get to ride in their vehicle, but Rodriguez rarely passed up a chance to pull rank and flex. She’s just a power-hungry jerk who loves to be in control of the entire universe and . . .
Ooh . . . there went the burning anger again.
Deep breaths, Frankie. You’re not helping.
“Was it just the two of you?” Sheriff Howards asked, voice deepened to up the ante on his influence and authority.
“Yes. It was supposed to be three, but the other guy canceled.”
“What’s his name?”
“Brodan something. I can’t remember his last name. It’d be in the paperwork back at the office.”
“Why did he cancel?”
Jonathan blinked up at his inquisitor. “They broke up a month ago.”
“Huh. Why didn’t you use the SOS button on your GPS?”
“I crushed it,” Jonathan said quietly.
“On purpose?”
“Seriously, Clint?” Frankie’s agitation found a new target.
The sheriff looked over at her and gave a resigned sigh. “ How did it get crushed?”
“I landed on it. Just after we got clear of the landslide.” Jonathan flinched as the medic finished taping clean gauze in place.
“I see,” Clint mumbled, scribbling into that tiny notepad of his with the equally tiny red pencil. “And how did Miss . . .”
“O’Malley. Lucy,” Jonathan filled in.
“Right. How did Miss O’Malley end up in the river?”
Jonathan dropped his head into his scraped-up palms, breaths coming rapidly. “The railing broke, and she fell in. I panicked and froze, and she was trying to tell me everything was all right, and when she turned, she slipped.” He sobbed silently, a trickle of tears running down one dirty forearm.
Little sisters shouldn’t have to be the protective ones, and yet Frankie became possessed with the urge to shield and defend. She stepped in between Jonathan and the affronting questioner. “Can we do this tomorrow, Clint? Jon’s been through fucking hell, and he could probably use a shower and some rest. I promise to bring him by the department first thing in the morning.” She looked down at her normally so-solid brother. He glanced up at her from that little chair. Deep shadows darkened the skin just below his eyes. He looked destroyed. Utterly and completely. “Er. Make that first thing in the afternoon. K?”
Sheriff Clint closed his little notepad and replaced the pencil in the spiral at the top. “Ok, fine. I expect to see you both after lunch.” He leaned around Frankie. “We’re glad we found you, Mr. Miller. Get some sleep; skies will be brighter in the morning.” Then, before turning to leave, he tipped his raindrop-shrouded hat. “Ma’am, I look forward to tomorrow.”
She watched in relief as the sheriff strode away with a confident swagger. Frankie was likely to pop him in the nose if he had stuck around, asking more questions in that skeptical, accusatory tone. Couldn’t he see her brother was a wreck?
She laid a hand on Jon’s shoulder. Startled, he looked up at her. “I need to chat with Miguel then I’ll take you home.” He didn’t respond, only returned his face to rest in his hands.
Their friend stood facing two people who wore green jackets with reflective strips and the words Ground SAR emblazoned on the backs. Miguel fired off a plan to handle communication and wrap up the efforts. “Audrey, notify B and C team that we found our missing hikers. After we tear down here, head over and help them wrap things up if they need a hand. Dante, prep the press release with Margo and be ready to talk with the papers and local channels by morning. I’m going to help Frankie get Jonathan home. Call if you need me. Good work today.” Orders received, they hurried away.
Frankie caught her friend’s attention with a little wave.
Miguel nodded. “He’s been through a lot. Think he’ll be all right?”
She’d been so pissed at her brother Monday evening, sitting alone at The Rooftop Tavern. They’d made plans for six p.m.—giving him enough time after returning from Mount Stuart to go home and shower—to discuss their mom’s sixty-ninth birthday party. By the time Jon was twenty minutes late, Frankie had tried to call five times, but each time, his stupid phone went straight to voicemail.
Ten minutes later, she’d gotten a call from Janet in a panic, saying Jonathan and his customer hadn’t returned within the expected window. So, Frankie called Miguel, who managed the Chelan County Search and Rescue.
“I’m sure he’s fine. He probably just lost track of time.”
“When have you known my brother to lose track of time?”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
“Something’s wrong, Miguel. I can feel it.”
“Ok, I’ll meet you at Off the Beaten in thirty so we can drive to the trailhead and check things out. Will that help?”
“Yes, thank you.”
It hadn’t helped. Betty was sitting untouched in the parking lot, not another car in sight, and no sign that Jonathan had returned to his beloved Subaru. So, they’d loaded on their packs and hauled ass up the trail. It wasn’t until a few miles later, as they’d rounded the corner and spotted the total decimation of Skydiver’s Bluff, that Frankie’s heart truly plummeted.
The next twenty-four hours had been spent assembling search and rescue, notifying the police and Lucy’s emergency contacts of what they knew. The process was a whirlwind yet also managed to move agonizingly slow. Paralyzing fear traded places with crawling anxiety every few minutes until she demanded to be given something to do. Miguel had claimed her to help with operations at the Group A setup at Eight Mile trailhead, while B set up at Mount Stuart trailhead and C at Colchuck Lake trailhead. Jonathan and Lucy would most likely find a way to connect with one of those trails, and the hope was to intercept.
Tuesday evening, the sun prepared to set, and Frankie had just returned from picking up sandwiches Janet had made for each group. That’s when she’d seen the flash of movement by the river. The box of food slipped from her hands, and she’d shot off toward the bank. She’d finally reached Jon’s side as he performed CPR, bloodied and stammering incoherently.
Frankie shook the memory loose and shrugged. “Hope so, but I think there’s more to the story than just getting lost.”
“I get the same feeling.” Miguel crossed his arms over his broad chest, teeth worried over his bottom lip. One dimple depressed deeply in his left cheek. “All right kiddo, ready to take him home?”
“Yeah. I talked to our mom a minute ago. She’s going to meet us there.”
The relief in her mother’s voice had been visceral. A gasp had exploded from her like she’d been holding her breath since she’d learned her son had gone missing. She’d kept chanting, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Frankie bit her tongue to keep from imploding into a puddly mess. She’d felt the same, but carefully locked her distress behind a flat expression and an overcompensation of activity.
Miguel wrapped his arms around Frankie’s shoulders. She gratefully sagged into her friend’s comfort. Then she swiped away the tears and sniffed. “Let’s go.”
They loaded Jonathan into the back seat of her orange Crosstrek. The car started and a shock of 90s R&B blasted through the speakers. Startled, Frankie quickly turned down the volume. “Sorry. It helps me clear my head,” she mumbled sheepishly.
Miguel wiggled a finger in his ear canal, grumbling, “Jesus, kid. I almost went deaf.”
With the heater cranked on high, they drove from the parking lot and headed to Jonathan’s house in Plain.
“I need to see her,” Jonathan mumbled in the backseat.
“Mom will be there by the time we pull in. We’ve all been worried sick about you, big brother. You have no idea how—”
“No.” He found his voice. “Lucy. Take me to the hospital. I need to see Lucy.”
Frankie and Miguel looked at each other, sharing a similar worried expression.
“I’ll take you after we talk to Sheriff Howards tomorrow afternoon,” she offered. He was in no state to gallivant around. She was sure her brother had things to say to this Lucy chick, but it would have to wait until he had a shower and a proper night’s sleep. Jonathan looked about ready to collapse from exhaustion and . . . was that grief? Anyway, whatever was going on could wait until tomorrow.
“I’m going tonight. I can drive myself.”
“Hey, man.” Concern laced Miguel’s words as he turned in the passenger seat to look at his friend. “You shouldn’t be driving right now. How about I take you first thing in the morning?”
“I need to see her,” he groaned desperately. “Please.”
Their family always teased Frankie, claiming she was the stubborn one. And usually, that was true. But on rare occasions—when it really mattered—her brother would dig his heels in ten times deeper than she could ever manage.
This was going to be one of those occasions .
“Fine.” Frankie glanced at Miguel, who was vehemently shaking his head. She rolled her eyes and waved a hand at him. “I know my brother. He won’t let it drop.” She looked in the rearview mirror and found Jonathan staring at her, eyes full of heart-wrenching anguish. “On one condition. First, you will hug Mom, shower, and eat something . Got it?”
He sagged back into his seat and blew out a relieved breath. Nodding, he said, “Fine. Thanks, sis.”
“What happened out there anyways?” She’d been there with Jonathan in the aftermath of trauma. First, losing their father then again with Cynthia. Each time he’d just . . . stopped. Off switch engaged. Completely shut down. But this felt different.
It was as though she was looking at a man who knew he’d lost everything but still wanted to go in for another round of punishment. She’d get it out of him. Frankie lacked the sensor that warned a person to back off. Getting him mad was the only way to make Jon spill his guts.
She glanced at him one more time through the mirror. He tilted his head back against the headrest and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. A tear slipped between thick lashes and trailed down his smudged cheek.
Tomorrow. She’d pester him tomorrow.