Chapter 26 #2
“At what cost?” I snap. “You’re a journalist. You’ve seen exactly how these cases play out in real life.
” Victims enduring severe psychological trauma prepping for the trial, only to have slick defense attorneys demoralize and attack them on the stand.
If that wasn’t bad enough, once their sordid and tortured past gets splashed across the media, they get persecuted all over again.
By their community and friends, even their family.
And for what? The bad guys almost always go free.
It's exactly what I tried to tell Trina the first time. Do the hard work to heal yourself instead and put the rest behind you, I told her. But she refused to listen.
Annaleise’s surprise at my answer fades so quickly from her eyes I wonder if I imagined it. “So…you’re a coward?”
I reel in my frustration. She’s just trying to get a rise out of me.
Get me to divulge some juicy soundbite. She has no idea what it’s really like to make a choice like this.
To choose silence. To live my life the best way I know how and not let the past drag me down, or worse—infect the people I love.
“Give me an exclusive and we can control the narrative,” she adds with a zealous gleam in her eyes. She looks a little deranged, if I’m being honest. Like she really believes her own bullshit.
I grab the camping bin and set it next to the tarp, keeping my back to Annaleise. She can yammer on about this until she’s blue in the face, but I’m never going to give her what she wants .
Minutes later, she gets in her car and reverses out of my driveway. I don’t watch her go.
I let Greta lead the final pitch of Liberty Spires. It’s only a 5.7, but there’s wicked exposure. We check our anchors, systems, and the pro she’s added to her harness, then take one last selfie. After an exchange of commands and a helmet bump, she’s off.
The pitch follows a dihedral crack in the sometimes not perfect granite, but Greta smokes it, and soon I’m following, clipping her well-placed pro to the sling across my chest, the mid-morning sun hot on my shoulders.
I’ve managed to push my altercation with Annaleise from my mind, but now that the climb is almost over, anxiety is creeping back in.
What kinds of notifications am I going to see when my phone gets service again?
Though I have plenty to be ashamed of when it comes to my past, escaping Sons of Eden isn’t one of them. But I might feel differently if Annaleise puts it in one of her stories. As if people need more stupid shit to gossip about in this town. Though really, the only opinion I’d care about is Meg’s.
I fucked up that goodbye, and it’s eating at me.
When I get to the top, Greta and I haul our packs up, take off our shoes, and flop down on the cool granite to enjoy the view.
Below us is the verdant Finn River Valley and the sapphire jewel that is Bear Lake.
We pick out Ruby Gulch, the confluence of the Clearwater and Finn rivers, the empty ski lifts on Bear Mountain glinting in the sunshine.
I set up my mini tripod and the timer on my SLR then get off a couple of shots before the brisk wind buffeting the mountaintop sends us digging for our puffy coats.
I use my phone to snap a selfie of us, then send it to Meg.
Even though she won’t get it until we have service again, it helps soften the ache I’m feeling for her right now.
“Best birthday ever,” Greta says once we’re bundled up and sitting side by side.
“Hold that thought.” I bring out a box from the bottom of my pack. Inside are two root beers, a carefully protected collection of birthday cake donut holes from our favorite donut shop, and a small box wrapped in brown paper tied with a flattened yellow ribbon.
“Dad, the climb was my present, remember?”
I nudge her shoulder. “Sixteen is a biggie. I thought you deserved at least one thing to open.”
She cracks open her root beer and plucks a donut hole from the Tupperware tub. “Nothing beats a summit celebration with donut holes.”
I laugh. “This might.”
After a guzzle from her root beer, she slides the ribbon from the package and peels open the paper. She shakes the box. It rattles. “Hmm. Jewelry?”
Unable to hold back my grin, I shrug.
She pulls the lid back, then lifts the small silver key from inside, a look of bewilderment on her face.
“You’re gonna need wheels pretty soon.”
Tears prick her eyes. “A car? Dad.” She wipes her eyes, and glares at me. Or maybe it’s just the sun. “You bought me a car?”
“It’s a used car. But it’s got new tires, a new stereo, and a refurbished engine. We can pick it up and get it licensed on Monday.”
She leaps against me, slinging her arms around my neck. Laughing, I hold her tight.
Nobody tells you that the highs of parenting are edged with grief.
Every day, my kid pushes a little farther into the universe.
A little farther away from me. That it hurts is an indication that my love for her is real and bone-deep, a reminder that nothing good in this life comes without cost. In this moment, I let it all sink in.
The pride I feel for my kid. The fear of the unknown. The love that will never fade.
Our descent takes us around the backside of the mountain. We jump in the river to cool off and reach the trailhead by early evening. But the instant I spot my truck, I know something’s not right.
There’s a giant hole in the center of the cab’s back window.
“Dad, what’s wrong?” Greta frowns up at me.
There are two other cars here, but the gravel lot is otherwise deserted. One car is parked facing the map placard next to the trail entrance, and the other is on the far side, facing away. Neither car has a smashed window.
“Looks like we might have had a break in.” I give the area one last scan.
“Oh no,” Greta says.
Though I’m convinced we’re alone, I’m on high alert: the gravel crunching under our shoes sounds extra loud and my shallow breaths seem to echo off the trees.
I fold down my tailgate and we drop our packs inside the bed.
“Why would someone break in? “Greta asks, her face pinched. “It’s not like we left any valuables visible. We never do.”
I fight my annoyance. Break-ins happen in remote areas sometimes. “I don’t know.”
Because of the tall trees fringing the lot, the inside of my cab is heavily shaded.
Besides the bits of shattered glass scattered across the empty space behind the seat where I keep a jug of water, my first aid kit, and a stack of folded up towels, nothing looks disturbed.
Just a few cubes of glass on the bench seat and the floor from the impact of whatever tool was used to break the back window.
The glove box is shut. To make it even more confusing, the door is locked.
Why would someone break the window and not look around inside ?
There’s a nagging thought tugging at the edge of my mind, but before I can tease it to the surface, both of our phones ding. We must have gotten service.
“Do you want me to call Uncle Everett?” Greta asks.
“I will.” I dig my phone from the recesses of my pack. When I unlock it, there first thing I see on the screen is a message from Everett.
CALL ME
I scan for a message from Meg. My summit selfie photo went through sometime during our descent, but she hasn’t replied.
The nightmare image of a crashing plane engulfed in flames flickers to life inside my mind, but I force it back and call Everett. He answers on the first ring.
“Everyone is okay.” His voice is tense, a little rapid. Ringing phones and chatter fill the background—he’s at the station.
“The fuck?” I say under my breath.
He replies in a low tone, “Russel Locke’s MIA. We have him entering a SEATAC terminal this morning after a four-day Alaska rotation but so far we can’t find him leaving. He hasn’t returned to his apartment and he’s not returning my calls.”
I blink at the shaded woods, trying to make sense of this. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised Everett is keeping close tabs on Russet, given some of the odd things he’s let slip, but why is he telling me this?
“Where’s Meg?”
“Home.”
I rub the knot in my sternum, but it doesn’t soften the growing ache in my chest. I need to see her. If she’s home, why hasn’t she texted me?
“Someone broke into my truck,” I say with a glance at Greta, who is pretending not to listen while scrolling her phon e
“What?” Everett asks. “How bad is it?”
“There’s nothing missing. The door’s still locked.” I open the driver’s door and sweep the broken bits of glass to the floor. “Any chance it was Russel?” I keep my voice low so Greta doesn’t overhear.
“Negative. He’s not in Finn River. We’ve been…monitoring.”
I brace against the doorframe with my free hand and release a slow breath.
Everett isn’t trying to piss me off by being cryptic.
He would tell me more if he could. But if Russet was flying in Alaska for the past four days, and he hasn’t come to Finn River, then he didn’t smash my window. And he’s not a threat to Meg.
“Need me to send someone up there?” Everett asks.
“No, it’s just a broken window.” Even if one of his deputies pulls fingerprints that by some miracle lead to catching the person who broke my window, waiting around for that process isn’t worth it.
Not when it’s obvious I need to get to Meg as soon as possible.
“Okay.” It comes out hesitant, like he’s torn. “We’ve had more break-ins at trailheads this summer than in the past two combined. Be sure to report it to Rowdy Whittaker.”
“Will do.” I walk to the back and close the tailgate, then motion for Greta to get in. She gives me a surprised glance but is quick to join me.
“Are you heading to Meg's next?” Everett asks like he’s read my mind.
“After I drop Greta at Kelly’s, yeah.” I turn on the engine and wait for Greta to buckle up.
“Keep close,” Everett says before ending the call.
“Dad,” Greta says, her still-damp hair framing her earnest face. “The cheer tryout results got posted.”
“And?” I reel in my rampant thoughts.
She can’t hide the excitement lighting up her face. “I made it.”
I offer her a high five and she smacks it. “Nice work, kiddo.”
“Thanks, Dad.” She starts typing furiously with her thumbs.
During the drive, while she’s busy texting her friends, the quiet eats at me. What does Finn River Sheriff’s Department want with Russet? Could he be evading law enforcement?
And why hasn’t Meg texted me back? My summit selfie picture went through hours ago.
When I turn into my old neighborhood, Greta gathers her things, chattering about practice schedules and uniform measurements and memorizing football terms.
As I idle at the curb, we share a quick hug. “Love you, Dad.”
I kiss her temple. “Love you too. Thanks for smoking me on your birthday climb.”
She laughs. “Best birthday ever,” she whispers in my ear, then she slips from the cab and hurries inside.