Chapter 10 Staying
STAYING
JACK
The SAR training was easier than I expected.
Not the material, I knew most of it already. But the people part. I'd shown up that first Saturday in April expecting to feel trapped. Obligated. Like I'd signed away the autonomy I'd built so carefully.
Instead, it just felt like contributing.
Pat had been smug about it when I'd called to confirm. "Knew you'd come around eventually."
"I haven't come around. I'm just showing up."
"That's what coming around looks like, Myers."
Now it was early May, and I was standing at the training site, a stretch of rocky terrain near the SAR base, helping demonstrate anchor systems to a group of volunteers who looked far more nervous than necessary.
"It's just physics," I said, tugging the rope to demonstrate tension distribution. "The rock doesn't care about your feelings. It either holds or it doesn't."
One of the younger guys laughed. "That's comforting."
"It should be. Means you can trust the math."
Pat wandered over, clipboard in hand. "How's our reluctant instructor doing?"
"Fine."
"You're a natural, you know."
"I'm explaining rope systems. It's not complicated."
"It's not the explaining. It's the calm." She tapped her pen against the clipboard. "People trust you. That's worth more than technique."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I just nodded and went back to adjusting the anchor.
Elaine had said something similar last week when I'd told her about agreeing to help with training.
She'd kissed me then, and I'd stopped analyzing why helping felt different now than it had before.
The training wrapped up around four, and I drove back to the cabin with my windows down, cool mountain air cutting through the warmth of the afternoon sun.
Elaine's truck was already parked outside.
I felt it again, that shift in my chest when I saw evidence of her. Her jacket on the hook by the door. Her boots next to mine. The book she'd been reading last night still open on the side table.
She'd started keeping things here. Not moving in, exactly. Just... existing in the space like it was partly hers now.
I liked it more than I thought I would.
She was in the kitchen when I walked in, hair pulled back, barefoot, stirring something on the stove that smelled like garlic and tomatoes.
"Hey," she said without turning around. "How was training?"
"Good. Pat says I'm a natural."
"Of course you are."
"You don't even know what I was teaching."
"Doesn't matter. You're good at everything you decide to do." She glanced over her shoulder. "It's annoying, actually."
I crossed to her, wrapping my arms around her waist from behind. She leaned back into me without hesitation.
"What's annoying?" I asked against her hair.
"How competent you are. Makes the rest of us look bad."
"You're plenty competent."
"I fell in a river."
"The dock was unstable. That wasn't incompetence."
"Still ended up in the water."
"And I'm glad you did."
She turned in my arms, wooden spoon still in hand. "You're glad I almost drowned?"
"I'm glad it brought you here."
Her expression softened. "Sap."
"Practical."
"Same thing with you." She kissed me quickly, then turned back to the stove. "Dinner's almost ready. Go wash up."
I did, and when I came back down, she'd set the table, two plates, two glasses of water, bread sliced and waiting.
We ate, and she told me about her day, some issue with a burst pipe in Cabin Three, a vendor mix-up for opening weekend supplies, the way the new seasonal staff kept asking questions she'd already answered in the training manual.
I listened, asked clarifying questions, offered solutions when she wanted them, and just nodded when she didn't.
This was new for me. Not the listening, I'd always been good at that. But caring about the details. The wanting to know how her day went, not just because it was polite but because her world mattered to me now.
"The dock's fixed, by the way," she said.
"When?"
"Yesterday. Maintenance crew finally got to it. Put in new supports, reinforced the railing, added better drainage." She took a bite of bread. "It's solid now. I tested it myself."
"You went out there?"
"I had to. Couldn't just avoid it forever."
"How'd it feel?"
She was quiet for a moment, considering. "Weird. But not bad. I kept thinking about how different it looks when you're not actively drowning."
"That's usually true of most things."
"Profound, Myers."
I smiled. "What did you think when you were out there?"
"Honestly?" She met my eyes. "I thought about how if it hadn't happened, I wouldn't be sitting here right now. Eating your cooking. Wearing your shirt." She gestured at the thermal she'd stolen from my drawer. "Living this version of my life."
"You like this version?"
"I love this version."
Something settled in me hearing that. Something that had been restless since she'd first left the cabin that morning after the road cleared.
"I love it too," I said.
We cleaned up together, her washing, me drying, the rhythm as natural as breathing now, and then moved to the couch where she curled into my side like she'd been doing it for years instead of weeks.
"Jack?" she said after a while.
"Yeah?"
"Are you happy?"
I thought about it. Really thought.
Three months ago, I would've said I was content. Satisfied with the choices I'd made. Comfortable in the life I'd built.
"Yeah," I said. "I am."
"Good." She pressed closer. "Me too."