Chapter Twenty-five
“Oh, my God, Whit!” Abby rushed to her side and palmed her face. Her skin was slick and slimy from the rain, and icy to the touch. Her lips were a pale blue and Abby quickly palpated her neck for a pulse. She had one, but it was slow and thready.
“Okay, what to do, what to do?” Panic set in and she surveyed the cabin for anything that could help.
She saw a simple stove in a makeshift kitchen, a worn couch, and a table with two chairs.
There was also a loft, but she wasn’t sure what was up there.
She’d seen a sign outside, stating that this was a public use cabin, so surely there was something in there that could be of some use.
She saw a door nestled in the corner. She opened it and found folded wool blankets.
She brought them out, set them down next to Whit and stood still to ponder.
“What do I do?” Then it came to her. What would Whit do if it were her, which, in all honesty, was getting very close to happening. Soon they’d both be in trouble.
With that in mind, she stripped out of the two jackets and her pants, boots, and wet socks. Then, in her underwear and sweatshirt, she began to undress Whit, working efficiently to get her out of the soaked clothes.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m doing my best.” Once she had her stripped down to her underwear and bra, she removed her shoes, socks and sock liners, and dragged her over to the couch.
With all her might, she lifted her and laid her on the cushions and then wrapped her tightly in the wool blankets.
“Okay, now what?” she said as she glanced around with her hands on her hips. The cabin was cold and close to barren as far as supplies, so very little help. Why couldn’t she think?
Because Whit is comatose and we’re both freaking freezing, that’s why.
Again, she asked herself what Whit would do.
Then the stove caught her eye. “Ah-ha.” Her teeth chattered as she dug in the pocket of Whit’s pants and pulled out the fire starting kit.
Hastily, she piled some wood, which was stacked neatly next to the stove, into the hatch and struck the ferro rod.
Only the wood wouldn’t catch. So she searched for something else to light and found a calendar on the wall above the kitchen counter.
She tore off the previous month’s page, wadded it up and shoved it beneath the wood.
She got the fire going, blew on it some, and then shut the door to return to Whit.
“Whit,” she said, shaking her. “Wake up. You’re scaring me.”
Her eyes fluttered but did not remain open. “Whit, come on.” She shook her again, but Whit only moaned and mumbled something again about her father.
“No,” Whit said, grimacing. “Don’t let him hurt him. Don’t let him hurt, Dad.”
“Who?” Abby asked, gently rousing her. “Whit, tell me who?”
But Whit fell silent and Abby carefully drew the blankets back to crawl in with her, skin to skin, and then pulled the covers over them.
She shifted for comfort, and then sighed with relief as their skin began to meld together in growing warmth.
She rested her head in the crook of Whit’s neck and inhaled her damp, earthy scent.
“Who knew it would take us both nearly freezing to death before I’d get to lie with you like this?”
Whit moved slightly and moaned.
“Yeah, I didn’t think it possible either. But here we are. Lying together nearly nude, in a desolate cabin in the middle of Alaska. No Boyd within sight and no bears either. Just you and me and you’re missing it all.”
She hugged her tighter and closed her eyes, the heat from their bodies now lulling her to sleep. “We’ll talk later,” she slurred. “When you feel better.”
* * *
“Abby, Abby, wake up,” a soft voice said.
“Hm?” Abby’s eyes flitted open and she lifted her head to focus.
“Hi,” Whit said.
Abby blinked down at her. “Hi.”
“We must’ve fallen asleep together.”
Abby crawled from her to stand beside the couch. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Only,” Whit said, her eyes scanning Abby’s body. “We’re undressed.”
“Yeah. About that.”
Whit kicked the blankets off and sat up to rub her face. “Any particular reason why?”
Abby grabbed her clothes, realized they were still soaked, and dropped them.
“We were, uh, wet. To say the least.” She should’ve thought to ring their clothes out and hang them near the stove.
“I see,” Whit said, rising to examine her own pile of cold, drenched clothing.
She carried the lump of clothes over to the kitchen and began ringing them out in a bucket which had probably been used as a bin.
Abby did the same and when they finished, they hung the clothes over the backs of the kitchen chairs and angled them closer to the stove.
“I seem to have lost some of my memory,” Whit said as she settled back onto the couch. Abby joined her and offered her one of the blankets to cover up with. Whit took it, thanked her, and draped it over herself. Abby did the same with her own blanket.
Outside, the rain continued to pour, beating against the side of the cabin and the large windows. Abby shivered, imagining being back out in it, and snuggled deeper into her blanket.
“You got cold,” she eventually said. “Hypothermic I think.”
“Really?”
“You started talking about your father and you came in here, inside the cabin, and just passed out on me.”
“I passed out?”
“Mm-hm.”
She studied her hands. “I was talking about my father?”
“You kept saying, ‘Don’t let him hurt Dad.’”
Whit’s face went even more ashen than it already was from the cold.
“What did that mean?” Abby asked.
Whit toyed with the fuzz on the blanket. “That was quick thinking, getting us out of those wet clothes,” she said. “Sounds like you saved our lives.”
Abby didn’t respond, but rather scrutinized her own blanket. “You don’t want to talk about it? The things you were saying?”
“Not especially.”
“Why not? Does it pertain to his murder?”
Whit tossed the blanket aside and stood.
Abby hurried to calm her. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. It’s just that—well, the things you said—I thought maybe—”
“You thought?”
Abby swallowed, disliking the pained look on her face. “Yeah, I just thought that maybe, you know, you were reliving it or something,”
“And you think I would want to talk about that?”
“It might help.”
Whit shook her head. “No. It won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know, alright?”
“But how?”
“Jesus, Abby, give it a rest, will you?”
Abby closed her mouth, intent on doing just that.
But her heart ached for Whit and she knew, just knew that if she shared whatever was troubling her so much, that she’d feel better.
“I just know that when I shared some of my past with you, I felt relief. And I thought that maybe, you’d feel the same. ”
“But we aren’t the same, Abby. We’re different. Very different people. And I know it won’t help because…I’ve talked about it before. Or tried to at least. And it didn’t do anything but make things worse.”
“When was that?” Abby asked, treading carefully.
Whit ran her hand through her dark mane and the sinewy muscles in her torso flexed. Abby had to swallow down her rising desire and focus instead on the continued pain she saw in Whit’s fleeting gaze.
“Years ago. Soon after it happened. Law enforcement, they suggested I see someone. A shrink.”
“And it didn’t help?”
“I was a child for God’s sake. So, what do you think?” She grabbed several pieces of wood and yanked open the door to the stove to shove them inside. It didn’t need to be done quite yet, but she forced them in anyway, as if she needed to keep her hands busy.
“You were a child?”
“Yes. And what child wants to talk to a shrink?”
Abby shook her head. “No, I meant…when your father was murdered.”
Whit’s face fell and she bowed her head. Abby went to her and gently placed a hand on her arm, almost afraid to touch her, fearing she’d startle and run away.
“I’m so sorry, Whit. I had no idea. You…I’m just so sorry. No child should have to go through something like that. Death is traumatizing enough as it is and—”
“Yeah, well try witnessing it.” She pulled away and went to stand near the door, crossing her arms over her chest to stare out at the rain.
Her jaw was set and her eyes intently focused.
Abby thought that she saw them begin to pool with tears.
She moved toward her again but stopped herself short of touching her.
“You saw it?”
Whit sniffled. “Yeah. I saw it.”
Abby was at a loss for words. It took her a moment before she spoke, as she searched for the right thing to say. “That’s terrible, Whit. And something you shouldn’t have seen.”
“Shouldn’t have seen?” She turned to glare at her. “I should’ve stopped it!”
She pushed past Abby and crossed to where their clothes hung on the chairs. Abby watched helplessly as she frantically began to dress.
“Whit, what are you doing?”
“Leaving.”
“To go where exactly?”
“I don’t know. I need some air.”
“It’s pouring down rain, Whit, and you’ve literally just recovered from what I fear was a hypothermic episode.”
“Yeah, well what do you know? You’re just a city girl.”
Abby didn’t let the comment sting. “I know what you taught me these past few days. And I watched you pass out after nearly freezing to death in the cold, relentless rain.”
“I need some air.” She struggled but managed to pull on her wet pants, then examined her heavy looking sweater, and tossed it aside.
She shrugged into her jacket wearing only her bra and then stepped into her boots without socks.
She knelt to lace them up, then seemed to think better of it, and walked back to the door where she pulled it open, letting in a rush of cold, damp air.
“Whit, don’t.” Abby tried to stop her, tried to grip her coat, but Whit hurried out to the steps where she tripped and tumbled down, landing hard on the ground below.
Abby ran down after her, hysterical. “Whit, oh, God, no.” She cradled her head, searching for injury. She fingered a cut on her brow and a scrape on her lower lip. Whit opened her eyes and winced.