Page 3 of No Hope of Rescue

“It’ll stick out funny,” she complains.

“It’s the smallest one they make. Believe me”—I wave to the coats and climbing gear draped over the sofa—“even if we see anyone, with all that on, no one will notice.”

΅

The morning is bright and beautiful, and when the sun shines through the trees, it’s downright warm. After a ridiculous goodbye to Savi, with Codie full of teenage pouting, and one more attempt at riding the Whitefox, we start off on a two-seater. I throw her another bone and let her pick the trail, settling behind her in the rear, both hands on grips.

She revs the engine, releases the choke, and we’re off in a spray of white. She’s damn good. She should be. I taught her.

΅

We move along an old logging trail through fresh, powdery snow, the kind skiers hate, for about forty-five minutes. As we climb, we pass a series of creeks and small iced-over falls. The Ski-Doo is light and quiet, and two deer startle at our approach. Conditions could not be better. I’m tempted to streamline the handlebars by removing the radio and strapping it to my chest instead. I’ve learned the hard way never to do this, though. If you roll with a radio, you’re liable to crack ribs.

When we arrive at the top of Echo Mountain, the visibility is fantastic.

“Damn, look at this,” Codie says, pointing to where the bark has been shredded on a pine. She makes a move to dismount.

I raise an eyebrow. “Bear.” I take a closer look. “Not that long ago. No bugs yet.” I hand her the binoculars and point out at the ledge below us so she can make a decision.

We have to site where we want to come down the mountain in order to climb up Echo Gorge. Fifty feet below us, the gorge thrashes, a mix of dark water, ice, and snow. We’ll cross at one of two bridges where the gorge widens and there are pebbly banks.

Then we’ll climb up the cliff face on the other side.

She wants to try a climb where she can use all her grips: buckets, ledges, crimps, pinches, slopers, pockets—maybe even an undercling or two, though this makes me nervous with ice. Once up top, we’ll break for lunch.

Codie has other ideas.

“Let’s eat now,” she says.

I have to be back by three to finish up a backup bid with the National Park Service. If we eat now, maybe we’ll get to the climb faster.

“You have to eat,” she says, fishing around in her pack. After pulling out a sandwich wrapped in wax paper, she hands me half.

We vote to take off our gloves and eat quickly. I’m glad Savi’s not here. At a year, she’s well trained, but teaching her not to beg has proven impossible. Codie and Mom spoil her.

I fear there’s a lot of feeding that goes on literally under the table.

“Granola bar?” Codie makes her own bars out of granola and peanut butter and then freezes them—they’re perfect in today’s weather. They’ll keep their shape and won’t turn to mush. But my appetite has been gone for the last six months. Food lacks flavor. I can’t seem to smell much either. Even the scent of woodsmoke seems a hazy memory.

“Take it,” she says, holding one out to me. It looks like chicken salad. I comply.

“You need to let her go, you know.”

I stop mid-bite.

“No one’s going to tell you this but me, so you can’t get mad.”

I swallow, take a breath, and give her some truth. “You’re eighteen. You can’t understand. Drop it.”

Crystal Bemeeth met Derrick Grotton in Denver at a fundraiser she organized. Derrick is worth $1.8 million. By her account, he’d seen her from across the banquet hall and decided he was going to marry her. He either didn’t see the ring on her finger or didn’t give a shit. He’s the kind of guy used to getting what he wants.

And he wanted Crystal.

“So what if I’m eighteen? Jesus, you’re dumb. You think I don’t understand love? That I can’t be hurt? I’m tired of all you guys thinking I’m a kid.”

This is not the first time—nor the last—that she has said this. It’s her favorite line right now and having her revert to it makes me relax and finish off the granola bar. I like the normalcy of it all. But she’s still in a huff.

A hawk circles overhead as I survey the land. Gloves back on, she pulls out some binoculars and presses them to her face to watch him.