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“Yeah, that’s what I implied. But I’m not sure why he would’ve been that close to the edge in the first place.”
“Oh. Shit.”
“Yeah. I’d better get back. I’ll let you know as soon as—”
Ben’s radio squawked, interrupting him, and he walked away to listen to the garbled message. When he turned back, his face was grim. Lori must have seen it. She got out of the car and stared at him.
“I’m sorry,” Ben said. “They found him in the river just past the campsite.”
Lori’s whole body stiffened. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” Ben repeated.
“He’s…dead?”
“Yes.”
“But…he was just right there. He waved goodbye. He…” Her face drained of all its color and Quinn reached for her. “Oh,” she murmured. “Maybe…”
Ben’s gaze strayed to the ground for a brief moment, before he looked back to Lori. “It was an accident. And the river’s only a few feet deep there. It was over quickly.”
“But, do you think…?”
Quinn didn’t let her finish the question. He pulled her into a hug and held her tight to his chest. “Let me take you home.”
Her hand clutched at his shirt. “We can’t just leave him here. Not like that. I can’t believe he…”
“All right. Okay. Ben, how long will it be?”
“Hopefully no more than an hour, but it could be longer.”
“We’ll wait in the car.”
Ben’s head dropped. He put his hands on his hips and stared at the ground for a moment before he shook off whatever emotion had gripped him. “I’ll try to speed it up. I need to ask you both some questions, but it can wait till tomorrow. Keep her warm.”
“I will.”
She fell back into her silence in the car. Quinn could only watch helplessly and wait.
Two hours later, it was over. Lori was bundled into his bed in a sweatshirt and socks, warm and dry and still silent. He’d rescued her, finally, and found that it didn’t feel nearly as good as he’d imagined.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
AFLUTTERY YELLOWbutterfly hovered just an inch above the tanned skin of Lori’s knee. It moved slightly closer, then away, then closer still. She’d heard they were attracted to the salt on people’s skin, but she was pretty sure she hadn’t started sweating yet. It was only 11:00 a.m.
Mesmerized, she watched as it drew ever closer. For some reason it seemed important that it land. That exaggerated importance was likely a result of her recent descent into complete, trancelike inaction. For the past seven days, she’d done nothing but sit in a lounge chair on the front sidewalk of her house.
On each day, Quinn had stopped by to bring her lunch. Sometimes he came for dinner, too. Sometimes he stayed the night.
She was leaning on him, and it felt nice, and that scared her to death. But she seemed incapable of doing anything but showering, making coffee and sitting on this sun-faded chair until Quinn delivered something for her to eat.
The butterfly finally landed. It folded its marigold wings, and Lori released a silent breath. Good.
A few minutes later, a car pulled into the lot, gravel pinging against its underside, but the butterfly didn’t move. She kept her gaze tightly focused on its tiny antennae.
“Hey,” Quinn’s voice said. “How are you doing this morning?”
“Good.”
