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“I don’t even know who it’s from,” Jessica said. “It was just on my desk one day, in this cute little box. I asked everyone who sits near me, even everyone on my squad, but no one knows a thing about it. Kind of romantic, right?”
Her eyes flicked over toward Silas, her face unsure. “He felt really bad, he said, when, you know. When he said it wasn’t working for him.” She fingered the pendant. “But I hope he didn’t ...”
“I’m sure he didn’t,” Meg cut in, a bit more decisively than she meant to. “I mean, he wouldn’t lead you on. He’s not like that.” She bit her lip. She’d just made it worse, hadn’t she?
Jessica looked sad. “No, you’re right. He wouldn’t.”
She’d definitely made it worse. “Maybe it’s from Joe Parsons,” Meg suggested. The captain of the football team as a potential love interest might cheer Jessica. “Didn’t you guys date last year? Or Sam what’s-his-name, who you and Silas partnered with in science? He was into you.”
Jessica frowned. “Maybe.” She glanced again toward Silas, but he’d left his towel, having returned to the swimming hole with a cannonball splash. Something about the lingering hope in her expression had Meg’s gut tightening painfully, like she’d taken the old wrench Les used on the Jeep to her insides.
“You could have any guy in our class, you know,” she blurted. “Just snap your fingers,” she added, trying for a laugh.
But Jessica turned from watching Silas to look Meg in the face. “Those guys are boring, Meg. And when I’m with them, I’m boring, too.” She looked even sadder now, her pretty face losing some of its bronze glow in the bright sunlight. “I’m tired of being boring,” she added softly.
Her words echoed long after she’d lain back down on her towel with a sigh, as half a dozen responses vied for a place on Meg’s tongue.Me, too,she could say. OrTrust me, I understand.
As they rode back into town three across in the cab of Danny’s dad’s truck, the June evening had lost its mild-manneredness, and she leaned back, where the vinyl seat still felt a bit warm from the sun. She listened to snippets of the boys’ conversation ... general high school gossip and a joke about how badly the fire trucks would need a washing with Danny at community college in the fall. Meg found it hard to wrap her mind around the fact that this time last year she’d never met Silas. Had never ridden in his Jeep or seen the lodge.Lastsummer, she and Danny had been their well-established duo, fishing the Feather River and hanging out with friends at the swimming hole, and the extent of her plans had been to simply follow his. The topography of that life, that mindset, now felt as far removed as the surface of the moon.
“What’s wrong with you these days?” Danny had begun asking, and not just when Meg’s college indecision came up. About the little things, too, like the fact that somewhere along the line, Meg’s tagging along on the boys’ adventures had turned into her leading the charge, at least as often as Silas.
And when she said “Nothing,” he pushed back on that, too. “I know you better than anyone,” he said, but she wasn’t entirely sure that was true. Not anymore.
She heard herself throwing unfair challenges his way:If I’m not enough for you ... If there’s something else you want ...
But Danny was all platitudes and promises, his confusion bouncing back at her. Only in that unguarded moment before sleep overtook her at night could she admit to herself what she’d really meant:Maybe you’re not enough for me,she whispered into the dark. Maybe there’s something elseIwant.
18
MEG
Matheson search
November 20, 2018
2:55 p.m.
Marble Lake Staging Area
Meg watches, ready and waiting, as Rick Waggins, Feather River County SAR’s sole helicopter pilot, cautiously lowers his Robinson R22 to the ground. He hovers briefly over the impromptu landing zone at the edge of the parking lot just as the first media vans roll to a stop directly in front of the roadblock closing off the staging area. Camera operators bail out of the brightly wrapped News 4 and News 6 vehicles from all sides, rolling film, and Meg curses under her breath. How the hell do they always manage to know exactly when the money shots will appear out of thin air?
Susan Darcy emerges from the Lemon seemingly on cue, and the cameras swivel in her direction just in time to catch Silas pushing his way out of the van directly on her heels, the thin metal door crashing closed behind him. He leaps directly to the ground rather than botherwith the flimsy steps, and the reporters go wild, deducing his identity immediately.
Shit.They might as well have called a freaking press conference. But Silas doesn’t seem to even register their presence. He’s staring at the R22 like it’s the first good news he’s had all day.
It is. The sight of the helo has done more for Meg’s morale than any other single moment in this search to date, and she knows how close they came to not having its assistance at all. The sun’s all but disappeared, and between the persistent fog and impending storm, today’s Helicopter Flight Risk Score—the strict formula pilots adhere to when deciding whether conditions are safe enough for flight—must be questionable at best. The first time Meg stood by, watching Rick tally up the numeric values assigned to visibility, wind factor, weather, and distance needing to be covered, she shifted impatiently from one foot to the other, itching to get up in the air. But one ringside seat as the small R22 attempted liftoff in wind gusts of almost twenty miles per hour—under pressure of a stressed incident commander—quickly changed her way of thinking. A crash, even a minor one, would have taken the focus swiftly off the search at hand, not to mention cost the unit upward of hundreds of thousands of dollars they didn’t have to lose.
Bottom line: they’re lucky—very lucky—to have eyes in the air today.
The rotors are still revolving at a quick clip as Rick pops open the door, hops down, and trots—hunched nearly double to clear the arcs of the blades—toward the staging area, waving Meg forward. The fact that he has not powered down tells her they’ll be loading hot.
“Hey!” Silas shouts. “Meg! Wait!” He waves his arms to get her attention, and the cameras press in closer, too close for comfort really, to the helo.
She knows what Silas wants—to take her place in the cockpit—but he’s not the right person for the job. Hasn’t she been training for this moment for the last decade and a half?
“I got this,” she calls, zipping her topo map into her jacket to keep it secure from the power of the wind generated by the helo. She’d love to put the control Silas craves into his hands, but doing so will not help Spencer and Cameron. There haven’t been many times Meg has felt the weight of confidence tip her way while in Silas’s presence, but now she knows it’s true: she’s better at this.
She makes a beeline for the cockpit as Darcy pulls Silas back into the safety zone, and when she turns back—she can’t help it—he’s standing to the side, obedient but just barely. Meg’s chest constricts with a lurch of pity. Silas is only trying to deal with what must be the most impotent moment of his life by doing what he does best: taking action. To be sidelined at this time must be sheer torture.
