Page 123 of One Step Too Far

“And how do you usually find peace?”

“Tequila.”

I have to smile. “That’s forgetfulness. Not the same as peace at all.”

Josh’s turn to smile. He returns his gaze to Miguel’s still form. “I miss the days,” he murmurs, “when all could be resolved with a case of beer, a game of hoops.”

“Then go back to it. Sober up. Reconnect with your friends. And maybe, in honor of Tim, you hit the basketball court one final time. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Josh doesn’t have an immediate answer to that. Eventually, he nods.

“AA will turn you into a regular chatty Cathy,” I inform him.

He appears mildly alarmed.

“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it.” I pat him on the shoulder. “Thank you for the use of your hiking gear. I can already tell you, most of your supplies were rode hard and put away wet. I’m sorry, by the end...” I shrug. “That’s one helluva tactical knife. I learned to love that blade. It’s just as fierce as it looks.”

“Keep it. It’s yours.”

“Thank you, but I’m not really a vicious-blade sort of gal. Though you should know, it’s dull, filthy, and may or may not be expecting a bath in human blood. What can I say? When things went to shit, they really went to shit.”

Josh’s eyes widen.

I give him one last smile. Then I clutch my drafty gown close behind me and head back out into the corridor.

—

I walk by the ICU purely by chance. The nurse in charge informs me no visitors are allowed. But then, between my pathetic face and obvious connection to the tragic hiking party who are now monopolizing the hospital’s resources, she relents. Grants me ten whole minutes.

I find Nemeth first. Marge Santi occupies the chair next to his bed, holding his hand. Of course. It was clear to me even from our brief interactions earlier that Marge was Nemeth’s other half. Like calls to like, and these two seemed not just a logical pairing, but a natural fit.

I don’t want to intrude. Marge is totally, completely fixated on Nemeth, as if she can single-handedly fix his wounds, will him to survive. I don’t want to interrupt that kind of magical thinking and I’m not sure what to say anyway. Half of Nemeth seems to be covered in bandages, the other half hooked to machines. Luciana is right—it doesn’t look good.

In the end, I offer up a mental salute. I’m not sure Nemeth ever liked me, but by the end he respected me. And if I was little more than a grunt on our expedition, well, he was one helluva general.

I discover Scott next. Compared to Nemeth, he’s the picture of health. Except, of course, for the deathly pallor and the look on Neil’s face as he sits curled up in a chair at the foot of the bed.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” I ask Neil sharply.

“Shhh.” He turns his face toward me, his eyes scrunched tightly shut. Against the glaring light and nearly glowing white walls, I assume. I can barely handle it, and I haven’t had my brains scrambled twice in twenty-four hours.

“How is he?” I ask more quietly.

“He kept me warm,” Neil murmurs solemnly, his eyes still closed. “When night came, he folded himself around me. He said I could make it. Just wait, help would come. He didn’t say the same about himself.”

“But he did make it. You, too.”

“Frankie? I never want to go into those mountains ever again.”

“Okay.”

“I want Scott to be better and Miguel to regain his health and Nemeth to recover. Then I want to go home to Anna, slip a ring on her finger, and never look back.”

“Okay.”

“Would you come to my wedding?”

“I will think of you on your wedding day,” I promise him.

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