Page 17 of High Frequency

“I fucked up,” she finally responds in a soft voice.

I have to strain to hear and I’m about to prompt her for more when she starts talking again.

“There’s really nothing else to say. I messed up, trusted the wrong person, and was left holding the bag. Trying to work a job that sometimes requires fourteen- or sixteen-hour days while single-handedly taking care of a baby, who wakes up at all hours of the night, is impossible.”

It’s been on my tongue a few times, and I’ve resisted asking Ama or even Sully what the deal is, but I feel I can finally justify asking the question.

“Where is Aspen’s father?”

She waits a beat and then answers, “Did I mention I fucked up?”

At that, I glance over my shoulder and catch her shrug, but she doesn’t look away.

“Let’s just say he’s not in the picture. Not anymore. It took him a month to figure out he wasn’t cut out for parenthood and took off.”

“What a fucking loser,” I burst out.

What piece of shit man walks away from his child?

I mean, my own parents weren’t exactly perfect, I didn’t even know my father existed until I was almost thirty and he showed up on my doorstep. Although, in his defense, he didn’t actually know of my existence either. My mother had kept that a secret from both of us for as long as she was alive.

But walking away from a little baby?

“I sure know how to pick ’em, don’t I?” Sloane scoffs.

Frankly, I don’t really know much about her life. At least, not the one she led in Billings. I don’t have any idea who she was seeing, but there’s one thing I do know.

“It’s his loss.”

There is no more conversation until we reach the rockier terrain leading to the edge of the gorge. I dismount and encourage Sloane to do the same. Then I tie the horses to a tree so they have some shade, before leading Sloane to the edge of the drop off.

The narrow ledge is visible below and beyond that, the sheer rock face continues down until it reaches the tops of the trees in the valley below. It’s an absolute miracle that girl managed to cling on to that barely three-inch ridge for however long she was there.

“Did you see anything when you were down there?” Sloane asks, peering over the edge.

“See anything…on the ledge? Like what?”

She lifts the camera and as she begins to take pictures of the gorge below, she inches a little too close to the edge to my liking. To anchor her, I hook a finger in a loop on the waistband of her jeans and use my weight to balance her.

“I don’t know. The girl mentioned dead eyes staring up in her sleep and, apparently, repeated it after she woke up.”

I tug her back from the edge and take her place to get a better look. It’s a fair way down and, other than an occasional silver glimmer of the creek through the canopy of the trees, it’s virtually impossible to distinguish any details.

“Didn’t notice anything at the time, I was focused on the girl, and I can’t really see much of anything now.”

“Do you think you can get me down there?”

“To the bottom of the gorge? Not easily. We’d have to follow the creek upriver from where it merges into the Fisher River, which is miles north of where we crossed. I’d have to look at satellite images, but finding our way to this spot could take the better part of a day, if not more.”

I don’t miss the muffled curse under her breath.

“What about to the ledge?”

I swing around, my eyebrows raised.

“That ledge?” I point back to the narrow ridge that somehow saved that girl’s life. “Hell no,” I tell her emphatically. “Even if we had the team here and all the proper gear, it would be a hell no. This isn’t some recreational rock wall for amateurs to play around on.”

She narrows her eyes on me and jerks that stubborn chin up.

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