Page 60 of High Frequency

One person I know who definitely does not drive a truck is Shelby Vandermeer. Of course, that leaves the rest of the population, but it still is a bit of a relief.

Sloane

Today’s search was frustrating.

Of course we got a bit of a late start, plus we had to wait for the pulley system to be secured and tested before Jillian went down. Then we were supposed to lower Emo, but the poor dog was frantic the moment she lost sight of her handler, so Jillian had to come back up and a second line had to be secured so the dog could be lowered along with Jillian.

All that took a decent chunk of time, leaving us with just a small window of searching before we had to pack it up for the day. Hopefully tomorrow—with an early start and the logistics already in place—will be a bit more productive.

You’d think we should be able to find the rest of the two sets of remains. Although, Jillian pointed out, it’s not that unusual to find parts of the same body spread out over a large area if wildlife gets a hold of it. She also warned that in cases like that, more often than not, some parts stay permanently lost.

My hope is we’ll at least find something more of the man’s body. Anything that could identify him, but best-case scenario would be his skull, which would give us the option of comparing dental records, and be an alternative method of identification to just DNA.

It’s not until I turn onto the driveway to High Meadow, the realization my mother is waiting at the cabin hits me full force.

Yikes.

I’d fantasized about having a soak in the tub once I put Aspen to bed, but I doubt I’ll have a chance, given the big talk I know is waiting for me at home.

Blowing out a big breath, I park my Jeep, grab my bag, and head inside.

I don’t see anyone when I walk in, but I can hear splashing and my mom’s voice coming from the bathroom. She must’ve picked up Aspen from the big house. I really wanted to be there when she met my daughter for the first time, but I guess it wouldn’t have been fair to keep her waiting even longer.

I drop my bag and take off my hiking boots before I poke my head into the bathroom.

Mom is sitting on her knees on the floor next to the tub, focused on Aspen who is sitting in the bath insert, kicking her little legs in the water and having a good time. She loves her bath time and, frankly, so do I, and I feel I’ve already missed too many.

“Hey.”

I’m greeted by my daughter’s wide smile when she spots me.

Then my mother turns her head, and I’m treated to one of her mom-stares. I remember it well, the kind that tells you your life is hanging in a precarious balance. It immediately launches me into a nervous damage control mode.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to pick you up, but I had a cadaver dog team come in from Missoula today and I had to go out to the search area with them to?—”

“You not picking me up doesn’t even register on the list of things I’m upset with you about,” she cuts me off. Then she barks out a harsh laugh. “Although,upsetseems too benign a word for the storm of emotions I feel.”

Yeah, I wasn’t really expecting Mom to go easy on me, but one can hope.

“Fair enough,” I concede. “Why don’t I get her bottle ready and throw something easy together for dinner while you finish up her bath.”

I only have the basics in the fridge, I haven’t had a chance to do groceries yet so it’s slim pickings, but I can always whip up an omelet.

“Ama brought over a lasagna earlier. It’s in the fridge, it just needs to be heated,” she says, her back already turned.

Ama has her shit together, that woman deserves an award. I should probably take notes because I want to be like her when I grow up. Talk about capable. She raised two kids, juggles two households, works in the High Meadow office, offers babysitting services,andmanages to make sure everyone is fed.

I only have my job and one child to worry about, and I have trouble doing that.

Aspen’s bottle takes me a few minutes to get warmed up, and by the time I have the lasagna in the oven, Mom already has her out of the tub. I look in the fridge for something to drink and wish I’d had the foresight to make a stop for some beer and wine. I have a feeling I might need it.

“Here we are,” Mom announces. “All clean and nice and drowsy.”

She has Aspen propped up on one arm, the baby looking up at her grandmother with sleepy adoration. It’s such a sweet image, it hits me right in the feels, and when Mom hands her to me, it takes me a moment to react.

“Hey, baby girl,” I mumble, burying my face in her little neck for a moment as I compose myself. “Are you ready for your bottle?”

I sit down on the couch and feed her while listening to my mother clean up the bathroom. Aspen falls asleep about halfway through her bottle and I carry her to the bedroom, easing her down in her crib. Then I turn on the noise machine I borrowed off Pippa, which helps her stay asleep. Unless, of course, her incoming teeth bother her again.

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