Page 14 of High Intensity

Ten minutes later we’re on our way into Libby. I was able to move the car seat from Sloane’s Jeep to my Toyota, so Aspen is safely strapped in and it looks like she may be nodding off.

“Looked like you knew what you were doing back there,” Sloane observes. “Do you have medical training or something?”

I guess it was inevitable the day would come I’d have to share more about my past than perhaps I’m ready for. It has nothing to do with trust, it has to do with not wanting to open up wounds that always stay raw right under the surface.

“I do. I’m a registered nurse.”

Five

Jillian

I dislike hospitals.

Kind of ironic, given I worked in one for at least a decade. Still, they represent a bit of a trigger for me now. Not just the hospital itself, but the smells, the sounds, the sense of pain and fear and anxiety is almost tangible within these walls. So strange how I am able to handle visiting when I have my animals with me, but without them I become overwhelmed.

Sloane and Aspen were taken into a treatment room, while I stayed behind in the waiting room. I told her I’d wait here, but that was over half an hour ago and I’m finding it progressively difficult to breathe.

I shoot Sloane a text and don’t go too far. Just outside, in the small park at the edge of the parking lot behind the hospital, I find a bench. It’s still pretty chilly out and I have to brush a hefty layer of snow off before I can sit, but the sun is out and it’s very peaceful. No one is here.

It’s a good spot to just sit here with my feelings, which inevitably triggers the tears. I allow myself a few minutes ofgrace before I pull it together again. This is how I deal with grief, letting it out in controllable measures, otherwise I’m afraid, even after all these years, it will sweep me away.

I haven’t shared my past with anyone here, mainly to give myself a break. It’s not that any of it is a secret—anyone doing a little background search will be able to find every sordid detail—but I wanted a chance to establish myself in this new place as just a woman, not a woman with a cargo hold full of baggage.

I lived like that for the eight years I remained in Missoula, where every day I risked being confronted with a reminder that would hit like a punch to the gut. It could come out of nowhere, finding me vulnerable and unguarded.

The last time that happened, I was going about my business, grabbing a few groceries on my way home. I was testing some avocados for ripeness when I caught sight of them. They didn’t see me at first, and I was frozen on the spot. By the time I forced myself to move, Chris noticed me and his expression went from surprise to one of guilt in an instant. It took me a second to figure out why, and the next moment I was walking out of the store, my cart left in the middle of the produce department.

That experience triggered my decision to move here to Libby. To a clean start. But I suspect it won’t be long before my history will start coming to light. It’s that Sloane was distracted by her baby’s condition, otherwise I’m sure she would’ve probed my admission I am an RN. More importantly, why I’m no longer working as one.

I don’t know if I’m ready to talk, but I’m not going to lie about it.

“Here you are.”

I turn around to find Sloane walking up and immediately get to my feet.

“I needed some fresh air. How is she? Where is she?”

“She’s dehydrated, and because of her age they want to treat her here. The doctor agreed with you on the strep throat, but he swabbed her to make sure. They put us in a room, and she’s asleep now.” She restlessly glances back at the hospital. “I don’t have any idea how long we’ll be here, and I didn’t want you waiting around forever.”

I hook my arm through hers and steer her back to the entrance.

“If they’ll allow me in the room with you, I’ll stick around for a bit.”

The fact she doesn’t immediately tell me that’s not necessary assures me I’m making the right call.

“Have you had a chance to get in touch with Dan yet?”

“He’s on a search, I don’t want to bother him.”

“Fair enough.” I suggest carefully, “But maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to contact your uncle, or someone at the ranch to let them know what’s going on.”

She immediately shakes her head. “There’s no need to worry anyone.”

I squeeze her arm. “Unless someone drops by your house—maybe to see if you need help after the storm—and finds your Jeep in the driveway but no sign of you or Aspen. They’d worry unnecessarily.”

One of the reasons Sloane and I get along so well is because we’re very similar. Both of us are fiercely protective of our independence. Sometimes at our own detriment.

“You’re pushy,” she mumbles as we make our way into the hospital.

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