Page 21 of High Intensity

Without waiting for his response, I end the call and immediately block his number. Whatever connection remained between us over the years—maybe shared grief is all it was—is no longer there.

Chris has moved on by recreating what we lost. I guess that’s what upsets me; I know there is no way to get back what is gone, and to even try feels somehow like a betrayal to the memories that remain. That doesn’t mean I’m stuck in the past; I’m simply moving on in my own way.

I hold it together until I’m in the shower and then I allow the memories to flood me. Images of Macy’s dimpled grin. The strawberry-blond braids she favored to a ponytail. The stuffed bunny she dragged everywhere. Her adorable squeaky little voice. Reading herLlama, Llama, Red Pajamaat bedtime.

Then inevitably come the darker flashes. Macy as an infant, struggling for air when she had pneumonia. Her first bloody scrape after tripping on the sidewalk. The sheer panic when Ifound the backyard gate wide open. The squeal of tires. Her lone new butterfly hair clip in a spreading pool of her blood.

The tears follow; hot, plentiful, and never quite as healing as I wish they were.

I don’t allow myself the indulgence of crying often anymore. There was a time it was all I did, and it absolutely drained all the life out of me. It doesn’t bring any relief, only makes my heart feel emptier.

Chris wanted to fill the hole in his with another child and couldn’t understand why that felt offensive to me. The void Macy’s loss left in my heart will always be there, but I found other ways to give me purpose and nourish my soul. Those differences turned out to be insurmountable and, to be honest, I don’t think either of us tried very hard.

When I open the bathroom door, I find Peanut and Nugget right outside.

“I’m fine, guys,” I reassure the dogs, giving them scratches before I continue to my dresser.

Maybe I’ll take the crew for a nice long walk along the creek. We’ve had nothing but blue skies since that storm came through, and today the temperature has actually been quite bearable. They could do with the exercise, and frankly, so could I.

I dress warmly, strap on my snowshoes while sitting on the bottom step of my deck, and walk out my backyard. It’s one of the things I love about this house, there is nothing between me and Mother Nature, but a chain-link fence and a gate.

My dogs don’t run off, they tend to stay in a pack when we’re out on a hike. They monitor each other, so I can just enjoy my surroundings. The snow is pristine back here, untouched, and I watch as the dogs walk in front of me, sniffing everything. You’d think the snow would obscure scent, but often times a snowfall will cover and actually preserve a trail, making tracking easier.

When we return, it’s close to six and the sun is already down. I’m carrying Nugget, whose little legs couldn’t keep up with the rest of us, but my lungs are full of fresh air, my face is flushed from the exercise, and my head feels clear. I lead the pack around the side of the house to the front, so I can dry the dogs with a towel on the porch before letting them inside.

I’m crouching down, trying to wipe as much snow off the animals as I can, when a truck pulls into my driveway. The dogs immediately start barking.

“Quiet,” I tell them as I get to my feet.

I recognize Wolff as he gets out.

“Hey,” I greet him, wondering what he’s doing here.

Wolff

I’m not sure why I’m here.

We were ordered to go home, get some rest after thirty-six hours of searching. The last twenty-four of those we spent trying to track down the final crash victim.

Eleven-year-old Hayley Vallard has been missing for almost seventy-two hours since the plane dropped off the radar.

Last night, the NTSB investigators took over processing the crash site, and we were able to focus on the search for the girl. Unfortunately, it has been frustratingly fruitless so far, but none of us was willing to give up. So Dan, JD, Jackson, and I kept pushing through the night, hanging on to the unlikely hope we might find her alive.

Then a couple of hours ago, Jonas, Fletch, and James showed up at base camp, calling us back for a briefing. The four of uswere sent home for the night, told to rest up while the old guard took over the search.

I was home long enough to have a shower, but felt too restless to even contemplate hitting the sack. So, I hopped in my truck and drove here.

“Hi.”

I’m feeling a bit ridiculous now, standing here with nothing better to say.

Jillian tilts her head and studies my face for a few beats before jerking her head toward the door.

“Come in. I picked up some beer yesterday.”

I kick off my boots on the porch and carry them inside with me, dropping them on the boot tray next to Jillian’s. The dogs give me a good sniff-down as I follow her into the kitchen.

“Sloane mentioned you found the plane,” she prompts me as she sets a beer bottle in front of me on the island.

---