Page 56 of Loud Unspoken Memories

“My foot is stuck. Really stuck. I can’t turn and position myself to pull up and release it.”

Dread, fear, and crippling anxiety crawl up my spine, because I absolutely know what he’s going to say next.

“Marti, sweetheart, I’m sorry, but you have to climb up here and help free me.”

Terror rips through me like a brick dropping through my core. My brain doesn’t even register what he just called me. My only thoughts are of me, or worse, himandme, falling to our deaths because of my intense fear of heights.

“Do you think your wrist can handle it?” he asks.

It’s not my wrist I’m worried about. “There’s something you should know,” I yell.

“Please, by all means, let’s have a long, drawn-out, personal conversation while all the blood is rushing to my head.”

“Will you shut up, Dallas Montana?”

“Fine. What should I know?”

I swallow. “I’m insanely scared of heights.”

“Breathe, Marti. Because I’m afraid you coming up here is the only way I’m getting out of this.”

I have no harness. No rope. No safety net should I fall. Bex seems to understand this, because when I take the first step onto the bottom rung, he prances over and barks.

“I’ll be okay, buddy. I think. But if something happens and we fall, or if I don’t come down, promise me you’ll run and get help like you did when I fell through the ice.”

He nudges my calf. I’ll take that as a promise.

When I can’t get a good grip on the rung, I realize my gloves have to go. My hands might just freeze before I get to the top, but if I wear the gloves, I’ll slip for sure. I tuck them into my pocket, take a few deep breaths, and start climbing.

“You’re doing great,” I hear from above. “Just don’t look down.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious, for reminding me what I’m terrifyingly afraid of.”

I hear him laugh, which is ridiculous considering the situation.

“Almost here. You’re amazing, Marti.”

His voice is closer now. He isn’t yelling anymore. I keep my eyes trained on only the rung in front of me, fearful that if I look up or down, I’ll freak out and fall.

“Four more. Keep going. Three. Two. Okay, reach up with your right hand.”

“I can’t.” I tighten my death grip on the ladder.

“Marti, I need you to do this.”

I still don’t look up, but I reach up like he asked. When I do, he shoves a length of rope into my hand.

“Tie this around your waist.”

I close my eyes, gripping the ladder with all my might. “And how exactly do you suggest I do that?”

“Wrap your elbow around the ladder to secure yourself. That will free up your hand to tie the rope.”

“Oh my god, this is not happening.”

As I say the words, it’s like déjà vu, because I swear I’ve said or thought the very same thing at least a dozen times this week.

It takes three tries, and I drop the rope repeatedly. Thankfully,henever lets go of it, and I keep at it until I’ve got it secured. But I’m no expert. I have no idea if the knot I tied is good enough or tight enough to hold me should I fall. I’ve no choice but to believe it will.

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