Page 106 of Absolution

“Tell her I’ll call again in the morning. As soon as I know anything.”

I hang up, shoulders slumping. Back to work.

I sort donated supplies next. Organize what little we have, including what I brought. There’s only a few blankets, flashlights, and other stuff left. Every now and then, someone comes through the door, dripping and cold. I stop what I’mdoing and write down their name, where they were rescued from, who they’re looking for.

Each time the door opens, my heart leaps. Each time, it’s not her.

But I keep going. Moving. Helping. Because doing nothing would destroy me.

By 6 a.m., I’m running on coffee, adrenaline, and prayer. The list of unaccounted names grows longer. So does the ache behind my eyes. But I don’t stop. I can’t.

Then Doug finds me. His hand lands heavy on my shoulder. My stomach knots before he even says a word.

“Can we talk?” he says, voice low.

We step out into the corridor, away from the cots and crying and noise. He looks down at the paper in his hands before he speaks.

“The address you gave… the cabin?”

I nod, jaw clenched.

“It was destroyed. Completely. Parts of it were found washed half a mile downstream. They recovered a body.” He hesitates. “Male. No sign of anyone else. Not yet.”

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

Doug’s called away by someone shouting his name, but I don’t move. I stay there in the dark, my back against the wall. I slide down until I’m sitting on the cold tile, elbows on my knees, head in my hands.

She’s gone.

I had finally accepted she’d never be mine again. That she had chosen someone else. I thought that was the worst of it.

But this?

I never expected this.

The sob that escapes my throat is silent, strangled. I bite down hard, trying to keep it in, but it tears out of me anyway. I press my fist to my mouth, trying to keep from falling apart.

She can’t be gone. Not like this.

Wiping my tears with the back of my hand, I force myself to stand. Get back to work. That’s all I can do.

They found Charlie.

If she’d been there, really been there, she would’ve been with him. So maybe… maybe she wasn’t. Maybe she saw the storm rolling in and left. Maybe she tried to call, maybe she’s trying right now and just can’t get through. That has to be it. She’s out there, waiting for a signal. Waiting for help.

I throw myself back into the work. Collecting names. Cross-checking updates coming in from other centres. I make coffee for the volunteers, pass out blankets to the shivering ones who just came in. I do anything, everything, to keep my hands busy and my mind from spiralling.

I don’t let myself sit down.

Because if I stop, even for a second, I’ll have to think. I’ll have to call my kids and tell them I don’t know where their mother is. I’ll have to say the words I’m not ready to speak.

So, I keep moving.

I’m carrying in a couple cartons from the back room when Doug steps into my path.

“Hey, I’ll take that,” he says gently, reaching for the boxes. “We’ve got a few more evacuees. Why don’t you go sign them in?”

Before I can walk off, his hand lands on my shoulder, solid and steady. “Don’t lose hope.”

---