Page 87 of Charlie and Her Sweet Escape
Charlie deserved every good thing. Even if it was cheesy.
I looped the thin paracord strand around my pinkie and tied it in a knot, then cut the ends off to make a small ring. We hadn’t exchanged rings at the wedding, but I could give her one now. Tell her how much I loved her and wanted to make this work.
She might not be in the same place as me. We might need to go slower and work through logistics to see what our relationship was like in the real world—but I knew one thing: I loved Charlie Savage. And I would spend the rest of my life showing her, if she’d let me.
On a whim, I tied another string onto my ring finger and left that one there as well, wearing both her ring and mine. She might cringe when I showed her. Lily would have. It would have been too intense. I was always too little or too much for her—never just right. But I had a feeling that Charlie was going to love it.
I glanced around the campsite as worry nudged my chest.
“Charlie!” I called out, expecting to hear her call back to me. When she didn’t, I went toward her Log Loo, as she liked to call it, but she wasn’t there. Maybe she went fishing. She did her best fishing in the morning. Her reel was near the chair, but I went down to check anyway.
Water lapped peacefully at the rocky shore, the serene sight a complete contrast to the anxiety rolling through my chest.
I raced toward where we’d shaved the logs clean. It would be like Charlie to finish the project by herself as a surprise to me, or in a bid to prove she wasn’t needy.
The logs were still scattered where we’d left them before the bear had destroyed our camp.
My heart raced fully now, my panic growing exponentially.
She’s going to be okay. She’s probably wandered off somewhere and gotten lost.If I kept yelling her name, she’d eventually hear me.
Unless she went into the lake for some reason and got dragged down into it.
No. She wouldn’t do that. The water was freezing, and she’d have no reason to get in. I entered the forest, yelling her name. I could wrestle my fear down with the illusion that I could control any of this.
Hours passed, and my voice was hoarse when I made it back to camp, the panic fully consuming me. My sprained ankle ached from being on it for too long, but it still wasn’t as painful as the thoughts racing through my mind of what could have happened to Charlie. I’d run my finger along the paracord rings I’d made until they had rubbed my skin around them raw.
Was this how Jules felt all those times he’d been having a panic attack when we were teenagers? If so, I hadn’t given him enough sympathy. I’d tried to help him the best I could, but I hadn’t understood how it felt to truly panic until this moment. And it was terrifying.
The tenuously balanced wall of our shelter collapsed in my haste to get inside. I needed to find the SAT phone.
I pushed the logs aside with strength born of desperation and found my bag. I dug through it with shaking hands, still not finding it. I dropped my head and took a few deep breaths to try to calm my breathing. Memories of my mom dying battered atme and made it hard to think. Charlie was alive. She was going to be okay.
And I needed help if I was going to make sure those two things remained true.
I stretched my fingers out to force them to relax from the tense fist they kept forming, and I exhaled loudly. Then I dug back into my bag and searched again, this time finding the SAT phone stuffed inside one of my shirts.
I called base camp. They answered after one ring.
“This is Bennett. Charlie is missing.”
“Charlie’s missing?” Savannah responded.
“Yes. I’ve looked for her everywhere, and she’s not here. I don’t know if she wandered off, got lost in the woods, is hurt somewhere—” Okay, listing potential issues was not helping my state of mind. I stood and walked outside to pace and relieve some of my extra energy.
“Okay, Bennett. Sit tight. Help is on the way.”
My knees buckled at the promise, and I dropped to my hands and knees. They were coming. With their resources, we’d find Charlie. Still, my stomach revolted from the stress, and I began dry heaving the moment the SAT phone hung up.
Iwas torn between preserving my energy and continuing to search for Charlie while I waited for help. In the end, searching for Charlie won over, my voice a mere rasp by the end of the two hours it took for help to arrive.
I heard the boat long before I saw it, and I picked my way to the shore to await them.
I was hoping for a helicopter to come as well. We were going to need to canvass the terrain to see if we could spot Charlie or my coat from the sky. I was confident that she was nowhere within hearing range (or unconscious, though I couldn’t let my thoughts stray too far in that direction). I dropped my swollen ankle in the ice cold water, hissing at the pain until it went numb.
Relief nearly overcame me as the boat drew nearer. I rewrapped my ankle, which already looked better. We were going to find her. She was going to be okay. If I had been in any doubt of my feelings for Charlie—which I hadn’t—they were now firmly solidified.
I only saw two people on the boat. Not nearly as many as I expected. Maybe I hadn’t been alarmist enough in my call. The boat roared close, and then the passenger stepped out. He wore a bright yellow life vest, sunglasses, and a canvas sun hat that cast most of his face in shadow as he trudged through the shallow waves in his mud boots.
