Page 46 of Little Bird
I haven’t been able to love anyone since Helen left, and I’m not even sure that was love. That was trying to cover a hole that had existed since Natalie died. And Gabby is more of the same. Just a patch, and one that I don’t even really like. I’m using her as a crutch, and it doesn’t matter that I don’t love her, because I’m not capable of love.
Not real love. Not enough to save someone when they need saving. Clearly.
I hate myself for that. I hate the coward that I’ve become.
And I despise the fact that I can’t seem to change it.
But as long as I’m still here, I may as well be doing something useful.
I charge back into the house and start gathering supplies. Blankets, hot water bottles, and sweatshirts. The medical kit that I keep in my bathroom. I start a pot of milk to boil, then realize that I don’t need it boiling yet and turn off the heat. I’ll boil it for hot chocolate when Gabe brings Taryn back.
Because my son is a good man, and a hero.
I know he’ll find her and bring her home.
He has to.
Gabe
I shift the Jeep into a lower gear for the grade, grit my teeth, and then hit the gas again, thanking the universe that I’ve already put winter tires on this one. We upgraded the engine last year, and this is our most powerful vehicle. Right now, with the snow driving down and the drifts already building up against the trees and cliffs, I need every ounce of that power.
I still haven’t found Taryn or the truck, and I hope that means she’s still on the road and heading for town, which she’ll hit soon if she’s going as fast as I think she is. It’s dangerous to go this fast, nearly suicidal, but after what my father said to her, I don’t think she’ll be driving slow. She’ll want to get the fuck out of here as quickly as she can.
Though even that seems false, like it can’t possibly be happening. She ran from New York for a reason, and though she hasn’t told me what that reason is, I doubt it’s a small one. Taryn’s a smart girl and wouldn’t have left the city unless she absolutely had to.
On the other hand, I would have been surprised if she hadn’t left when my father tore into her. I know Taryn, or at least I used to, and she doesn’t take well to the sort of hatred he was throwing at her. She grew up with a mother who never really saw her, and the idea of someone else failing to appreciate her would have her running for the hills.
Or in this case, running down the hill.
I could kill my father for what he said, and I might do that later, but right now all I can think is that I need to find my girl and get her home. She was wearing almost nothing when she left, and if the worst has happened and she’s on foot, she doesn’t have a lot of time.
I’ve barely finished the thought when I see it. The snow is deep up here but the tracks of a truck going out of control still stand out against the drifts. She was taking this corner too fast and the truck went into a slide, drifting first one way and then the other—she must have been steering into the drift, trying to control it—before it straightened out for a moment, and then...
Oh my God.
I’m out of the Jeep and running for the edge of the road before I can think, my heart hammering and my mind refusing to believe what it’s seeing. The tracks slide right toward the edge and disappear, which means she went over the cliff right here, and it’s so close to what I remember from the night my mother died that I feel like my brain is short-circuiting. I see flashes of that night, the driving snow and my father roaring in fear. Reality flickers over it and the daylight comes back, but the snow is still driving and the edge of the cliff is right there in front of me.
My brain is ten years old again, confused and terrified at what it knows has happened, and my ears are ringing with my father’s horror, but my body is in real time and knows exactly what it’s doing. It gets me to the edge of the road and I stare down, panicked eyes searching for anything that might tell me she’s still alive.
And then I remember that this isn’t my mother’s crash scene. We’re not on that turn, where the drop was so steep that she never could have survived it. I’m on a different turn, and here the drop just goes into a wide meadow. The drop must have been terrifying, but it wouldn’t have been impossible to survive, and if she was lucky enough to land on the tires rather than the truck’s side or roof, she would be just fine.
My gaze shoots from one side to the other, looking, and within seconds I’ve found the truck, wrapped around a tree. I jump from the ledge and hit the snow running, plowing through the deep drifts and making for where my girl crashed.
Please let her be okay, please let her be okay.
When it’s not enough to chant it in my head, I start saying it out loud.
“Please, please, please,” I repeat over and over, my voice hoarse and breathless with how hard I’m working to get to her. I’ve never really believed in God—too much has gone wrong in my life—but right now I’ll bow down and believe whatever I need to if it means she’s still alive.
I’ll spend the rest of my life thanking whoever I have to fucking thank.
I get to the truck, sliding through the snow in a heap, and find it empty. The driver’s side door is open, though, so she must have been in once piece. Alive enough to get out of the truck, at the very least. I check the snow for her tracks and find them, along with a trail of blood, and my heart starts hammering. A little further along I see bear tracks merging with hers, and I go into a full-on panic. It’s late for a bear to be out, but they might be delayed with the lack of snow, and if this one hasn’t gone into hibernation yet, it’s still eating as many calories as it can find, getting ready for the long sleep.
A tiny, helpless girl would look like an easy snack.
Oh my God.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.
