Page 18 of Too Late

They both laughed. She walked toward the edge of the path. “Where’d it go?”

He joined her. Somehow her hat had missed the trees and flown down the rather steep embankment.

“Must have caught a gust of wind,” he said.

“Too bad. I really like that hat.”

“It’s not that far down there. I can get it.” He stepped forward, grabbed a small tree, and eased himself over the edge.

“Owen, no!” Chloe’s face was ghostly.

He jumped back to the path and in two steps stood in front of her. Owen? Why had she called him that?

She was shaking and hyperventilating.

He took her shoulders. “Chloe, it’s okay. Breathe. Slowly.”

Tears streamed down her face. And she didn’t seem to be able to catch her breath.

“Chloe. Look at me.”

She met his eyes.

He modeled slow, steady breathing, and she began to mirror him. However, the shaking continued. He rubbed her arms. “You’re gonna be all right.”

He didn’t know what to tell her, because he didn’t know what had triggered the panic attack. This was nothing like the tiny one she’d had yesterday evening because he held her hand. This was something entirely different, and much more deeply rooted.

She leaned into his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her. He consoled her with words, but they all came out the sameokayandall right.

But she settled.

He held her until she stepped back about five minutes later. He brushed the hair away from her face. “What happened?”

She tucked her hair behind her ear and stared at the ground. “Heights.”

He didn’t want to dismiss her fear, but it really wasn’t that far down, so he probably wouldn’t get hurt if he slipped, and the chances of him slipping were slim. “I can get your hat.”

She clutched his coat with tight fists. “No!” Her breathing rate increased again.

“Breathe, Chloe.”

“But . . .”

He didn’t understand. He wanted to but couldn’t. He loved climbing and sitting on the side of a cliff and taking in God’s beautiful creation. And this embankment was only fifteen feet down, maybe. There were rocks and the creek at the bottom, but it wasn’t a straight shot either.

He stroked her hair. “What if I use a branch or something to get your hat? I’d hate for you to lose it for good.”

“I guess.”

“I have an idea. You go sit down the path, so you don’t have to watch me lean over the edge.”

She shook her head. “No.”

Why was she so afraid of letting him go down? “Let’s see if we can find a branch. Too bad we didn’t bring our poles today.”

They stepped away from one another and searched along the trail for a long-enough stick, or a few not-quite-long-enough ones they could tie together with the cording Josh kept in his pack.

They each found a shorter one and tied them together. The metaphor wasn’t lost on Josh. But he debated saying something.God, I don’t know how far to venture with this. Is she ready to consider us “together”?

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