Nine

It’s all my fault.

David hasn’t said as much, but I know he thinks it. How could he not? He’d asked me to look out for Stacey, and then I let this happen.

He was standing right next to me when I told the police what happened on the trail. How I left her behind, then rushed back after hearing her scream.

After I found Stacey’s hat, I’d raced down the hill to the nearest house and pounded on the door until an older man answered. I screamed at him to call 9-1-1. I stood on the porch, my whole body shaking from the cold but mostly from fear, and the man’s wife brought me water. I heard sirens in the hills below, growing louder and louder.

I called Lithia Runners and got the machine. Then I called David at home, and he answered right away. As if he’d been waiting.

I never should have left her behind.

I’d only been out of sight for a couple of minutes, but David had been clear about sticking together. So clear. I should have listened to him. I shouldn’t have let my own worries get in the way, or justified running ahead of Stacey by the way she kept leaving me behind. Now, all I wish is that it were me who’d gone missing instead of her. I’m used to it; no one ever misses me.

But Stacey will be missed. David was very calm, silent as he listened to the police talk in hushed voices as their radios crackled. We stood next to each other on the dirt path as the search parties made their way through the trees. They wouldn’t let us help—didn’t even want us there at all—but it’s a small town, and they knew what it meant to David. So there we were. Listening to the barks of dogs echoing down the valley. Watching the flickering beams of the officers’ and volunteers’ flashlights.

David said only one thing to me all night. “Are you cold?” he asked as we stood together on the Lost Mine Trail.

Someone had given me a blanket, and I had it wrapped around me, tightly, but I still couldn’t stop my shivering. “I’m not cold,” I said. And I wasn’t, but my teeth chattered anyway.

Then they found her. Even before the police came forward to deliver the news to David, I knew she was dead. The radios they held went silent. Their urgency dissipated. And nobody made eye contact with us again. Not until the police captain asked for a moment alone with David.

The fog was thick by the time the police escorted me down the hill, the wind silent, the trees motionless for once. David stayed behind to escort Stacey to the morgue. The police took me home, and I felt like a prisoner as I sat in the back of the patrol car, the metal screening separating me from the two officers. But I deserved to be there. I left her behind, for just a few short minutes—but still I felt as though I’d committed a crime, a terrible crime.

The next morning, I looked out the window, up at the hills, and saw a layer of frost on the trees. Somehow I missed that last night, in the dark, all that frozen moisture whitening the trees, as if a blanket had been set down over the entire forest, like the blanket they used to cover Stacey’s body.

And, like so many other things I’ve done, this is something I can never take back. I’ll never have the chance to relive this moment, to do it over again, differently. This is something I’ll have to live with forever.

~

I am back behind the counter of Lithia Runners. I showed up this morning, knowing that David would be in no condition to be here. I know I’m no longer an employee, but all I can think is that I am going to work here forever, with no pay, anything to make up for what I’ve done.

No one is coming in to buy shoes or running gear, but it’s still a busy day. The news has spread quickly. By the middle of the day, at least a couple dozen people have stopped by, offering sympathy and flowers and food. The fridge in the back fills with casseroles and soups. I stick a note to each one, saying who it’s from so David knows.

A few reporters call, some from as far away as Seattle and San Francisco. The police believe that Stacey was killed by a bear, or a mountain lion, and the reporters are curious. I hang up on them. Finally I stop answering the phone altogether. I listen to the messages, deleting the ones from reporters and keeping the ones from people David seems to know.

I get on the computer and read the news reports. The police said that Stacey had been dragged two hundred yards from where she’d been on the trail. The cause of death was apparently loss of blood.

I’m wondering whether I should’ve told the police what I thought I’d heard. But I’m not even sure I heard that voice anyway; it makes no sense. Even if it had been a voice, no man could have done what had been done to Stacey. No one was there.

I wish I had heard a voice. If someone else had been on that trail, he might have done what I couldn’t do. He might have saved her.

In the end, it doesn’t matter. Stacey is dead.

I can’t help but think of Doug, from the parks department, about what he said. Bears don’t attack people. People attack people.

The police must know about the people living in the hills, the ones Stacey told me about. They must know what a bear attack looks like, or a mountain lion attack. I’m just a newcomer here. They know more than I do.

Then why do I have this awful, nagging feeling that won’t go away?

I don’t want to talk to the police anymore. Because it’s a small town, and because I was with David, I’m one of them. I’ve been accepted, so far. But if I keep talking to the police, they might keep asking me more questions, like where I’m from and what I’m doing here. They might ask for a driver’s license. Proof of identity. They might make calls. And then I might find myself in the back of a squad car again, not getting a ride home but a ride somewhere else. I might find myself a prisoner for real.

It has quieted down a bit, so when I hear the door open, I look up from the computer. Alex is standing there.

“I’m so sorry,” he says.

I say nothing. There’s nothing to say. It seems right to thank him, but for what?

So I come up with, “Can I help you?”

He gives me a strange look. “Kat, I’m not here to buy anything,” he says. “I’m here to see if you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” I say, and then I know what to thank him for. “Thank you for asking.” I’m not used to people being concerned about me. It’s nice, even though I know I don’t deserve it.

“You don’t seem fine.”

“I am. If you want to help, find David. I haven’t seen him all day.” I don’t tell Alex that I’m glad I haven’t seen him. That I’m hoping I don’t have to anytime soon because I don’t know if I can face him. I think the guilt will overwhelm me.

“Okay,” Alex says, reluctantly. “And then I’ll be back to see about you.”

I watch Alex leave, and I wish I had told him that I’m sorry for him, too. He knew Stacey a long time, and I’ve taken her from him. But I can’t do anything to change what happened.

Day turns to night, and David does not come by the store. It begins to rain, and people pass with umbrellas raised. I envy each and every one of them, simply because they are not me. They have problems of their own, I’m sure, regrets and fears and second thoughts. But I would trade places with any one of them right now if I could. I don’t think anyone has left a trail of regrets quite as long as the one I am leaving in my wake.

~

I close the store and walk home. Slowly. I know I have to see David, but what can I tell him? How many times can I say I’m sorry, and how many times can he tell me it’s not my fault? Especially when I don’t think either of us believes the other.

I walk down the driveway toward his house. His house. No longer their house. There is only David now.

The kitchen light is on. I walk up to the back door and knock. There is no answer. I look through the window and see him at the kitchen table, motionless, head down. I open the door and take a step inside.

“David? Can I come in?” He looks up at me, then back down again. I realize he is staring at the newspaper. The front page reads, in a bold headline: LITHIA WOMAN DIES AFTER BEAR ATTACK.

I sit down next to him.

“I know I should have stayed with her, David. I wish I could go back. If I could change anything—” I’m crying now, and I can’t bring myself to look him in the eyes, not that he is looking at me anyway. He is still staring down at the paper. “I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t speak, and I still can’t look at him. As I stare at the paper, I see it darken with tiny circles, and I realize that they’re tears. A moment later he puts his hand on my arm, and I think it makes us both feel a little better, even though nothing has changed.

~

I sit on the side of my bed, too restless to lie down, let alone sleep. I’ve returned to the cottage after several hours in the kitchen with David. We both wept, and I made dinner, even though we weren’t hungry. But we both ate a little, and as I was cleaning up, he disappeared. I heard him walking around upstairs, and that’s when I put all the leftovers in the fridge and snuck back to the cottage.

Even if I could sleep, I don’t want to. I can’t bear the thought of seeing David every day, of receiving his generosity while I’ll be reminded every moment of what I did. Of being the reason he is now living in that big house all alone. All because his wife was good enough to take in a homeless girl. He didn’t even want to; Stacey had to talk him into it. And though he is being kind, I’m sure he doesn’t want to see me ever again.

I know I have to do what I’ve done before. What I always seem to be doing when trouble catches up to me.

It takes only a few minutes to pack my bag and toss it over my shoulder. I leave the dress behind, hanging on the door. I pause for a second to look at it—so beautiful, the nicest thing I’ve ever owned. Then I turn away. I won’t have any need for pretty things anymore.

I head for Main Street. In a mile or two, it will connect with the interstate, which will connect to points elsewhere. Points far, far away.

I’m suddenly eager to be gone, to flee this place and the horror of what I’m leaving behind. I pick up my pace until I am no longer walking down Main Street. I am running. Running, and running away—the only things I’ve ever been good at. And I just seem to be getting better and better.