Falling for Hope Page 5

  Amy held tightly to the animal, stroking her soft back, until Lindsey finally parked beside the cabin and the two of them ran indoors.

  “Is Hope here?” Amy called, dripping all over the kitchen tiles. She and Lindsey were drenched, but Amy had held the kitten beneath her jacket, and the little thing was hardly damp at all. Amy placed the kitten gently on the floor and asked again, when no one answered, “Guys, did Hope come back?”

  Aspen wandered into the kitchen with a big yawn, still wearing her pajama bottoms and tank top. “I haven’t seen Hope,” she said sleepily, opening up the refrigerator door and staring into its depths with wide eyes, as if hypnotized. The bolt of lightning and roll of thunder made her jump a little, and she looked less sleepy when she shut the door, turning back to face Lindsey and Amy. “Why? Did she go somewhere?”

  “She went out hiking this morning,” said Amy, throat tight as she glanced down at her watch. 11:50.

  “She’s not come back yet,” said Irene from the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee. She glanced up at Lindsey and Amy. Her brow was etched with worry, and that’s when Amy’s stomach sank.

  If Irene was worried about Hope, there was definitely reason to worry.

  The rest of the women congregated in the kitchen, pouring cups of coffee and murmuring softly. Amy stood beside the kitten, feeling her stomach sink lower and lower, balling her hands into fists, waiting for the clock to tick to noon, because if noon came and Hope wasn’t back yet, that would mean...

  The door to Chris’s bedroom opened wide.

  Chris stood in the doorway, leaning against it, one arm arched over her head as she stared out at the women gathered in the kitchen with a frown. She straightened when she spotted Amy and came over to her, hands buried in jean pockets, her frown deepening as she tossed her carefully styled cowlick of blonde hair out of her eye.

  “What’s this about Hope?” she muttered, as Amy stared at her warily.

  “Hope went out for a hike this morning,” said Amy, her voice catching as both she and Chris glanced out the window at the torrents of falling water. “She said she’d be back by noon, but she’s not back yet.”

  Chris eyed the wall clock. “It’s eleven fifty-eight.”

  Amy blinked at her, incredulous. “This is a really stupid time to make jokes,” she muttered, tightening her hands into fists again.

  Chris shrugged, her face still contorted into an ugly frown. “Yeah, well…” she growled, and the words trailed off. She glanced down at the floor, her shoulders lowering a little. “Look, I don’t want to worry you, but…Hope would have known to come back. She’s my bestie, right? We’ve hiked those trails a hundred times. We know the trail protocol. She would have seen the storm. She would have known to come back.”

  Amy’s heart rose up into her throat. “What are you saying?” she asked, and Chris shook her head, glanced toward the rest of the women, who were all listening.

  “Look, if Hope isn’t back yet, something went wrong,” Chris said, voice rising.

  Irene bit her lip, shaking her head as she stared at the wall clock. “I think we should go after her,” she said quietly.

  “I’ll go get the flashlight from the truck,” said Lindsey, her voice uncharacteristically shaky. Amy stepped out of Lindsey’s way, feeling wooden, numb, as Chris watched her, as Chris’s features—uncharacteristically—softened.

  “Look…” She worked her jaw, gazed past Amy, out toward the woods that Amy could hardly make out beyond the rain. “She might have missed the signs. She was probably…lost in thought, not paying attention. She might have just kept hiking—”

  “Amy.” Irene was shrugging into her jacket and pulling a baseball cap over her hair. “Have you tried calling her cell phone?”

  Amy shook her head miserably. “She left her phone on the dresser last night,” she said, remembering her alarm when she’d seen the phone there that morning. “Cell phones don’t work very well on the mountain, anyway, so I guess—”

  “Okay, so this is what we’re going to do. We’re not going to worry, because she might have just not noticed the storms, might have just kept on hiking,” said Irene, voice even and reasonable. “Amy and Chris and me are going to go up the hill, taking the trail that Chris thinks Hope might have chosen.”

  Chris shook her head, folding her arms. “She could have taken any of a dozen, Irene.”

  “I know that. But we’ll take the one you think she would have taken,” said Irene, shaking her head as Lindsey came in, dripping wet but clutching a high-powered flashlight.

  “Do you really think it’s wise for you three to go out there?” asked Cole, leaning against the table. “I mean, what if something happens to you?”

  “What if something’s already happened to Hope?” asked Chris, snapping. Amy glanced up in surprise as Chris turned away, blowing air out of her nose in a snort.

  “I know Hope,” said Irene, clicking on the flashlight to see if it worked. An intense beam of light danced through the kitchen at the exact moment that the power flashed off.

  “Well, crap,” said Lindsey, her voice loud in the darkened kitchen. It was only noon, and it was as dim as twilight.

  “I know Hope,” Irene repeated, “and she would have returned by now. Something’s wrong, and we need to help her. Simple. Amy, do you have a thicker jacket?”

  Amy shook her head, drawing the windbreaker closer about her shoulders.

  “She can wear mine,” said Chris gruffly, taking her jacket off the hanger behind the kitchen door and handing it to Amy. Chris shrugged into her own windbreaker.

  “I’ll feed the kitten,” said Lindsey, kissing Amy’s cheek, and then, in a whirlwind of movement, Chris and Irene and Amy were on the front porch, staring out at the pouring rain, feeling it drive like slivers against their faces, the wind roaring through the trees like a train full of ghosts.

  “How are we going to find her in this?” Amy shouted, raising her voice to be heard over the rain. Fear made her whole body go cold.

  “Just don’t give up hope…on Hope,” said Chris, and despite Chris’s outburst yesterday, Amy felt a surge of gratitude that Chris had joined the search.

  “Stay together,” said Irene, pointing the flashlight into the rain.

  Together, the three women stepped off of the porch, into the storm.

  Embracing Hope

  The flashlight beam swung in a wide arc, barely illuminating the entrance of the first trail into the woods as Amy, Chris and Irene began to trek up the mountain. Amy drew her hood closer about her face and squinted, trying to make out the path in the torrential downpour. Her heart raced. It was only a little past noon, but the world was as dark as if night was descending, with heavy, black clouds hanging over the mountain.

  It looked—and felt—like a nightmare. Because Hope was missing.

  “This is the trail head!” Chris bellowed over the roaring winds, causing the trees to thrash and groan overhead. “All of the main trails start from here.”

  “So, which one would she have taken?” Amy called out, her voice snatched away from her, silenced by the raging storm.

  Chris shook her head, making a show of shrugging. “I don’t know. I guess we’ll try the main one. There’s dozens of trails she could have taken, and the rain has washed away any signs of her presence.”

  Amy choked down the beginnings of a sob as she followed Chris and Irene, who was holding the high-powered flashlight before them, down the first trail stretching off to the right.

  Their tight-knit group of friends had been coming up to Hope’s cabin for summer parties for years, and the women had hiked these trails many times—but no one knew them as well as Chris and Hope. They’d explored every rock and crater of the mountain together, and Chris was the only one who might have a chance at tracking Hope down in the storm.

  Amy was so grateful that Chris was there.

  It hadn’t been a given—after all, Hope and Chris had gotten into a serious argument th
e day before, and it was because of that argument that Hope had gone off for a hike by herself. She’d wanted to clear her head, not realizing that a mighty storm was descending upon the mountain.

  Upset, Amy stumbled over the trail: she couldn’t shake the feeling that, in a roundabout way—though the logical part of her brain insisted otherwise—this whole thing was her fault.

  Chris and Hope had gotten into an argument because of her.

  Once, Hope and Melissa had been a couple, but Melissa had passed away six months ago in a car crash. Hope had loved Melissa, but they weren’t right for each other, and they’d had a heated on-again, off-again romance for years. Many times they’d broken up and dated other people, and they weren’t together when Melissa died. But Chris—jokester Chris, who never let anything bother her—had been Melissa’s best friend. And, perhaps, something more during one of Hope and Melissa’s separations. When Chris found out that Amy, who had been secretly in love with Hope for five years, was at last beginning to date Hope, Chris had exploded in anger, saying that Hope was betraying Melissa’s memory.

  Betraying Melissa’s memory with Amy.

  Amy was a mostly logical person. As a veterinarian, her logical side had served her well: she was capable of making hard decisions from a rational place, tempered with emotion, when animals needed to be put down, when nothing more could be done. But since Melissa’s death, Amy had been far more emotional than logical. Melissa was the first close friend she’d ever lost, and their small group of friends had been rocked by her death, but something, something sleeping, had been awakened inside of Amy that long-ago day (had it really just been six months? It was starting to feel like a lifetime), as they stood in the snow at Melissa’s graveside, as Amy realized, perhaps for the first time, how fragile life was.

  And now Hope was alone on the mountain, lost in a terrifying storm. Perhaps hurt. Perhaps worse...

  Amy hated that her mind went to such a dark place. Hope knew the mountain like the back of her hand; she knew trail safety protocol, and she must have seen the storm advancing toward the mountain range. But all morning, Amy’s stomach had been tied up in knots, a feeling of dread building within her. Amy was mostly logical, yes, but her intuition was essential for her line of work, too: she trusted it completely.

  And her gut was now telling her that time was running out. They needed to find Hope soon.

  Lightning struck close by, illuminating their surroundings perfectly for half a heartbeat in a haze of white light. The trees stood out starkly in the lightning blast, like skeletal hands reaching toward the sky. Amy shuddered as the thunder boomed around them.

  “That was really close,” shouted Irene over the pounding rain.

  “If you feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, drop to the ground, roll up into a ball and cover the back of your neck,” shouted Chris back.

  “Very comforting!” said Irene, brandishing the flashlight.

  The trail surface was now a slick mixture of mud and the previous autumn’s fallen leaves, and as the path began to slope upward at a steeper and steeper angle, Amy’s footing began to suffer. She kept tripping, her feet sliding out from under her, the rainwater streaming over her face as she blinked blearily, trying to make out the outline of the two women ahead of her, trying to follow the beam of the flashlight. The knees of Amy’s jeans were now wet and filthy, and she was completely drenched from head to toe when she tripped again and sat for a long moment, her hands wrist deep in the mud, her head bowed.

  Chris paused next to her, offering her a hand.

  “Thanks,” she muttered, as the woman helped her up, glancing down at her through the curtains of rain with an apologetic expression.

  “It’ll be okay, Amy,” said Chris, then, and she stepped forward and hugged her, holding her close as the storm raged around them.

  It was so unexpected, and so needed, that Amy felt tears well up in her eyes. She swallowed her sobs and embraced Chris tightly.

  She knew, now, that they were all definitely in this together.

  Irene was grinning a little as she turned the flashlight beam on them. “Good. Finally,” she said, relief in her voice. “All right, ladies,” she said loudly, clearing her throat as she glanced back toward the pathway. “Let’s keep going.”

  “Hope!” bellowed Chris, her loud voice traveling even through the downpour and the crackle of thunder. Chris turned, and—together—the three women continued up the mountain.

  Summer rain should be warm, thought Amy miserably, as they slogged onward. It shouldn’t be freezing. And Hope was lost in this miserable weather, had been exposed to it for hours. Amy, Chris and Irene had only been walking the trail for about twenty minutes. Amy couldn’t imagine how cold Hope must be. And what if she was caught in a dangerous situation? There were a million dangerous situations Amy could imagine: images of bears and cliff faces and falling trees filled her head.

  They struggled up the path for what felt like forever. Eventually, Irene, ever the optimist, her voice hoarse from calling out for Hope hundreds of times, coughed and stopped, taking off her soggy baseball cap and running her fingers through her short brunette hair. “What if we picked the wrong trail?” she asked Chris and Amy. Amy’s heart rose into her throat, and she swallowed, trying to calm the drill of her pulse.

  “We might have. There’s no way of knowing,” said Chris, wiping the rain out of her eyes. “I don’t know.”

  They were following the Ambrose Trail, which was the trail that intersected most of the other trails and crisscrossed the mountain, leading up to the summit. Under more pleasant circumstances, the women would have been able to see that they were near a very pretty section of the trail now. There was a tall waterfall that cascaded down into a steep ravine, and the trail continued along the edge of the ravine until it was no longer a ravine but an actual cliff face overlooking the waterfall itself. Amy imagined that she could hear the roar of the waterfall, but it was probably just the roar of the rain, since the waterfall was still a little further off.

  “Harmony Falls is Hope’s favorite part of the trails here,” Chris called over the downpour. “That’s why I chose this trail, because it’s the one she walks most often.” Again, Chris wiped at her face, spluttering.

  They continued along the path, Amy still sliding on the mud, her heart hammering as the trail began to get steeper, one side of the trail morphing into a sharp drop-off. The roar grew louder, then, and Amy knew that around the bend ahead would be the waterfall.

  “Hope!” Chris called, and Amy inhaled deeply, forming her hands into a megaphone shape around her mouth.

  “Hope, where are you?” she called out into the rain.

  Another bolt of lightning tore open the sky, and the wind screamed in Amy’s ears.

  And then…Amy paused.

  Over the roar of the waterfall, the rush of the rain and wind and the booming thunder, had she heard…

  She stood very still, trying to calm her heartbeat, listening with all of her might.

  Chris stopped, too, placing her hand on Amy’s arm. “Did you hear that?” she bellowed over the storm.

  “Hear what?” called Irene from farther up the trail.

  “Shh—just listen!” Chris called to her.

  Amy held her breath.

  Yes. There it was again. It was so faint, so low, but she’d heard it—definitely heard it—as Chris stared back at her with wide eyes.

  A voice. It was a voice.

  “Hope!” Amy screamed, her voice cracking as her heartbeat surged. She dashed a little farther up the trail, slipping on the mud as Irene grabbed hold of her arm to stop her from sliding a little too close to the edge. “Hope!” Amy yelled again, pressing her hands to her heart as she listened.

  Again, a voice—Hope’s voice. Amy swallowed a sob and glanced up at Irene, whose head was cocked.

  “Hope, keep calling to us!” Chris shouted. “Are you on the trail? Sing or something, girlfriend!” Despite the joke, Chris’s words were c
hoked out, too, and all three women stood perfectly still, listening.

  “…ome, home on the ra…” came Hope’s voice again, bellowing out the song with all her might, though—to Amy’s heartache—the words sounded weak, pained.

  Chris, Irene and Amy turned, as one, toward the edge of the cliff overlooking the deep ravine.

  “It was coming from down there.” Chris moved over to the edge.

  “Be careful,” Irene barked. “It’s unstable because of the mud.”

  Chris squatted down and peered over. “Shit,” she muttered, running her hand through her hair.

  Amy scrabbled to the edge as Irene held onto her jacket’s hood. Peering down over the edge of the cliff, the rain pouring all around them, Amy’s heart rose into her throat again.

  “Hello, ladies,” said Hope, grinning up at them through the rain with her easy smile, though it looked a bit more forced than usual. She was sitting on a rocky outcropping, a ledge some thirty feet down from the actual cliff face.

  Around the small ledge loomed a dark, vast nothingness, and hundreds of feet below was the bottom of the ravine.

  “Hope!” Amy called, voice shaking. “Are you all right?”

  “Except for the bitty accommodations, I’m right as rain,” Hope joked, still grinning as she shielded her eyes from the falling water. Overhead, a bolt of lightning sparked, and the immediate thunder made the earth rumble beneath their feet. “And the view’s quite spectacular!” Hope quipped.

  Chris shrugged out of her backpack and began digging around inside of it. “I figure you’re probably done sightseeing now, though,” she shouted down to Hope, who laughed back.

  “I’m done drowning,” she spluttered, sitting back and looking up at the three of them. “I’m awfully glad to see you guys,” she said, her voice softer, and Amy leaned forward, sobbing.