She was staring down at the truck. “Stupid. So damn stupid. I know better.”
“You couldn’t have known this crazy-ass storm would show up out of nowhere.”
She shook her head. “I know enough to know I shouldn’t park in the ravine. Ever. The truck…”
“Hey.” I touched her shoulder, turning her away from the opening. “The truck is replaceable. You knew enough not to let us get in it, which is more than I knew. We’re safe to wait this out. That’s what matters.”
She nodded but didn’t look anywhere near convinced. And she was shuddering hard. Now that we weren’t moving, our wet clothes and the wind had made hypothermia a real danger. Maybe we weren’t safe. I needed to get her warmed up. Lark’s smaller form wasn’t producing anywhere near as much heat as she needed.
I found dry material at the back of the overhang where the rock had kept the ground sheltered. Dead leaves, strips of bark, small branches. I built a fire the way the Army had taught me, kindling first, then larger pieces, patient and methodical. The wood caught. I fed it carefully until the flame held, then added two larger branches and let it build.
The fire was small, but it pushed warmth into the space. Smoke curled along the rock ceiling and drifted out the open side.
Lark hadn’t sat down. She was still at the edge of the overhang with her arms wrapped around herself, watching the water below. Her whole body was wound tight, vibrating with the same energy that had powered her up the hillside. The adrenaline hadn’t faded. It had nowhere to go.
“My truck is sitting in a river right now.” Her voice was too fast. “I just put new brake pads on it last month, and now it’s sitting in a river.”
“The water will drop. Flash floods move through fast. A couple hours at most. Come sit near the fire and get warmed up.”
“If that water gets into the intake, the engine is done. And a new engine—” She turned from the edge and paced the length of the overhang, six steps one way, six steps back. Her hands wrung water from her hair, then pulled at the hem of her jacket. “It’s fine. It’ll be fine. The water will go down and the truck will start and everything will be fine.”
It was obvious that not one cell in her entire being thoughteverything would be fine.
“Lark. Come sit by the fire. You’re freezing.”
She stayed at the edge, her back to me. The rain was blowing in against her, and she didn’t seem to notice. “Stupid. So stupid.”
“It’s just a truck. Worst-case scenario, it’s totaled and insurance pays. But either way, you couldn’t have known that storm would?—”
“There is no insurance.”
“What?”
She still didn’t turn around. “I let it lapse. Just like I’ve let everything else lapse. I haven’t had heat in my house in six weeks.” The words came out like they’d been shoved through a crack, connected to nothing and everything at once. “The propane is empty because propane costs money, and the money goes to feed because the animals come first. They always come first. And now my truck is sitting in a river because I was too distracted to think about where I was parking.”
“Wait. Six weeks without heat?”
She didn’t answer that. She turned around and her eyes were too bright and her hands were shaking and she wasn’t stopping.
“I went to the bank. That’s where I was the other day. I drove to Kalispell because I can’t go to the bank here because everyone in town would—” She pressed her hands against her face for a second, then pulled them away.
I couldn’t follow what she was saying, but before I could ask, she continued at the same rapid-fire pace.
“I’m three months behind. On thesecondmortgage. I went to beg for more time, but I don’t know if I can get it.”
My chest tightened. What the actual fuck? “How long has this been going on?”
“Months. I had grants that should have come through. Two of them. But both terminated at the last minute.” Her voice was climbing, the words tumbling out faster than she could organize them. “Just gone. Both of them. Nine months.”
“Both grants fell through?”
“Both. No explanation. No reason. Just gone.” She was shaking her head, her hands pulling at the hem of her soaked jacket.
I sat there and felt like an idiot. Three weeks on this property. I’d noticed the peeling paint and the leaning fence posts and the credit card that almost didn’t clear at the feed store. And…
“Wait. Have you been taking showers in the barn because you don’t have hot water in your house?”
I knew the answer before she gave the small shrug. “That’s the least of my problems.”
