The Breaking Point (14 page)

They’d never see you in this storm. Probably run right over you and not even feel the bump.

She recognized the thought for what it was: the voice of fear, of despair. And she refused to listen. ì
can do this.
She started forward.
Even if there aren’t any plows out, I can follow the road until I find help.

But with each step, the snow grew deeper. A thin sheet of ice topped the snowpack, but it did little to support Renee’s weight. Instead, it seemed to work in league with the wind against her. It raked at her pants, and then, when Renee’s foot broke through and her leg sank into the underlying snow, it scraped her icy skin raw through the fabric.

Gritting her teeth, she kept going. Each step became a monumental effort as she shifted her weight, grabbed at her pants, and tugged her leg free of its bone-chilling sheath. Then it was another step forward … and another one-legged plunge into the deep freeze.

Her breath coming in increasingly rapid gulps, her knees turning rubbery, she fought with all her energy pulling a leg free, planting her foot, and stepping forward.

Then, without warning, both legs broke through the coating of ice. Renee cried out as she sank, the ice scoring her bruised skin. She clutched at the ground, teeth gritted, and conceded defeat.

There was no way she would make it up that incline.

Gabe had always said she was mule-headed determination personified. She should have known from the first step that going up the incline wouldn’t work. But hope had driven her on.

False hope. Empty hope. But hope, nonetheless.

She’d been so close … so close to finding the help they needed. Instead …

Renee drew a breath. Instead, it was back to Plan A: head west, find the river, find a cabin.

Of course, she had to get back to the truck first.

It was a struggle, but she managed to pull her legs from their wet, heavy encasement. Once free, she made her way, slowly, painfully, back to the truck.

She paused, relief washing over her, when she felt the hard comfort of the truck under her hand. Digging into her pocket, she pulled her compass out. It was hard to get her bearings with everything looking the same, all bathed in white, but she finally pinpointed a tall tree that stood out from the others. She wrapped her scarf more securely around her face and neck, ignoring the way her fingers trembled, refusing to acknowledge the panic gnawing at her nerves.

Do what you know to do.

She grabbed the rope still dangling from the car door, tugged it to test the knot, then looped the yellow coil over one shoulder. Lowering her face against the wind, she started forward. The wind fought her every step, pelting her with whirling snow and closing around her almost as soon as she stepped away from the truck. She glanced back, and alarm twisted around her heart like a thorny vine. Though she was scarcely twenty feet away from the vehicle, she could barely
make it out in the blinding sheet of white.

Go back. Go back to where it’s safe and wait. Help will come …

She made herself turn away from the enticement. As good as the idea sounded, she knew she couldn’t do it. She had to find help.

She kept moving, pausing only long enough to take a bearing when she couldn’t tell which direction was which. Even her footprints in the snow offered little help, erased almost the moment she lifted her foot by the blowing wind and piling snow.

The further she went from the seeming safety of the truck, the louder the cries grew at the back of her mind to turn around. But she wouldn’t listen. She couldn’t.

She just leaned into the wind, eyes squinted as she put one foot down, and then another. Her breathing was ragged, her legs heavy and leaden—but she wasn’t going to stop. Not for anyone or anything. She was stronger than this storm, and she’d prove it.

Even if it was the last thing she ever did.

Now what?

Renee stared at the yellow coil in her hand.

I’ve reached the end of my rope.
Literally. Strangled laughter slipped out as she clutched the end of the yellow lifeline in her hand.

Okay, so she’d walked to the end of the rope and still hadn’t found the river. So what? All she needed to do was keep going, keep trying.

If only she could be sure which direction led to the river.

West. Keep heading west.

Renee nodded, then went back to a tree just behind her. Her stiff fingers fought her, but she managed to tie off the rope. At least Gabe could follow it this far.

Assuming he ever wakes up.

She rubbed her arm against her aching eyes, as though to erase the disheartening thought. Gabe would wake up. She wouldn’t let herself think otherwise. Knowing him, he probably had done so already and was on his way to find her even now.

She lifted her head to stare at the large, heavy flakes swirling down from the muted sky There couldn’t be more than an hour of daylight left. Maybe only a half hour. If Gabe was going to find her, he’d better do it soon, otherwise …

Renee didn’t even want to think about it. She stood there, trying to decide which way to go, when an icy blast of wind snatched her breath from her lungs. Every inch of her ached, and weariness seemed to have settled into her very bones. She bent over, resting her elbows on her knees.

If only she had been able to reach the road. Hard to believe it was nearly two hours since she’d tried. It seemed she’d been outside fighting the weather for days, not hours.

Renee straightened, the muscles in her back and legs offering sharp protest as she did so. She shivered, licking at her chapped lips.
If only I could sit down. Just for a minute. Just to rest awhile.
But it would be a mistake.

If she stopped now, she might never start again.

With that less-than-cheery thought, she stuck her hand in her pocket and dug out her compass. She ignored the tremble in her hands as she took a bearing due west. She was about to start out again when she hesitated, glancing back at the rope.

Maybe she should leave a note there, let Gabe know she was going west.

You already told him that in the note you left in the truck.

She frowned. True, but it might be helpful. After all, she had been known to change her mind from time to time—

The acknowledgment was cut off by a jolt of irritation.
Either he trusts you to do what you said you would or he doesn’t.

Her lips thinned. Trust? Gabe? Not hardly. Still … why
should she have to jump through hoops—especially when they were
his
darned hoops—to give the man what he needed when she’d already done so?

Enough was enough.

She spun on her heel and started walking. She didn’t have time to write another note. She had to keep going, to find help.

It was up to her.

The resentment that met this thought was so abrupt and crushing that Renee stumbled. Cynical, biting words poured into her mind, as though dredged from the very depths of her cavernous soul.

Of course
it’s up to you. It always
is,
isn’t it?

She started to form a denial, but it wouldn’t come. How could it? Saving their marriage by forgiving, accepting, moving forward—hadn’t it all been up to her? Wasn’t she the one who had to make sacrifices, who had to give up her dreams? Be submissive. Be obedient. She’d had to do it all. That was just the way it was. After all, if she didn’t do it, who would?

Gabe’s face came to her then, and Renee almost laughed out loud. Not likely … She couldn’t count on him to take the stupid trash out! She’d be nuts to rely on him for things that really mattered.

But even as she dismissed him, she felt a prick at the edge of her conscience. It was the same nagging reprimand she’d been feeling now for months. Maybe even years. The one that told her she didn’t know
what
Gabe would do, because she’d never really given him a chance to do much of anything.

Her teeth clenched, and a sound that was half laugh, half sob escaped her. She couldn’t deal with this. Not now. Not when every inch of her screamed from the strain of fighting the wind and deep snow, when she had no idea how much farther she had to go to find help.

“Stop it!” She shrieked the words into the wind. “Stop fighting me!”

The wind only howled, mocking her with what sounded like hollow laughter, pounding at her from all sides. She bent her head and plowed forward, but the icy blasts hit her square in the face and ripped the very breath from her lungs. Gasping, every muscle, every sinew in agony, she dropped to her hands and knees. Her ragged sobs rose on the swirling wind, blending with the storm’s own wail to form a cry of utter despair.

Weakness crept through her arms and legs, making the ache so pronounced she could barely stand it, coaxing her to lie down and rest on the frozen blanket beneath her. I
can’t …
Oh,
Jesus … I can’t do this.

As though someone had leaned over to whisper in her ear, she knew His response. He’d never asked her to do it. He’d only asked her to do one thing: wait.

Her spirit was pierced with a helpless frustration. How often had she felt that same urging, that same call to wait on Him? On His timing? His provision? Too often. Each time she promised Him, and herself, that she would obey Even purposed to do so.

Each time she failed miserably.

And now … here it was again, that same command. That one impossible word: wait.

But this time it wasn’t some emotional issue than hung in the balance. It wasn’t even her marriage. It was her life. And Gabe’s. Frustration filled her with new energy and she pushed herself back to her feet. “And if I’d waited, what then? What would have happened to us?”

The reply came as swiftly as the heated pulse pounding through her veins:
“The Spirit
gives
life; the flesh counts for nothing. The words I have spoken to you are spirit and they are life.”

Renee had always wondered at Christ’s early followers, always felt a mixture of envy and disdain for them. How she would have loved walking with Christ! What a wonder it must have been to hear Him teach, to sit with Him and learn
the truth, the way of life. To look into those holy eyes, to have Him look at you …

And yet the very people who had been given such a gift had turned from Him and walked away. Because His teachings were hard. She’d never understood it.

Until now.

She knew the words slapping her in the face were truth. And all she wanted to do was join the rank and file that had turned and walked away.

Despair devoured her; defeat feasted on the last shreds of her strength.

Renee stumbled forward to a tall, wide tree. She leaned against it for a moment, then sank down, sitting with her back against the rough bark of the trunk. The bottom branches of the evergreen swept out, hanging over her like a sheltering canopy She drew her knees up and sat there on the cold, hard ground, thankful her ski pants kept the chill from reaching her. At least for now.

Trembling from head to toe, she let her breath out on a shuddering sigh. Exhaustion crept up her legs, crawling along her arms until it came to rest on her chest, a leaden weight that wouldn’t let her move. It worked its way into her mind as well, telling her she’d worked hard enough … coaxing her to close her eyes, to rest … sleep …just for a minute …

No!

She jolted awake, shaking her head to clear the frozen cobwebs that seemed to have settled there. She couldn’t fall asleep. Not yet. She needed to get warm first. She fumbled with the zipper on a pocket, then reached in and dug for a heat pack. Her billfold tumbled out, dumping its contents on the ground, and Renee let a cry of frustration sound in the snowy stillness. Why did
everything
have to fight her?

Pressing back against the tree, she tried again and this time managed to pull one of the heat packs free. She squeezed it between her shaky, stiff hands, working the chemicals
together as best she could, then slid it between her layers of clothing. The welcome warmth seeped into her chilled body.

She leaned down to retrieve her billfold and ID when something caught her eye. A photo. Of her and Gabe.

It must have been tucked inside her billfold. She picked it up, then leaned back, her head resting against the tree trunk as she studied the picture. Her younger self smiled up at her. She was standing with Gabe, and they had their arms wrapped around each other as they mugged for the camera.

“I remember that day.” Renee’s voice sounded strange—muted, hollow—in the snowy air. She didn’t care. It made her feel better to talk out loud, as though someone there was with her, listening. “That was the day we went to that state park …” She frowned, trying to recall the name of the place, then shook her head. “I can’t remember. Gabe would know which one it was. He always remembers things like that—”

Her voice caught in her throat, and she forced herself to go on, to ignore the ache inside her. “It was a great place. Lots of rocks and rugged paths to hike.” She could picture the day as clearly as if it were yesterday. They’d walked and hiked, talking and laughing about everything and nothing, happy just to be together.

Life had been so simple then.

Renee looked at the photo again and a tiny smile tugged at her mouth. They looked so happy. So carefree … so in love.

Her smile melted, and she reached out a finger to touch the youthful image of her husband, tracing the outline of his face, studying the happiness that filled his features, the glow in his eyes.
Gabe … Oh, Gabe, how did we get here? What happened to the people we used to be?

She grabbed her billfold and shoved the photo back inside. Then she snapped it shut and pushed it back into her pocket. What good was this doing? And why did she have to face these things alone? Why was she the one who had to lie here, in this place of ice and snow and bone-deep cold, fighting
the gnawing terror that she would never see Gabe again, never hear his voice, feel his touch—“Stop it!”

She pulled her knees to her chest. She wanted to jump up and run, to escape the fears, the anxiety, the terrible sense of loss that gnawed at her. But she was too weary—body heart, and soul-weary—to do anything but sit there.