The Breaking Point (9 page)

She’d denounced Gabe’s anger for years. How many of her weekly phone calls to her parents had disintegrated into Renee complaining about Gabe, criticizing him for not trusting God enough, for not resting in God’s promises and peace?

A harsh laugh broke the stillness in the cab, and Renee was startled to realize it had come from her. Wouldn’t Mom and Dad be proud of her now? Of the faith she was showing?

They would understand.

Her lip curled. Maybe they would, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. Because she shouldn’t have to face this. She pounded her clenched hands on the dash.

“No!”

She’d gone through so much—all the years of struggling and enduring a difficult marriage … of following God into
darkness and pain, holding fast to His promise of hope no matter how impossible it seemed—and
this
was her reward? All her effort to do what was right rather than what was expedient, and it ended
here? “No!”

She stared at the snow-shrouded windshield, trying to see beyond it to the wilderness. “Where
are
You?”

At first, all that met her cry was the same muted silence. And then it came. One simple word whispering through her with the softness of a baby’s breath.

Peace.

She waited, wanting—no,
needing
more.
Peace … be still.

She struggled to hold on to those words, to embrace and rest in them, but she couldn’t. Didn’t God know she needed more than just that? She needed help! Disappointment sliced through her, leaving her already-raw nerves in tatters. But she wasn’t entirely sure who she was most disappointed in: God … or herself.

She should be able to handle this. She should be doing better. But she wasn’t. She wasn’t doing well at all.

“I don’t have
time
to be still!” A terrible bitterness caught hold of her. “Look out there. Don’t you
see?
It’ll be dark in a few hours. I can’t just sit here.”

Wait patiently …

“Wait on what? There’s no telling how cold it’s going to get, and I don’t know how badly Gabe is hurt. He may not be able to … to—”

She bit back the sob that cut off her words. She couldn’t fall apart. Not now. She had to be strong. For Gabe. For herself.

Renee swiveled to the backseat and Bo hopped out of her way as she grabbed at the canvas bag with frantic hands. Her abrupt movement was rewarded by an intense, searing pain, and nausea rippled through her. She couldn’t hold back the harsh cry.

Bo rushed to her, licking at her face, tail beating out his anxiety. Renee held him off with one hand and gripped her side with the other. She tried to say something, to reassure the dog, but it was all she could do to drag shallow breaths through gritted teeth. She just hooked her arm over his shoulders and hugged him close, panting until the queasiness passed.

Thankfully as though sensing she couldn’t bear any more, Bo settled down. He lay so that she could lean on him, his head resting on his paws, his eyes flicking from her to Gabe and back again.

Poor critter. She and Gabe were his security, the ones who took care of him and made life right. They were the center of his world, and it must seem to his doggie brain as if they were definitely
not
living up to their responsibilities.

She knew how he felt.

But she wouldn’t just sit here, waiting for some kind of vague miracle to save them. She had to do something. She wasn’t sure what one did for bruised ribs, but cracked or broken ribs needed extra support. And ice packs.

She allowed herself a laugh at that. She’d have no trouble finding an ice pack. She could just lie down in the snow. Of course, then she’d have to deal with hypothermia.

She grabbed the roll of gray tape from the backseat, then stripped down to her shirt. It was a struggle, but she managed to wrap the tape around her midsection as tightly as she could stand it, stopping when the pain threatened to upend her stomach. When she finished, she sat for a moment, breathing slowly to still the trembling that assaulted her bruised body, staring at the towel covering her window, watching it move in and out … in and out with the wind.

When she could move without wanting to scream, she pulled her layers of clothing back on. She was ready, but for what? What should she do?

Think, Renee, think!

She shoved herself up on her knees and peered into the backseat, not even sure what she was looking for … inspiration, if nothing else. Then she spotted the backpack she and Gabe used when they took Bo for a walk. An idea began to form, and she grabbed it, opening the flap and pulling out the long, bright yellow rope they used to let Bo run free. Or as free as one lets a male husky run outside some kind of enclosure.

Renee studied the rope. That should do the trick.

She popped the glove box open, her plan falling together as she pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. Every time she and Gabe traveled this road, she’d made a game of spotting the tiny cabins tucked in the woods at the side of the highway. They were few and far between, but they were there. And most of them had been fairly close to the Rogue River, which paralleled the highway she and Gabe had been driving before they went over the edge.

All she had to do, then, was find the river and follow it. Her odds of finding at least one of those cabins should be pretty good. In any case, they were better odds than if she just sat in the truck, twiddling her thumbs, waiting for a rescue that might never come.

Not until after the spring thaw, anyway.

Renee scribbled a quick note—Gabe, I’ve
gone for help—
then paused, staring at the scrawled letters. That would never do. As clearly as if he were conscious and grilling her, she could hear the rapid-fire fifth degree Gabe would launch if he found a note like the one she’d just written: Was she injured? What direction did she go when she left the truck? What time did she leave? How long would she give herself to find help before coming back to the truck? What supplies did she have with her …?

Details. If there was one thing Gabe needed, it was details. She reached into the glove box again and pulled out her compass. Thank heaven for the training they’d received in
Search and Rescue. They’d always assumed that training would help them save others.

Now it might very well save their own lives.

Renee glanced outside. If she was going to give Gabe an accurate reading, she couldn’t do it in the truck. She had to go out and get her bearings. She grabbed the passenger door handle and pushed, grateful when the door opened easily. She slid outside, catching her breath against the driving cold. If anything, the storm was getting worse. Dread seeping through her, she struggled against the buffeting wind, securing one end of the rope to the door handle. She looped the rest of the rope over her shoulder, then planted her feet against the gale and took a reading on her compass.

West. She needed to head west.

She climbed back into the truck and wrote a more detailed note, because she knew one thing for certain: If Gabe came to and found her gone, he’d try to find her. So it was best for both of them to let him know as much as she could.

She wrote down the time and the compass heading she would follow, then put the note on the console, securing it under Gabe’s heavy flashlight. She started to put the pad of paper back into the glove box, then stopped and stared down at the fluorescent pink paper. Gabe had shaken his head when she bought it.

“What’s wrong with plain old white paper? Or even yellow?”

She’d wrinkled her nose at him. “Bo-ring!”

“Yeah, well, you’re not putting that thing in my truck.”

Renee smiled now as she looked down at the pad. Good thing Gabe had given in. She might need to leave him a note out there. A piece of white paper stuck on a tree branch would never catch his eye, but this paper? No way he’d miss it.

She zipped the pad and the pen into a coat pocket, then tied the yellow rope to the stick shift. The outer door handles weren’t the kind you could tie anything to, but this should work. And closing the rope in the door would ensure it would stay in place.

That done, she turned to stuff supplies into a fanny pack. Not too much—she didn’t want to be weighed down as she walked. Just the necessities. A small bottle of water. Protein bars. Heat packs. Her leather billfold with her driver’s license and emergency cash. Waterproof matches. Paper and fire starters. A small flashlight, just in case she ended up out there after dark …

She slid the fanny pack under her coat and snapped the latch, then turned to Bo. He hunkered down, clearly ready to go with her. “Down, boy.” He hesitated, then lowered himself to the seat. “Good boy, Bo.” Renee knew that
down
was the easy part. He’d hate this next command. “Stay.”

He blinked at her, then voiced his protest in one of his low yodels. Renee stayed firm, repeating the command, her voice low to show she meant business. Bo flopped his head onto his front paws, his ears flat against his broad head. Renee shook her head at the picture of pouting obedience he made.

So that’s what I look like.
She leaned between the seats to slide her arms around Bo’s neck and hug him. The dog’s bushy tail
thwap-thwapped
against the side of the cab, and he craned his neck until he could deliver imploring licks to her cheeks. Renee chuckled and sat back, wiping at her face.

“Sorry, my boy, but you can’t go with me. You have to stay here. Stay.”

Renee watched the dog settle into the command, reluctant but nonetheless obedient. She loved the way God
worked. Well, most of the time, anyway. But she especially loved how He worked through this animal she and Gabe had come to love so much. They’d realized long ago that Bo was often a reflection of the two of them. More often than they liked to admit, they saw their own rebellious hearts, their resistance and willfulness, their stubborn determination to do things their way in the dog’s behavior and expressions. The realization had made them laugh—and it made them more patient when they worked with Bo.

As God so often had to be patient with them.

Renee gave Bo a final pat, told him once more to stay, and then slid toward the door. She reached for the handle and heard the echo of that quiet voice bidding her to wait.

She bit her lip. No, obedience didn’t come easily to a strong-willed heart, whether it beat in the chest of a mischief-loving Siberian or that of a human. Renee had never taken well to obedience. Like Bo, she chafed when she felt restraint. She questioned everything, wanting to know why and how and when. She much preferred to do things her way.

Thankfully, God worked with her until she could no longer resist His call. He didn’t force her; He just waited her out.

For a moment she hesitated, considering. Maybe she should just stay where she was. Then she looked back at Gabe and knew she couldn’t.

She needed to try to get help. It might be the wrong thing to do—probably was, considering what her heart had been telling her—but she had to try. Besides, even if it was the wrong thing to do, God would work it out. He always had.

Of course, He doesn’t keep you from facing the consequences of your wrong choices …

No, He didn’t do that. But all her life she’d seen Him take her willful, stubborn mistakes and turn them around and use them to help her see Him that much more clearly. He’d always been there, taking care of her. She had to believe He wasn’t going to stop now.

Even if He has to work things out in spite of you?

Renee lifted her chin. Yes, even then. Because more often than not, that was exactly what He’d done. In her childhood, in her growing up … in her marriage.

She looked back at Gabe—wrapped as he was in the cocoon she’d made for him of blankets and clothing—watched the puffs of white as he breathed, and felt her breath catch in her throat.

Would this be the last time she ever saw him?

The thought sliced through her. What she wouldn’t give for those powerful arms to circle her, hold her close … to hear him tell her everything would be okay in that deep, confident voice that so often brought her a sense of reassurance, even in the worst of times.

She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I love you.” Even as the words slipped from her lips, a terrible realization hit her. When was the last time she’d told him that? When had she spoken those words out loud and really meant them? She couldn’t even remember. Her heart ached as though it were ripping itself free. Shaking her head against the inner recriminations straining to flood her, she pulled away from him. “I’m so sorry, Gabe. For everything.”

She slid from the vehicle, shut the door behind her, and stood for a moment, one hand on the handle, the other pressed palm down against the door. “Please … please … take care of him.”

The swirling snow snatched her prayer from her and enveloped her like some kind of macabre death shroud. A shiver darted across her spine, and Renee reacted almost without thinking. She turned from the blasting wind, from the white expanse that swallowed everything around her, and hid her face against the truck. Fingers clutching, she held fast to the rope—and to the fraying edges of her control.

Step back. Just step back and start walking.

She wanted to. She knew she needed to. But her feet
seemed frozen in place, captured in a solid sheet of pure terror.

How would she survive out here? What if she dropped the rope? What if she ended up lost? It wouldn’t be long before the temperature plummeted to the low twenties or even lower. Even if she didn’t get lost, she could freeze to death with very little trouble.

On and on it went, a litany of doom that dropped layer after layer of anxiety over her until she grabbed at the door handle, ready to jerk it open and jump back inside. To hide there. No, it wouldn’t be any warmer, but at least it was safe. Familiar. And she wouldn’t be alone. Gabe was there …