Stephanie's Search

Stephanie Brenner left the interior of the Sterling, Colorado, Correctional Facility, flinching as each of the thick, rust-colored doors rumbled behind her and banged into its housing. In the few seconds between the slamming of one and the sliding open of the next, she was trapped, at the mercy of the guards in the control booths. Good guys. They always grinned at her, but still...

Something about that moment always rattled her. Nothing less than a few pounds of nitro would open those doors without electricity and the good will of the guards. Even though the guts of the prison were behind her, she never quite trusted the guards to let her out of the narrow limbo where she stood alone. It felt like her life. Trapped between a horrible if unknown past and unable to open the door to the future.

When the last door slammed behind her, she wove through the maze of security and past the visitors’ waiting room, where the fear and embarrassment of inmates’ relatives hung in the air long after visiting hours. She smiled and waved good-bye to the reception officers who checked her through every day.

Outside, she took a huge breath of the hot, blustery air of Colorado’s northeastern plains. She liked teaching the prison’s GED program—maybe because somehow the inmates made her feel less flawed—but being inside always seemed to constrict her lungs. She glanced back at the huge gray bastion with its vertical slits for windows and the razor-wire fence stretching away from the sides. Leaving it made her feel like a roach yanking its last leg free of a roach motel.

She pulled her ID badge over her head, tsking when the wind blew the band and her long brown hair into a snarl. As she untangled it with her right arm, her purse slipped from her left shoulder, the strap catching on the lump in her deformed upper arm. The jangle of anger shot through her, the one that followed any reminder of the pain, weakness, and humiliation she’d suffered with that damned arm.

Just as she reached her car in the employees’ parking lot, her cell phone rang.

Hi, Mama, she said tossing her purse over to the passenger’s seat.

Stephie, can you drop by for a while on your way home?

Stephanie froze with her left leg still outside the car. As long as she could remember, Mama’s warm, soft voice had always wrapped around her like a cashmere cloak and made her feel safe. Now it sounded brittle, shaky. Fear scraped down her back like cold, jagged glass. What’s the matter?

A minute passed.

Stephanie stifled her panic. Mama, are you still there?

A few more seconds passed, and when Mama spoke, there was a catch in her voice. I am, honey. Just come by, okay?

Stephanie drove out of the parking lot, under the interstate, and through the tree-lined streets of Sterling, slowly, dragging out the small distance to the old farmhouse that had been engulfed by the town, as if putting off bad news could avert it altogether. Something was wrong. And Mama was all she had.

In a barely conscious show of denial, she walked slowly to the small white house where she’d lived until she’d earned her master’s degree and worked at the prison for a couple of years.

Mama was waiting inside the screen door. She opened it slowly, too.

What’s up, Mama?

Mama put her arm around Stephanie’s shoulders and pulled her inside, down the hall and into the kitchen. Come on, I’ve got water on for tea.

Stephanie knew Mama could feel her shaking. Or was she feeling Mama’s shaking? She swallowed hard. Her stomach sank to her feet. What’s wrong?

Mama faced the counter while she poured boiling water into mugs and dipped a teabag from one to the other. Her hair hung straight down her back from a silver clip, streaks of gray mixed with the ash blond. Stephanie realized her mother was aging. But Mama was still young, just over fifty. She had a lot of time left.

To ignore her queasy feeling, Stephanie sat down and looked around the old kitchen with its faded cheer, the yellow tulips on the curtains almost invisible against the yellowed fabric. They looked as if they were just over fifty, too.

Mama added a squirt of honey to each mug. You know I told you my stomach has been upset a lot lately? Her voice shook. She still hadn’t turned from the counter.

Yeah. Stephanie nearly cried with relief. So you need a gall bladder operation? No problem. I’ll take a few days off till you get back on your feet. You know what? I’ll get you some new curtains. I could repaint the kitchen, too. Maybe the whole house.

Mama set the mugs on the table, spilling a little. She grabbed the dishrag and wiped up the spill.

Her hands were shaking.

Stephanie touched Mama’s arm. Really, Mama, don’t worry. Those operations are a breeze these days. You can go home the same day. And while I’m here, we’ll hang the new...

It’s not surgery, Steph.

Mama looked her in the eye now, and for the first time, Stephanie noticed that the whites of her eyes were yellow. She could barely whisper. What is it?

Mama sat down. She took both of Stephanie’s hands in hers. It’s pancreatic cancer, honey.

Stephanie snatched her hands away. No, it’s not. It’s gotta be some kind of liver problem for your eyes to get jaundiced like that. You probably just need iron or something.

Mama got up and hugged her from behind the chair, holding her tight. When I went to Denver last week, it wasn’t for shopping. It was for testing. I have a lump the size of an egg on my pancreas. They told me that right after the ultra-sound. Then they did a procedure to look for cancer cells where the bile duct meets the pancreatic duct. This afternoon they called Doctor Ames with the results, and I went in to see him. It’s cancer, honey. There’s no doubt.

Mama’s hug robbed her of breath, like a prison door that caught her in its housing, crushing her lungs. Terrified, she jerked away, making Mama stand up straight. No. No. It can’t be.

Mama came around and pulled Stephanie’s head to her breast.

No, Mama. Please, no.

Mama said nothing.

Stephanie clutched at her denial, but it vanished from her grasp. Okay, we’ll fight this. They have all kinds of new drugs. Practically everybody beats cancer these days. You’ll be fine.

Mama held her hard. I’m afraid not, honey. Not for this kind of cancer, and this far advanced. The only treatment is a surgery that takes hours and hours; has a very difficult recovery; and then, if you’re lucky, adds a few months to your life, with poor quality. I don’t want that, and the odds for me aren’t good, anyway.

Now tears streamed down her face and into Mama’s gray blouse. She stood and glared at her mother. "You don’t want that? I want it. I can’t lose you, Mama. I need those months."

Mama put her hands on Stephanie’s shoulders. Listen to me, Stephie. I love you more than the world, but nothing you or I need will give me more time. I’m sorry, honey. I won’t have the operation. It costs a fortune and my little insurance policy won’t begin to cover it. I’d leave you with a debt that even the sale of the house wouldn’t pay.

Stephanie stared around the kitchen where she’d sat every morning for the first twenty-two years of her life, the cabinets, the old stove, and the formica table blurred by tears. She breathed the eggy smell the French toast that would hang in the air forever, even if the house were torn down. I don’t care. I’ll pay it somehow. Please, Mama.

Mama grabbed her into a hug. Please don’t ask that of me, Stephie. It’s too much pain for no reward. Instead, I want to use the time I have left to focus on my daughter rather than waste it on a futile effort to hide from death.

Stephanie shook her head, sobbing.

Mama held her tighter.

After a minute, Stephanie nodded. How long?

Two months. Maybe a little longer. But Stephie, in the end, I don’t want you to watch me suffer.

Now she backed out of her mother’s arms. In the end? Mama wanted to take away even one day? No, she begged. I’m taking care of you, no matter what you say. At least don’t take that away from me.

Mama’s shoulders dropped. She sat down and sipped her tea, probably cold by now. Okay, but when it’s time, promise me you’ll let me go without anger. Now her voice was soft again, full of warmth.

Stephanie wanted to listen to it forever. She sat and took her hand. Anger? I won’t be anything but sad.

Chapter 2

Doug Lansing pumped his brakes against the flopping of his right front tire and pulled off of I-70. He fought to stop the Element on the gravel shoulder and not fly into Ten Mile Creek, which ran between the interstate and the steep south side of the canyon. Damn. Just what he needed. He jumped out and ran his fingers over the tire. No big hole, but what did that matter? Might as well have been blown out by a bomb.

With a few words he’d never utter in front of his math classes, he opened the rear hatch, shoved aside his climbing and rescue gear, and wrestled his tools and spare out from behind the panel. Shit, so close to the Frisco exit. Why couldn’t this have happened at home, after he’d had a shower and a sandwich?

With the late afternoon sun beating down on his head through the diesel exhaust of speeding semis, he set about removing the lug nuts. In a lull in the traffic, he heard someone call out.

Hel’.

He stopped and glanced behind him, up the cliff on the other side of the creek. Nothing. He stomped on the wrench and loosened a nut.

Hel’. Barely audible above the rush of traffic.

He stood and looked again, this time to the other side of the interstate. The sound could echo across in this narrow canyon. Nothing.

Hel’. Weaker this time.

Why would anybody be out there yelling hell at the traffic? Some nut job.

Still, somebody was out there somewhere. If he wasn’t a nut, he might need help. Doug checked the cliff face behind him again. There. Something moved.

He walked a few paces until he could see through a gap in the aspens. His heart sank.

A man was sitting on a narrow ledge of an otherwise sheer rock face, propped up on one arm, waving with the other.

He shook his head. What’re the odds, he wondered as he ran back to the car, that a Search and Rescue guy would get a flat right where this man needed rescuing? Too weird.

Why did these guys go hiking alone? It was just plain stupid.

He grabbed his binoculars, took off his sunglasses, put the stem in his teeth to hold them, and searched the mountainside. Now he saw that the man’s face was bleeding; he was swaying, in danger of falling the rest of the way; and below him a rope dangled with a climbing axe tangled in it.

Geez, that’s going to be a tough one, he muttered, reaching for his Search and Rescue radio. He caught himself before he pushed the button. Better to use his cell if he could get a signal. Too many media hounds monitored the radios, rushed to the scene, and got in the way. Best to keep them away as long as possible. He dialed the 911 dispatch.

It’s Doug Lansing, Rescue 48, with Search and Rescue. Please call out the team. I got a cliffed-out climber on a rock face in Ten Mile Canyon. I’m about three miles west of the Frisco exit, on the eastbound side, and the victim is on this side, too.

When the dispatcher had signed off, he looked at the victim again, torn between waiting for the team and climbing up now. He’d take a lot of grief from Gary if he didn’t wait. Team members were never supposed to act alone, especially in a dangerous situation. But it’d be at least twenty minutes before the team got here and another half hour to get up there and set his anchoring. The guy looked woozy. If he went into shock, he’d fall to his death.

He couldn’t have another victim die on him. Old grief almost bent him to the gravel, but he couldn’t let it interfere.

Doug stepped to the side of the creek and studied the cliff. The only way up the gray rock face was through the woods to the far left and then along the ledge where the man sat. It looked as if it tapered down to almost nothing. Toward the narrow end, a dark stripe showed where water was seeping out of a crack. That’d be slippery with moss or algae. He’d be lucky if he didn’t fall off, himself. Yep, really dangerous, especially when he’d already spent the day climbing with an old college buddy above Vail. He should wait. Seeing the man’s intense focus on him, he waved. He should wait. I’m coming, he yelled, even though he doubted the man could hear him.

If he didn’t have the flat, he could drive down to Frisco and come back on the bike path. He glared back at the Element. No choice but to cross the creek.

He stepped back into his harness, leaving it loosely fastened. The skin where it had chafed all morning was still raw, but that was just tough luck. He took a roll of orange tape from his rescue pack, pocketed it, and shrugged into his twenty-pound summer pack. He found a place to jump from rock to rock in the creek, thankful it was low for July. Dry summers had their advantages, after all. He checked for cyclists, crossed the bike path, tied a strip of tape to a willow branch to mark his route for the others, and started up. At least until he reached the level of the ledge, he could stay in the trees where he had hand and foot holds.

Stopping to tie another strip of tape to a pine branch, he felt the strain on his calves. They were already tired, which would make toeing along the ledge even harder.

When he thought he was about level with the ledge, he edged toward the rock face.

The man was about thirty feet away and looking right at him. Doug waved. Just hang on, buddy. I’ll get you.

The ledge was a few feet below him, and it was narrow, all right. Barely wide enough for a toe-hold. The scree lay only about twenty feet below. Big jagged boulders, angled to split open a skull or snap a spine. Great. He’d have to play out thirty feet of rope to get to the man. If he fell, the rope wasn’t going to save him. Too dangerous, especially with the pack pulling at his back. He should wait. If he fell, too, the team would have two rescues when they’d come prepared for one.

He checked the victim. Now he realized how much blood the hiker had lost. The whole front of his shirt was red, already turning brown, so he’d been here a while. He definitely needed someone to keep him alert.

Doug clenched his teeth. He should wait. Bad decision either way, but he just couldn’t leave that man sitting there like that.

With the pack on his back, he would only be able to lean into the cliff and claw into any crack in the rock. And hope.

He tightened up his climbing harness and used a carabineer to attach it to his rappelling rack. He anchored the webbing straps to one tree and then another, moving as fast as he safely could. He lowered himself to the ledge, stretched his right leg out, and groped the rock for a hand hold. He eased his weight onto the right leg, his left cheek pressed against the sun-baked granite.

Jeez, the cliff felt like an acute angle with him toeing along the acutest part, groping for any crack or bump with his fingers. His pack pulled him toward twenty feet of air and then the pile of jagged scree.

He reached the water seepage, greenish with growth and wider than he’d reckoned, easily a yard. He stretched his right leg across it, hitting dry rock. His foot slipped, knocking off a flake of rock that clattered into the scree. He stopped breathing as he caught himself, barely hanging on to a tiny protrusion under his right hand.

Unbidden, memory of another rock sliver flashed before him, plummeting like a red arrow, landing without a sound. He groaned but shoved it aside. He moved the foot farther across the ledge, leaving enough room to add his left foot. He’d have to hang on with his fingernails if he hoped to shift his leg across the gap.

This was too dangerous. Gary was right. It made no sense for him to try to do this alone. He could shift back over the water stain, go back and wait. Splayed against the rock face, he looked at the man, still twenty feet away, desperately waiting for him, teetering.

His fingers, trying so hard to make holes in the rocks, began to cramp. His legs began to shake.

The childhood sense that the air was a suction cup stuck to the rock came back, along with the certainty that it would pop off and take him with it. He should’ve waited till the team got here. He could go back and wait in the trees. No, the team would have to climb the whole mountain and lower the rescuers from above. That’d take hours, and the victim looked as if he’d fall off long before that if no one were with him. He took in a small breath.

Inch by inch, he side-stepped across the ledge, feeling it get a little wider. By the time he was a few feet from the man, he was able to let go with his hands, lower his pack, and turn around.

He looked down at the man.