Authors: Tom Sullivan,Betty White
The dog was on his feet, curves or
not.
"Do you want me to take him to
the kennels or bring him to you? No problem—I'll see you in a few minutes.
Thanks, Smitty."
There it was again. It had been a
long time since Bart heard that word, but there was no mistaking its effect on
him. The feeling of excitement increased, and he started to pant.
Buildings began to appear, and the
road changed from a highway to a street with a row of low buildings. Bart could
see people now and then, some of them accompanied by dogs. He found it all most
interesting. He had seen something like this before, and it was becoming more
and more familiar. He had been here.
The car turned a corner, then
another, and finally pulled to a stop.
Before Person could get out of the
car, the glass doors of one of the buildings opened, and a man came out and
down the steps toward them.
The dog began to tremble, letting
out little choke cries, the black tail beating against the car seat.
Smitty!
Smitty! Smitty!
Smitty!
To watch
Lindsey Reynolds cross the campus of the University of Denver Sturm College of
Law, one would have the immediate impression of a young woman purposeful in
every way. And if the camera moved in for a close-up, the impression would go
on to say that Lindsey was cocky, bordering on arrogant. The truth was, she
knew it, and it was also true that there was good reason for her self-absorbed
opinion. Lindsey was great at everything she did and driven to fulfill her personal
destiny with unswerving commitment.
As she
crossed the campus on that beautiful fall evening, dressed in jeans,
flip-flops, and a T-shirt that did not hide the beautiful figure beneath,
Lindsey moved with an easy, flowing feminine grace that said she was completely
secure in her natural beauty and the effect it had on most people who came in
contact with her. Lindsey knew what she wanted and how she planned to get it.
She came to the University of
Denver law school after graduating magna cum laude from USC, where she was
captain of the volleyball team and senior class president as well as runner-up
for homecoming queen—an honor she figured she hadn't won because most of the
voters were jealous of her.
Now in her third year, she was sure
she'd make law review and join a corporate firm with a starting salary of at
least $85K. The cherry had been placed on the cake of her life plan when she
met Brenden McCarthy.
Now here is
someone ideal
, she thought.
He is a laid-back mountain boy who loves the outdoors,
but he has the kind of brain that will make him a great surgeon and a terrific
husband.
There was no question in Lindsey's
mind that she loved Brenden, but it's hard to love another when you love
yourself so much. At the moment she was a wee bit annoyed that she hadn't heard
from her mountain-climbing fiancé.
He should have been down a couple
of hours ago, and waiting for him had put her behind on her evening's work at
the library. It was around eight o'clock, the sun was beginning to set, and she
remembered that Brenden always said that climbers should not stay up on a
mountain after dark.
She decided to dial his cell phone
again. She got his message unit.
"You've reached Brenden. If I
don't return your call for a few hours, it's because I'm doing something
fun—probably riding a bike or climbing, or, if there's snow on the mountain,
skiing. So don't hold it against me if it takes me some time to call you back.
Your message is important to me, but so is living."
"Late." Lindsey took a
deep breath and waited for the beep. "You know, you've really got to
change that message. People could start to think you don't love them. But not
me. I know you can't get enough of your lady lawyer. So, when you get this
message, call me.
I
'll be in the library."
It was on nights like
this that Mora McCarthy missed her husband, Brian,
the most. He had been a wonderful partner and a great father. They had both
always been so proud of Brenden, but cancer took him before he had the chance
to see his son graduate and become a doctor.
They had always been a wonderful
family. Brian in the insurance business. Mora substitute teaching, just because
she loved it. Brenden, the perfect son. And Bridget, happily married and now
living in Washington with their two grandchildren and her political lobbyist
husband.
Mora hated setting the table and
eating alone on nights like this. She ached with the memories of wonderful
conversations she and Brian used to enjoy while they ate a late dinner as the
kids did their homework.
Death robs you
of so many things,
she thought,
but it's the intimacy of love
shared with another that is the cruelest part of loss.
Tonight she left the door to the
deck open so that the warm June air could flow through the house. Like her son,
she loved natural things. Even in her cooking, she used nothing but fresh
ingredients. For this meal, she had prepared handmade linguine with clams in a
white sauce, along with a pear salad with Stilton and lightly battered
zucchini—all things she knew her son loved.
She was surprised he hadn't arrived
for dinner, but she figured maybe he got confused and forgot it was Thursday
night.
That's what love
will do to you
, she reminded herself.
He's head over heels in love with
Lindsey. I wish I could slow him down. She's a lot of wonderful things but not
necessarily for my son.
Deciding that she might as well go
ahead and eat alone, she sighed and seated herself at the table, feeling sorry
enough to remember that her husband was dead, and her son—well, her son just
hadn't shown up. She was alone, but not lonely, because Gus sat across from
her.
Gus was an extraordinarily
brilliant, enthusiastic, loving West Highland terrier who had the capacity to
care for the entire family, with a special understanding that made everyone
feel that he or she was the most important person in his life. He was Brenden's
playmate when the young man was home, creating fun and diversion from the
intensity of medical school. He was Mora's constant companion as she did her
housework and tended her exceptional garden. And when Brian had become sick,
spending most of his time in bed under hospice care, it was Gus who had never
left his side.
Mora remembered the dog's black
eyes, pleading that his master might get well. She recalled many things about
those bad days, but two related specifically to Gus. How the night after the
funeral the dog took his position sitting opposite her in Brian's chair, never
trying to take any food from the table— just sitting upright, stoic, trying to
fill the space for his lonely mistress. And it was Gus who took possession of
Brian's favorite sweater, the one he had worn so often while lounging at home
on weekends. Mora had let him have it, and Gus never slept without it.
"Okay, Gus, I guess it's just
you and me for dinner. Brenden must be having an exceptionally good day."
The telephone jarred her out of her
reverie. Picking it up, she looked at the number and realized it wasn't
Brenden.
"Hello?"
"Hello, Mrs. McCarthy? It's
Spider, I mean, Charlie."
"I know who it is,
Charlie." Mora laughed. "If you're looking for Brenden, he's not
here."
"Oh, he told me he was having
dinner with you tonight."
"He was supposed to. Have you
spoken to Lindsey?"
"No, ma'am, but I'll call her.
If he comes in, have him give me a call, would you, Mrs. McCarthy? I'd love to
borrow his motorcycle tomorrow if I can. I have to be in Aspen for some
dry-land training for ski patrol, and it's always fun to borrow Brenden's
bike."
"That's where he went,
Charlie. I mean, that's where he was today. Climbing the Bells."
There was the slightest pause on
the other end of the line.
"And you mean he's not down
yet?"
"I don't know. I don't know,
Charlie. Should I be worried?" Mora asked, the tension rising slightly in
her voice.
"Oh no. Oh no, ma'am,"
Charlie put in quickly. "He's probably just taking a little longer to get
there with traffic and all. I'll call him later. Or have him call me when he
comes in, okay?"
"All right, Charlie,"
Mora said. "I'll have him call."
Putting down the receiver, she felt
a chill run down her spine.
Mothers have instincts
, she thought,
and mine are sending me
the wrong message.
Again, she picked up the phone and
hit the speed-dial button connecting her to Brenden's cell. Hearing the same
message that Lindsey heard earlier, she simply said, "Brenden, it's your
mother; call me." That usually was enough to make him respond right away.
She hoped so. For some reason, she prayed so.
Charlie "Spider" Evans
was also feeling instinctive pangs about his friend, Brenden McCarthy. They had
been pals since high school, sharing everything from football to fantasies over
cheerleaders. But it was in a mutual love of the outdoors that their friendship
had taken on that special intimacy reserved for your lifetime best pal.
Spider knew that Brenden should be
off the mountain. He knew it in his gut because he understood how respectful
his friend was of the dangers that could confront any climber. And so, Charlie
Evans made the call that would send climbers up North Maroon in search of a
young man in trouble.
Charlie's first call was to 9-1-1,
where he talked to a dispatcher who connected him to the deputy serving as the
incident commander. In turn, the commander paged the team leader for Mountain
Rescue Aspen, an all-volunteer group of outdoorsmen and women who give their
time keeping climbing enthusiasts safe.
Since the rescue group was made up
of volunteers, the calls and arrangements to adjust personal schedules took
hours. It was four in the morning when fifteen climbers arrived at the staging
area cabin on Main Street, Aspen. Charlie also joined them. He was known as a
very capable climber and was easily accepted as one of the team searching for
Brenden.
Charlie initially believed the
fastest way to find his friend would be to do a helicopter drop on the top of
the mountain, because he was sure Brenden would have signed the register,
indicating his route.
"Sounds good," Commander
Jeffries said, "but I've already made a bunch of calls, and we can't get a
helicopter up here till around nine thirty or ten o'clock in the morning. By
that time, we could already have climbers on the top. It sure would be a lot
better if the National Guard birds weren't in Iraq—then we wouldn't have to
draw from Denver to get help. So we'll do this the old-fashioned way. The hasty
team will push off in about forty-five minutes. Think you can hang with them,
Spider?"
Charlie nodded.
"They should be able to get to
the top at around eight o'clock. By then, we'll have two search planes in the
air with the helicopter joining and climbers staged at the bottom to search
pattern their way up the route. Okay, everybody, check over your gear, get some
coffee, and do what you've got to do to get ready."
Forty-five minutes later, five
climbers were snaking their way up the mountain, not talking, just moving.
Charlie thought about his friend,
and his mind went back to all the incredible memories that bonded them forever.
It was Spider who caught the touchdown passes delivered by Brenden's rocket
arm. It was Brenden who got Charlie interested in Telemark skiing, that
throwback to the original Norwegian downhill athletes. Brenden introduced
Charlie to the girl he was going to marry, and Charlie had always been there to
help Brenden study for tough exams during medical school.
How many days
,
he thought,
had
they climbed and shared the beauty of the Colorado fourteeners?
He couldn't count. And now, his friend was somewhere up here, maybe hurt.
Charlie's pace picked up even more as he considered the danger.
Arriving at the top, he found that
he was right. Brenden had marked his route up the main couloir on the mountain
manifest. That meant he may have fallen on the scree-slicked surface, and
anything could have happened.
The team leader radioed down to
base, and climbers began to work their way up as the hasty team started down,
narrowing the field of possibility. The climbers began to hear the sound of the
search planes and the helicopter as they worked their way down, their eyes
scanning every nook and cranny, searching, ever searching.
The man on Charlie's left saw it
first—a backpack Charlie quickly identified as Brenden's. It only took a few
more minutes for the team to find the badly injured man. His breathing was
shallow. He was unconscious, probably in a trauma-induced coma brought on by
the bang on his head indicated by the broken climbing helmet.