Page 5 of Tracked By the Mountain Man
Tyler settles on the log across from me, maintaining careful distance. "Shoot."
"That day when you found Katie. Was she..." I struggle for the words. "Did she suffer?"
The question has haunted me for five years. All the official reports, the medical examiner's findings, the gentle explanations from the coroner couldn't answer the one thing I needed to know.
Tyler is quiet for so long I think he won't answer. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough.
"The medical examiner said it was instantaneous. The fall. She wouldn't have felt pain."
"But you were there. You saw her."
He nods slowly. "She looked peaceful. Like she was sleeping. There was a cluster of Indian paintbrush flowers beside her. Her camera was still around her neck."
The image breaks something loose in my chest. Katie with her beloved camera, surrounded by the wildflowers that fascinated her. It's exactly how she would have chosen to be found, if she'd had a choice.
"Thank you," I whisper. "For telling me."
"Lee-Lee." Tyler starts, then stops himself. "Leah. That's what Katie called you in her journal."
My breath catches at the sound of my childhood nickname. "You read her journal?"
"We had to. Looking for clues about where she might have gone, what her plans were." He runs a hand through his hair, looking uncomfortable. "She wrote about you a lot. About how much she loved you, even when you drove her crazy with your worrying."
Tears sting my eyes. "What did she say?"
Tyler hesitates, clearly debating how much to share. "She said you were the bravest person she knew, even though you were scared of everything. That you'd face down any fear if someone you loved needed you to."
"She was wrong." The words taste like ash. "I wasn't brave enough to follow her that day. I let my stupid ankle and my own fear keep me at camp while she went on alone."
"Leah." Tyler's voice is firm now, cutting through my self-recrimination. "You had a legitimate injury. Katie chose to continue alone. That wasn't your fault."
"Wasn't it? If I hadn't twisted my ankle."
"If, if, if." Tyler stands abruptly, pacing to the edge of the clearing. "You think I haven't played that game? If we'd started the search an hour earlier. If I'd checked the north face first instead of following the main trail. If I'd been faster, smarter, better at my job."
His voice breaks on the last words, and suddenly I see him clearly. Not just as the competent rescuer who found me today, but as a man carrying his own crushing load of guilt.
"Tyler." I stand too, drawn by the pain in his voice. "It wasn't your fault either."
He turns to face me, and the anguish in his eyes mirrors my own. "I've been doing search and rescue for fifteen years. I know these mountains better than anyone."
"You found her. You brought her home." I take a step closer, my heart pounding. "That matters. That meant everything to my family."
"Did it?" His laugh is bitter. "Because all I see when I look at these trails is failure. All I think about is the girl I couldn't save."
"She wasn't your responsibility to save."
"And she wasn't yours either."
The words hang between us like a bridge neither of us expected to find. We stare at each other across the small space of the clearing, two people who've been carrying the same impossible weight for five years.
"I dream about her," I confess. "About that last fight we had. Sometimes I wake up and forget she's gone, and I reach for my phone to text her an apology."
"I dream about the search," Tyler says quietly. "About finding her pack but not her. About calling off the search too early, even though we didn't. About carrying her body down and seeing your face when we—" He stops, unable to finish.
"I collapsed." I remember that moment with crystalline clarity. "I just fell apart completely. I'm sorry you had to see that."
"Don't apologize for grieving."
