Between Hello and Goodbye(7)

I was about to call it quits, but from my lowered vantage, I could see the waterfall through a part in the trees. It poured into a large, rock-strewn pool where other visitors were swimming or having picnics on the sun-drenched boulders. Quitting now would be silly. I’d still have the two-mile return trip and no selfies to show for it.

I hauled myself to my feet and picked my way carefully down the trail. I was nearly there; only one more hurdle awaited—a short drop to the ground from a rocky outcropping, then the waterfall. I sat down on the ledge and scooted off.

It was only a three-foot drop, but the rocks were slick, and my “hiking” sandals were coated with mud. I hopped down and a yelp escaped me as my right foot slipped and then bent sideways in a manner that no human ankle was meant to bend.

I hit the ground with pain flaring around my foot, then shooting up my leg. Mild shock constricted my lungs and I sat for a few agonized moments in the throbbing ache and tried not to cry. Finally, I sucked in a deep breath and assessed the damage with trembling fingers. My ankle, naked but for the Velcro sandal straps, already looked as if it were pregnant with a golf ball, the skin stretched and shiny.

“Oh no. Oh no, no, no.”

“Are you okay?”

A middle-aged dad who looked like Rob Reiner picked his way from the pool toward me. Behind him, two tween boys were splashing each other in front of the Falls.

“I…I don’t know,” I said through trembling lips. “It hurts.”

“I’d say so. What can I do?”

Lying injured on the ground in the middle of a rainforest triggered a terrible sense of helplessness, inching toward panic. “I have to get out of here. Help me up?”

“You sure? Maybe you should rest.”

“No, I have to get off the ground.”

The guy helped me to stand, and I let out a cry as I nearly slipped again. Rob Reiner caught me, saving me from another tumble. I repaid him by covering his khaki shorts with mud.

“Whoa, hey. I got you.”

I pressed my lips together, willing the tears to back down. My ankle throbbed. I glanced up the way I had come and exhaled a shaky whisper, “Impossible.”

“I think you should sit down,” the man said. “Are you here with someone? Who can I call?”

“No one, I’m here alone. God, this was so stupid…”

“You’re going to be okay.”

Rob Reiner 2.0 gently helped me to hop toward a chair-level rock, each movement creating a deeper throb in my ankle. I sank onto the stone and wished longingly for Silas. He’d jump in one of his private jets to rescue me.

…and be here in about six hours.

With shaking hands, I pulled my phone out of my mud-splattered backpack. No reception.

The guy rubbed his salt-and-pepper beard. “You’re not going to have bars down here. I’ll climb up to a higher elevation and call emergency services.”

“No, you don’t have to do that.” I jabbed at my phone. “I’m sure it’ll come in…”

“Wouldn’t count on it.” He smiled kindly at me. “Be right back.”

The guy wrangled his sons and all three went climbing back up the trail and out of sight, leaving me to contemplate my life choices. I slumped forlornly on my rock chair. The panic was ebbing away, leaving me feeling tired and foolish.

This was a mistake. I should’ve stayed in Seattle.

I waited for who-knew-how-long, a second heartbeat pounding in my ankle that now looked like it had swallowed a softball. Other hikers picked their way around me to and from the Falls, some stopping to wince at my ankle on my behalf.

“That doesn’t look fun,” said one helpful commenter.

“Ouch!” said another.

I bit back a dozen smart-ass remarks and forced a weak smile, wondering how in the hell I was going to get off this trail.

After a short eternity, Rob Reiner 2.0 returned. He introduced himself as Mike and told me the EMTs were on their way.

“Thank you, Mike,” I said, defeated. Not here a day and I’d already needed a man’s help, and he’d gone to find a bunch more men to rescue me from this ridiculous predicament.

“No problem, sweetheart. Can I do anything else?”

“Mix me a martini? Dry, two olives.”

He chuckled, and he and his sons resumed playing in the water. I suspected they all had their fill of the Falls but were hanging around for my sake.

Because I’m a train wreck. As usual.

Half a century later, five men in dark blue uniforms with FIRE written in bright yellow across the back stomped toward me in their combat boots. The whirring of a helicopter sounded from above.

“How we doing, miss?” asked a gruff, deep voice.

“Never better.”

I brushed my hair off my face to glance up. My eyes widened and for a few blissful moments, my ankle was forgotten.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I murmured.

A beautiful beast of a man stood over me—six feet of muscle, reeking of cool competence and packaged in a uniform that announced I save lives for a living.

The firefighter was looking at me expectantly—impatiently—but I was too busy admiring the perfect geometry of his face, all chiseled planes and hard angles. Both hair and eyes were a rich, soft brown, but his gaze was stony and cool. His handsome features amounted to a brick wall—hard, strong, and not letting anything in.