One Step Too Far (Frankie Elkin #2)(113)

Later, after another huge dinner, I lie in bed, fingering the bracelet around my wrist. I think of what she said. That maybe I could do something different, something I haven’t even thought of yet.

What would that be?

What am I really searching for?

We shop. Luciana looks amazing in everything. She decides she needs real cowboy boots, and then while she’s at it, ends up with a hat as well. I contain myself till we get to the giant outdoor gear store. Then I can’t help myself. I go a little nuts picking out wicking fabrics and pants bulging with pockets that can also be turned into shorts. Multipurpose clothing for the minimalist on the go. I also purchase new boots and a ton of socks.

I have a pang when I genuinely miss my old boots. I console myself that they led a good life and served me well to the end.

What is it I’m really trying to find?

More food. Many of the local establishments know us by now. We return to the steak house from that very first night, where we’re immediately told not to worry about the bill. We chatter nonstop and try not to stare at the place where Bob should be sitting or at the half of the table that should be loaded down with platters just for him.

What am I truly looking for?

Final evening before our morning checkout. We both pack, me organizing my new wardrobe into my reliable old suitcase. We indulge in a midnight snack of homemade brownies, then turn in for the night. I lie in the middle of the soft, decadent bed. I listen to the comforting sound of Daisy snoring, the small rustlings of Luciana shifting in her sleep.

Tomorrow, Luciana and Daisy will drive me to Jackson, which has many more transit options. They will then continue on for home.

And me?

On to the case of a missing eight-year-old boy the world has forgotten?

Or something else?

What am I searching for?

Paul accused me of using my cold case obsession to run away from everything. I argued I was running toward. Ten years later, I’m still not sure which one of us was right. The life I lead—my presence matters; my absence never leaves a mark. I keep telling myself I’m okay with that. But maybe, lately . . . Someone in Oregon loves me. A teenage girl in Boston still thinks of me. And Luciana and Daisy, they will always remember me.

It’s something, each little pinprick of connection like a distant star. Till maybe someday, I’ll no longer be just a shadow passing through, but a constellation of lives touched, people healed, differences made.

Maybe someday, I will return to Boston. Except this time, I’ll be ready for it. No longer a woman floating along the edges of life, but a woman who’s learned how to seize it with both hands. No longer a work in progress, but a complete soul who understands her worth.

Then, just like that, I have the clarity I need. Who I am now. But also, who I want to one day be.

And then . . . I’m ready to go. The switch has been thrown. It’s time to depart.

I climb out of bed in the darkened room. I slip on my new pants, old sneakers. Retrieve my jacket, zip up my bag. I can feel Daisy’s eyes upon me as I draw out the thick envelope of bills and count out enough to cover my half of the room. Luciana will squawk when she sees it. But their gift is too much, and a woman with my lifestyle shouldn’t be carrying around that much cash anyway.

I cross lightly to Luciana’s bed. She’s still sleeping. I kiss two of my fingertips and press them lightly against her temple. Then I hug Daisy’s boxy head. I tell her, “Never forget, somewhere in this big ole country, there’s a drifter who loves you.”

I carry my bags to the door.

I could wait till morning, a proper goodbye, a ride to the next town. But this feels right. This . . . feels like me.

One last moment to look around. To feel sad, to feel optimistic. To acknowledge what I’ve lost, to recognize what I still hope to gain.

Then I step out the door.

My name is Frankie Elkin.

There’s a missing eight-year-old boy who deserves to come home again.

And I’m going to find him.





AUTHOR’S NOTE AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS


People familiar with Wyoming and the Shoshone National Forest are probably reading this going, Devil’s Canyon? Where the hell is Devil’s Canyon? That’s because I made it all up. For this particular story I needed a location with some distinct geographic features. While I’m an avid hiker, and now a big fan of Wyoming, nothing in the real world fits all the requirements I had. So being a fiction writer, I decided to write fiction. It happens.

Writing this book during the pandemic also clipped my research wings. I generally like to personally visit any location I use in a novel. Travel restrictions, however, made a trip to Wyoming infeasible. Instead, I had to rely on my experiences as a hiker plus previous trips west to fill in the gaps. On the other hand, by the end of this novel, I convinced myself I now need to spend some quality time playing in Wyoming. Can’t wait!

For information on wilderness searches, I’m deeply indebted to retired New Hampshire Fish and Game conservation officer Rick Estes for sharing his stories and walking me through best practices. For survival tips and tools, I’m also appreciative of Steve Sanborn from New Hampshire Outdoor Learning Center for his daylong survival course. Most fun playing with fire I’ve ever had. And like Frankie, I’m now obsessed with the rule of threes.

For readers interested in learning more about the number of people who have disappeared on national public lands, I highly recommend the novel The Cold Vanish, by Jon Billman. I also loved discovering the real-life role Bigfoot hunters have played in searching for missing hikers. For more information, check out North America Bigfoot Search as well as the Olympic Project. Please understand my novel is a work of fiction and all mistakes are mine and mine alone.