put your feet. There’s fog in the air tonight, making the stones extra slippery. What if she fell?
We have the same fear. He and I, we move toward the cliff at the same time. We could look over the edge, but we would not see a kitten with nine lives who managed to land on her feet. She would be hurt and crying—or worse.
I reach the very edge, where the rock already begins to slope. It’s been worn away, this corner—by wind and rain. By sleet. It’s already pointing down.
You have to get this far out to see over. I hold my breath and peek. Nothing. Only darkness. Relief washes through me. It takes me a full thirty seconds to sweep my gaze over the full length of it, part of it steep and vertical, part of it a long slope.
No sign of her.
A huge gust of wind hits me from behind, and I let out a little moan at the cold and shock. It blows into my nightgown, freezing wetness against my skin. I hold myself rigid against the force, but it makes me take a step forward.
That’s when my foot hits something wet. A patch on the rock—mud, probably. My body moves in an uncontrolled slide, a sharp scream entering the air.
It’s me. I’m the one screaming as I head directly for the edge.
Pain in my shoulder. A large hand clamps down on me and pulls me back. I grasp onto it, onto him, and hold on tight. We both slide down. He grabs my wrist in a punishing grip. There’s a hard yank that feels like it pops my arm from the socket—and then I’m sprawled onto the hard, wet rock. There’s an uneasy absence of sound above the roar of the ocean. Nothing. No one. I’m alone up here. I scramble over to the edge and down.
On part of the slope about ten feet down, Mr. Rochester is sprawled. He used his momentum, surging forward to push me back onto solid ground.
“Beau,” I scream.
He doesn’t move.
“Oh my God. Oh my God.” I don’t know how to get to him without falling the same way he did. And even if I get down there, how will I lift him back up? “Hold on, just hold on.”
“You called me Beau,” he says, his voice strained.
“Oh thank God you’re alive.” My heart is beating out of my chest. “I thought you died.”
He gives an uneven laugh. “It would probably feel better than this.”
“I’m coming down there!”
“Don’t you dare. I’ll fucking throttle you. Go find Paige, and get her back inside.”
I bite my lip, uncertain. Maybe I should find Paige. She’s small and defenseless. At least Beau seems conscious right now. And relatively stable. Despite the slope, he’s probably not going to roll down like it’s a grassy hill. Except what if he has internal bleeding? He might be delirious. He might be dying. “No, I’m not leaving you here. Paige is probably off somewhere painting a rock she found. Or maybe she even got back into bed.”
He swears extensively. I’m pretty sure I hear some words that have to do with boats and sailing and fish mixed in there, the old Maine vernacular running true. He puts a hand to his head. “I think I’m all in one piece. Mostly. I need a large glass of whiskey. Or a bottle.”
“First we need to get you out of there. Do you think we need to call in like… a rescue team?” I’m envisioning something with ropes and pulleys and a stretcher. “I’ll call nine-one-one.”
“Absolutely not. The last thing I need is the boys I went to high school with cutting me open. They couldn’t even dissect a fucking frog in biology.”
“I feel like they give them training for stuff like this.”
“No. I can climb up.”
“You can climb up? What are you, Spiderman?”
“I did some rock climbing out at Big Sur. It was more dangerous than this.”
“The fact that you just fell and almost died seems to contradict what you’re saying.”
“I didn’t die or even come close to it. I’m mildly winded.”
“Then why are you just lying there.”
“I’m resting. It’s restful here. Next time I go camping, fuck White Mountain. I’m just gonna roll out a tent right here and look up at the stars.”
You can’t see a single star because of the fog. “I’m going to call nine-one-one.”
“Don’t.” He forces himself to a sitting position. “I’m coming.”
“You’re at least ten feet away from me.”
“Fifteen, but the angle of the rock