Twisted Road Home

Dena burst into tears. "Who could have hated him this much?" Stepping out into the brisk mountain air, she stared skyward and let the piercing rays of the sun bake her tears. Then she bent down, picked up a small rock and walked to the edge of the cliff. Taking a moment to study the recovery team nearing the top, she tossed the rock over the side and counted to herself, one-thousand one, one-thousand two, one-thousand three. In the still air, the rock made a crisp report as it struck the first ledge, followed by a few more clacking sounds until it came to rest somewhere far below. "Three seconds. Three precious seconds to sum up a lifetime," she whispered.

With well-rehearsed precision, the recovery team hoisted a black canvas bag over the edge, lifted Jerry's body onto the gurney and unfastened the clips holding the ropes.

Dena ran to her brother's side and ran her fingers along the shiny zipper and sobbed uncontrollably.

The members of the recovery team stood off to the side. After a few moments of silence, one whispered, "I'm sorry."

When Dena knelt by the gurney, Sheriff Wheeler stepped in and put his arm around her shoulders. "We can stay like this as long as you'd like," he said softly. "No hurry."

No one kept track of how long they'd been kneeling, but to Dena, time rushed by and stood still at the same time. Thoughts of her brother teasing her in high school were contrasted with thoughts of Jerry protecting her against bullies when she was small. They all whirled around in her brain like a gigantic electrical storm.

After what seemed like an eternity, Dena propped her hand against the side of the gurney and raised herself. Through swollen eyes, she studied the canvas bag, hoping this would all end. An alarm clock would sound. She'd get up and fix a lunch for her son in anticipation of another day at school. Her unshaven husband would wander into the kitchen, give her his usual good-morning peck on the cheek, and reach for his cup of coffee. And Jerry would come roaring up their driveway creating a dust cloud in the powdery red clay. She always yelled at him to stop doing that. Somehow, dust didn't seem so terribly important now.