Free The Marble Mask by Archer Mayor

for combat.”
    “That’s a little harsh, isn’t it?”
    Gail’s face softened. “Joe, she wasn’t the only one who thought you’d died.”
    I reached over and took her hand in mine. “I’m sorry. When did you hear about this?”
    “Kunkle called me on a cell phone when you were all still on the mountain. He didn’t want me to find out listening to the news. He also wanted me to know there was a chance. Good thing, too, because later the press had you all but buried.”
    “You’ve been here a while, then.”
    Her expression cooled once more. “Yet again, yeah.”
    I didn’t respond. Our life together hadn’t been overly peaceful in that respect. This wasn’t the first time she’d come to see me in a hospital, or the first time she’d had to keep her own company for hours or days, wondering if I’d pull through. The toll had cost us both.
    “Are we okay?” I suddenly blurted.
    Gail looked at me, visibly startled, and then laughed, leaned forward, and kissed me again. “I’m sorry—yes, we’re okay. If I didn’t love you so much, I wouldn’t be so angry. I’m just a little frazzled—and being a hard-ass.”
    She looked out the window at the snow. “I don’t tell you often enough what you mean to me, Joe,” she said softly.
    “I don’t expect you to,” I told her. “I was just making sure, that’s all.”
    But she was shaking her head. “No, it’s the least I can do. You give me freedom when I need it and support when I crash and burn. Sometimes I feel all I give you back is a hard time.”
    “That’s not true. You tell me the truth. That’s why I asked what I did.”
    She squeezed my hand. “You don’t have to worry—not from my end. I’m bugged about this job keeping me in Montpelier for so long, though. It’s tougher than I thought it would be. I miss you a lot.”
    There was a discreet knock at the door, and Gary Smith stuck his head into the room. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said and began to retreat.
    Gail stood quickly to stop him. “I have to get a cup of coffee. You can have him till then.”
    Gary watched her pass him without comment but then raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
    “Gail Zigman,” I explained. “My unofficial better half. How’s Mike?”
    Smith took a few steps into the room and stopped, looking awkward. “Fine. Barely limping, already.”
    The conversation stalled.
    “Well, then,” I tried, “I guess it wasn’t such a bad deal after all. You get anything from that severed hand yet?”
    He seemed lost in thought and looked up at me suddenly, as if dragged from some reverie. “What? No. The lab’s still working on it. Your contact at the Sûreté in Sherbrooke came through, though—Gilles Lacombe. Asked to meet with us.” He finished walking to the foot of my bed, grabbing the rail as if it separated him from a great fall. “I wanted to thank you for covering my butt.”
    “I did?” I asked, momentarily lost.
    “From what I heard, you told the inquiry team this morning you were the one who held us up on the ledge—till we were caught in the whiteout. You implied you didn’t follow my recommendation to leave when the leaving was good.”
    “I did slow us up,” I countered. “Using the ice axes as crowbars took too long.”
    He compressed his lips a moment, pondering whether to accept my gift or not. Being the oldest, the novice climber, and the injured party all in one, I’d known shouldering most of the blame wasn’t likely to result in any reprimand from the inquiry team, and in fact they’d been gracious to a fault. It hadn’t been a great sacrifice on my part—I’d been as aware as everyone of the closing weather, and I knew that both Woodman and Smith were judging themselves far more harshly for this near-miss than any disciplinary board could.
    Smith’s appreciation showed in his response. “Still. I wanted to thank you. I should’ve had ropes—should’ve gotten us off in one piece. It was my