Page 9 of Mountain Impact

“I don’t want to fight you, Drake. I’m here to support you.”

“Then clear me, so I can get back to work,” he said, his voice softer than she’d ever heard it. “Please, Isolde.”

Isolde considered Drake carefully for a moment. The fact was, he seemed to be doing ok. More than that, she had the feeling the two of them talking further about what happened wouldn’t help him, or not half as much as getting back to his team would.

She took in a big breath. “Okay. I’m going to clear you.”

He turned so fast his leg struck her desk.. Her ceramic coffee cup went over the edge. Quick as a flash, his hand reached out, stilling the cup. He placed it carefully back on the desk.

“Sorry,” he apologized. His eyes went to the doorway―he looked ready to run out of her office.

“Please let me finish. I said I’m going to clear you, but I need you to do two things for me.”

“Anything,” Drake said, but his eyes narrowed down suspiciously.

“I need you to promise you’ll come see me if you feel any of the symptoms we’ve discussed.”

He nodded quickly. “I promise,” he said, his expression earnest. “And the second thing?”

“I want you to come to the hospital with me to meet the men you saved yesterday.”

“Is that really necessary?”

“I’d like you to see them. It’ll be good for all three of you, I think.”

“Is this about closure again?”

“Call it what you will. Should we go over now, or would you prefer to go home, take a day off, and we continue our little chat tomorrow?”

She waited patiently. They both knew she held all the cards in her hand.

“You win, Doc. Lead the way.”

She picked up her black leather handbag. “Let’s go. My car’s in the underground parking.”

Neither of them spoke until they were inside her car, on the way to the hospital.

“This is your car?” he asked, with a tone of disbelief. “It should be on its way to the scrapyard, if not there already.”

Isolde shrugged lightly, her hands on the faded leather of her Volkswagen Golf’s steering wheel.

She wasn’t about to tell Drake that this car had been her father’s last gift to her. He’d given it to her the day she turned eighteen, along with the promise to teach her to drive it. That promise he hadn’t been able to keep―he’d been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer just a few weeks later, and had died gently and quietly, the way he’d always lived.

Leaving a hole the size of Mars in our family.

The car had already been a second-hand vehicle at the time, and that had been fifteen years earlier. Now there was more rust than paint on its body. So yes, perhaps it was time to start thinking about getting a new car. But that wasn’t something she wanted to think about.

“I agree it might have seen better days―but never mind my car.”

“Is this thing even roadworthy in winter?” he insisted. Beyond his obvious amusement at her choice of vehicle, his voice held traces of real concern.

“I’ve invested in winter tires for it, if that’s what you mean,” Isolde said defensively, though she knew exactly what he was asking. She didn’t use her car much in winter, for precisely that reason.

He raised his hands, palms up, in surrender. “Okay, Doc. There must be a story here. Maybe someday you’ll share it with me.”

“Maybe,” she said, taking the turn towards the hospital.

For its size, the town of Chamonix had an impressive hospital, with solid equipment, an amazing staff, and a strong specialty in mountaineering and skiing-related trauma injuries.