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Patrick had reached Jordan’s side. He was kneeling, gently easing her foot out from between the boulders. He stood, helping her to her feet. He put his arm around her waist and instructed her to hang on to his shoulder. They started climbing slowly back to the top, Patrick waiting for each anxious step Jordan took on her way up.

They reached the place where I stood at almost the same time Emily and Keith arrived.

Jordan clung to Patrick’s arm. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I can’t stop shaking.” When she spoke, her voice trembled. “I’ve never felt so helpless.”

“You’re fine,” Patrick assured her. “You’re safe now.”

“You’re an absolute hero,” Jordan said.

It was probably true, but it made me uncomfortable watching Patrick bask in her praise. After spending the day sick with worry, I felt a prick of annoyance that he was oblivious to my fear, focused only on his rescue effort.

Jordan continued hanging on to my husband, bending her knee to keep weight off her injured foot. Every time Patrick shifted his position, she hopped closer to his side. She looked up at him as if he was her personal bodyguard, almost as if he was her lover.

My annoyance turned to fury. Didn’t he grasp what I’d been through? It was torture, wondering and worrying about him while he was sitting on a rock, staring at the lake. And now, he was letting Jordan cling to him as if all that mattered was his successful rescue.

It was an especially disturbing sight, after spending much of the day wondering if she’d murdered him. Now, that fear seemed so ridiculous, I was embarrassed, knowing the others would laugh at me, even though earlier, they’d agreed she might be a killer. Hadn’t they? I felt like they had, but I couldn’t remember now.

The belief had seemed enormous when it was trapped inside my mind. Maybe I’d only hoped they agreed. Or maybe I’d imagined their agreement because of my own certainty.

Patrick continued to keep his arm firmly around Jordan, as if he had to hold her up. All she’d done was sprain her ankle. Did she really need that much support?

“We should get you home and get that ankle wrapped up,” I said.

“It needs icing first,” Emily said.

“Either way, let’s get you home,” I said, more firmly this time.

“I don’t know if I can walk. The pain is shooting up my leg.” She looked up at Patrick. “Could you carry me? I know firefighters carry people all the time.” She smiled, making me realize I’d never seen her smile until now.

“Sure,” Patrick said. “We’re less than ten minutes away, so no problem.”

I couldn’t argue without looking stupidly jealous. I wasn’t. Or was I? So many feelings assaulted my heart I couldn’t sort through them. I was angry at Patrick for scaring me, angry at Jordan for dragging this out so long, thankful that Jordan’s fall had brought Patrick back into my arms. But he wasn’t in my arms, he was in hers.

I felt jealous in a way that humiliated me. I’d never been a jealous person. Why was I feeling this way? I doubted Patrick would be even casually interested in Jordan. It was all her, living in that bubble of heroism that people construct around first responders. And it’s truly justified. The bravery of those men and women is breathtaking at times. My husband included. He’d been in some harrowing, dangerous situations, but he continuously pushed aside any thought of himself to save lives. He deserved to be acknowledged as a hero. But a sprained ankle seemed a bit much.

“If you hadn’t been there,” Jordan said. “I could have died, stuck on those rocks.”

“Not true,” I said. “We were right here. Emily and⁠—”

“It’s how I feel. You weren’t helping me at all.” She gave me a cold look.

“We were going for help when Patrick⁠—”

“Why are you dissing your husband’s heroism?”

“I’m not. I…” What was I doing? I needed to stop talking. The only person I wanted to talk to was Patrick. The faster we got moving, whether she limped or was carried, the sooner I could be alone with him.

“What?” Jordan asked. “What were you going to say?”

“It’s not important. Let’s go. If you can’t walk, I know Patrick will have no problem carrying you. He’s rescued lots of people from the dangerous situations they’ve gotten themselves into.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jordan asked.

“It means nothing. It means my husband is used to rescuing people.”

“Let’s go,” Emily said. “After worrying about Patrick all day, there’s nothing I need more than a glass of wine and those steaks that are waiting in the fridge.”

Patrick un-looped his arm from around Jordan’s back. He swept her up like a small child and began walking. Jordan rested her head against his shoulder. I thought she gave me a triumphant smile, but maybe I imagined it.