Her smile was impossible to quell as she turned the handle to leave.
“Oh, uh, Tabitha?” her boss called as she stood from her desk, carrying a copy of the magazine with her. “Did you read the issue?”
Tabitha winced. Normally, she’d have read it cover to cover the day it came out, but with so much riding on her article, she hadn’t had the stomach for it. “I hate to say no, but—”
“Here.” Calloused fingers shoved the sticky-note-covered copy into Tabitha’s hands. “I suggest you do.”
“Sure thing.”
“Have a good night, Handcock.”
Tabitha tucked the issue under her arm and headed back to her desk.
“That’s fantastic! Can I come?” Lark squealed so loudly in the phone that Tabitha had to hold it away from her ear. She switched to speakerphone and set it down on the coffee table next to her red wine and the latest issue ofRock ‘n’ Ropes.
“Claudia was super happy about our article, so I bet I could make a case for it.”
“The dream team, back together again!”
“If you ever come back from Leavenworth, that is.”
“I’m finishing up a little side gig here.”
Tabitha lifted the stemless glass to her lips and took a sip. “One that you haven’t yet explained to me. When were you going to get around to that?”
“It’s complicated, babe.” Lark muffled her phone but Tabitha made out a definitively masculine mumble coming from the other line.
“I bet.”
“Anyways, I got more work to do here, and you, uh . . . have some reading to do, if I’m not mistaken.”
They said their goodbyes and then Tabitha made herself comfortable in her jammies on the couch, all wrapped up in her favorite throw blanket. She took a gulp of wine and cracked open the magazine. But as she skimmed past the first few ads, she dropped her glass on the floor.
“Shit,” she murmured. Quickly cleaning up the mess to prevent a stain, she returned to the letter to the editor page.
Pictures of her—beautiful, stunning pictures—against the backdrop of the setting sun, all framed in rock and the tips of thousands upon thousands of treetops, bounced off the page. Her vision tunneled as she reached for her wine, only to remember that she’d dropped it a moment ago. So she gathered the magazine, laid it out on the kitchen countertop, and drank straight from the bottle as she read.
A Letter to the Editor
Dear Rock ‘n’ Ropes Editor,
I know I’m not your intended demographic, but I couldn’t keep what I witnessed to myself and figured this was the most appropriate forum to share. Let me start off by saying I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life and have countless regrets, but I’ll get to that in a minute.
Last month, my company hosted an incredible journalist from R ‘n’ R. A brilliant writer and a badass climber. I had the good fortune to act as her adventure guide for an entire week. She sampled a few of our offerings, including a group outdoor lead class and a private bouldering excursion. All that culminated in a multi-pitch at the iconic Castle Rock off Highway 2. (Spoilers, I know. She tells the full story later in this issue, and no doubt it will be way more eloquent than my ramblings).
Anyway, it was on that final excursion that I witnessed and experienced something so life-altering that there is no turning back: bravery. I’m not talking the kind you employ during life-threatening situations. It’s easy to fake bravery when you’re in danger. All you have to do is stuff down the fear and ignore your brain as it screams in terror.
Nope, I’m talking about the bravery needed to be vulnerable. To open up your chest, hold out your heart, and hope it is safe in the possession of another. It’s so much harder to trust someone with your heart than to trust them on the other end of your rope. And it wasn’t until that trip—that fateful Castle Rock multi-pitch—that I finally found the bravery to do so. Even if the result didn’t land in my favor.
What does this have to do with this magazine? Very little. But that’s just me trying to be brave one more time and take a chance on vulnerability. Because I believe now, with my entire soul, that it’s the way to go. Come find me when you’re ready to be brave too, TC.
Cheers,
Zac
Chapter fifty-two
Two weeks later, Leavenworth: Zac
