“Is it true that he’s going to be a vegetable now? The sheriff’s report said you were lead climbing when Mitch was injured. Megs, were you the person who knocked off the piece of rock that hit him?”
That last question struck Megs square in the chest.
She whirled on the reporter. “Jesus tap-dancing Christ!”
She grabbed the phone, deleted the video file.
“Hey, you can’t do that! That’s mine! Give it back!” The reporter was several inches taller than Megs and lunged for her.
Megs side-stepped her. “You can’t harass me on hospital property.”
A security guard had seen them and jogged toward them.
“To answer you, no, I didn’t knock down the rock that struck Mitch. It came from somewhere above me, hit the Roofs of Mordor, and broke into pieces, one of which struck Mitch. I was protected by the roof. He was further down, more exposed. But none of that means anything to you, does it? You’re not a climber. Those long, fake, glittery nails give that away.”
The security guard reached them. “What’s going on here?”
“She took my phone and deleted my interview!”
Megs handed the phone back. “My partner is a patient in the ICU, and I didn’t consent to an interview. She’s harassing me.”
The security guard pointed toward the parking lot exit. “This is private property, miss, and you’re trespassing. You need to leave, or I’ll have you arrested.”
“Thank you, Officer.” While the woman spluttered and raged about the First Amendment, Megs climbed into her vehicle and drove the short distance to the hotel, pulse still racing, her face hot with anger. “Damn it!”
Back in her hotel room, she took a shower to cool down and wash the smell of the hospital off her skin. When she was calm, she ordered from room service and booted up her laptop. She’d spent the past two days ignoring a world that wanted answers. The hospital press conferences weren’t enough. Unless the climbing community heard directly from her, reporters like this one would keep showing up.
But she wasn’t going to do this their way.
She called theScarlet Springs Gazetteand left a message for Wendy, offering her an exclusive interview. Then she updated their social media accounts.
“Mitch is improving ahead of expectations. We are grateful to the medical staff for the excellent care he is receiving. We have a long journey ahead of us, but we have many reasons for hope. Thank you for your good wishes. Also, I was accosted in the hospital parking lot this evening by a reporter from Chalk and Rock webzine, who asked insensitive questions and was removed by security. I understand that people are curious about Mitch’s accident, but I will not answer questions just because a stranger claiming to be a reporter chases me with a smartphone. Chalk and Rock should be ashamed. The climbing community is better than this. Meanwhile, we thank you for your continued support, and we ask that you respect our privacy.”
Little good that would do.
She’d just put her empty supper dishes outside her door when her phone buzzed. “Hey, Wendy.”
“I just got your message. First, I want to say how sorry I am—how sorry we all are—about Mitch’s accident.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that. Do you have a few minutes?” Megs told Wendy that the only way she would be able to counter speculation was to give someone the whole story. “I want that someone to be you and the Gazette. You’re our hometown paper, and you haven’t been chasing me through parking lots.”
“Good grief! Don’t tell me someone did that.”
“Yes, just a short time ago. That’s why I’m going on the offensive.”
“What can I do?”
Megs spent the next hour going over the climb and Mitch’s accident in excruciating detail, including the gear they’d used and how she’d self-rescued to that ledge while awaiting the Team. She left the details about Mitch’s condition vague for the sake of his dignity. “He’s in a coma, but he is showing signs of regaining consciousness.”
She thanked everyone in Scarlet for their donations and for all the ways they were contributing to Mitch’s recovery. “I want to give a special shout-out to the Team for helping the rangers at the Black Canyon to rescue him, and to Rain and Joe, who stepped up immediately to help and have made this hard time so much easier.”
Wendy asked a few clarifying questions. “Can I steal photos from your websites, or do you want me to drive down to take a photo of you?”
“Please steal. The Team website has some great photos of Mitch, too.”
“I can’t get this in tomorrow’s paper. We’ve already put it to bed. This will be on the front page of the Gazette the day after. Thank you, Megs, for trusting me and for reaching out. I’m sorry other reporters have been assholes. It isn’t part of the job description, despite what you must think.”
“I know—and thanks.” Megs ended the call and got ready for bed.
