Mitch stepped carefullyinto the shower, Megs beside him to hold him steady. He was mentally and physically exhausted from his first day at this new place. He accepted Megs’ help turning on the water.
“Is that too hot?”
“Nnno.”
Megs closed the shower curtain. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”
He sat on the shower bench because of his balance and let the water sluice over his skin, the hot spray soothing muscles that were sore from…
He wasn’t sure why they were sore. From the accident that had landed him here? From his injuries? From today’s therapy?
“That weightless treadmill was interesting. They were all very impressed with your level of fitness.”
Mitch had already forgotten about that, but now that she mentioned it, he, too, had been impressed with the machine. They’d told him they would take that data to create therapies specific to his problems. But would any of it work? Or would he always be like this—dependent, unable to speak, fragile?
He took the soap and a washcloth and scrubbed his skin clean, finally able to get his incisions wet. He rinsed and then reached for the shampoo. Then he remembered he didn’t have hair yet. He had asked Megs to buzz off the long parts to make it the same length as the area around the incision. He stuck his head beneath the spray for a rinse and tried to figure out how to turn off the water.
“Do you need help?”
“Nnno.” By the time he was dried off and in a pair of pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, he was both exhausted—and too keyed up to sleep.
Megs helped him get settled in bed, arranging the pillows so that they supported his neck and arm on the side with the fractured clavicle. A nurse came for vitals and to dispense meds. Then Megs dimmed the lights and sat in the chair beside him.
She picked up the Walt Whitman book he’d given her so many years ago.
“Nno.” He pointed to his journal.
She set Walt aside, picked up the heavy, leather-bound tome, and went to the bookmark. “We left off with Everest. After that, there were more Himalayan climbs—Cho Oyu, Shishapangma, Lhotse, Makalu, Nanga Parbat, Annapurna, and the others. I don’t feel like reading about K2, if that’s okay with you.”
“Yeah.” Mitch was fine with that.
K2 had been sheer physical misery. He’d always told those who asked that the Savage Mountain, as K2 was known, hadn’t killed them because they were too damned stupid and stubborn to die.
Having summitted all the world’s highest peaks, Dean had left professional climbing after K2. A short time later, he met and married Beth. They had settled in Ridgeway, Colorado, on a small ranch, while Mitch and Megs entered the world of competitive sports climbing. They’d won the men’s and women’s world championships in their first year, setting money aside for when they could no longer climb.
She turned the pages, and something fell out and onto the floor. She bent down, picked it up, unfolded it, and laughed. “Oh, my God! You kept a copy—the infamous nude cover. I want to read that. Is that okay with you?”
Mitch smiled, nodded.
“I need to get a drink of water. Do you need water?” She checked his plastic pitcher and carried it out into the hallway.
She’d been so patient with him, so thoughtful. Though he remembered very little, he knew she’d been beside him through this entire ordeal. He also knew that, in some ways, this had been more difficult for her than for him. He didn’t remember the accident that had put him here, but she did. He knew that, whatever had happened, she’d been the one to pull him through. He could see the ordeal written in her eyes every time she looked at him.
She returned quickly, set his pitcher on his bedside table, and sat in her chair, water bottle on the table beside her. “I remember when François called and told us that Sports magazine wanted us for an interview and cover shoot. You asked what they had in mind. We both thought they’d want photos of us climbing. François said they wanted us to be completely nude. You were hesitant, but I was all for it.”
If he’d been able to, Mitch would have told Megs that he hadn’t been surprised at her reaction. She’d always been willing to throw caution to the wind, especially if there was any chance of upsetting gender stereotypes or pissing off society’s prudes.
“When the magazine hit the shelves, the press went crazy. I guess you could say the cover went viral, though the phrase didn’t exist back then. People’s big objection wasn’t that we were naked, but that your hands were touching my breasts.”
Megs took a drink and began to read.
Chapter 20
November 1985
Mitch and Megsarrived at the studio in New York City to find it different from what they’d imagined. Much of it was just empty space like a vacant warehouse, with chairs, ladders, and huge rolls of paper or cloth—he couldn’t tell from a distance. Bars crossed the ceiling, supporting large lights.
“There they are!” Myrna, the art director, walked toward them, clipboard in hand, her heels clicking on the tile floor. Her face was carefully made up, her curly hair held aloft by what must have been a gallon of hairspray. “Let’s introduce you to Rod, our photographer, and I’ll show you to the dressing room.”
