He had more trouble speaking when he was upset.
Megs tried to explain. “I owe Dean this much.Weowe him. His son should know exactly why his father wasn’t there for him when he was growing up.”
Mitch rested his hands on her shoulders. “H-hard for…you. I never …saw you so… broke… broken… as then.”
It had been one of the few times in her adult life that Megs had curled up in a fetal position and sobbed. She’d barely been able to function for weeks afterward. It was only the idea of free climbing The Nose that had gotten her back into the world. But that had been twenty-eight years ago.
“I’ll be okay.” Then it hit her that Mitch might not want to share his journal entry with anyone, that this might feel too personal. “Are you okay with my reading this aloud to everyone?”
He nodded, resignation on his face. “My job is… take care of…you.”
“I know, and I’m grateful. It didn’t kill me then. It won’t kill me now.”
She walked back to the living room, journal in hand, Mitch behind her. “Does anyone need anything to drink before we start?”
Heads shook, the room silent.
While Megs searched for the entry, she gave them all the background. “Dean and Beth were living in Ridgeway on the Western Slope. We hadn’t seen them for a while, so when he invited us to visit, we were happy to make the trip. We were still living in California at the time. We’d been at their place for three days when he proposed we climb El Diente, one of the fourteeners in the San Miguel range. It was late August, so we left the house prepared for possible rain. We had planned to be back at Dean and Beth’s place by dinnertime. But that’s not how it went.”
Megs found the right page, skimmed over it, and decided to skip straight to the three of them on El Diente’s summit. Then she steeled herself and began to read.
August 17, 1992
Mitch stoodon the summit of El Diente with Megs and Dean at a little after two in the afternoon, the three of them posing for Dean’s compact Olympus, doing their best to recreate their photo from the summit of Mt. Everest.
Dean set the delay timer on his camera. “Everyone look cold, hypoxic, and exhausted.”
Mitch and Megs laughed, Dean hurrying to join them.
Click.
They signed the summit registry, admiring the view and reminiscing about their days climbing together in Yosemite and the Himalayas.
Mitch ripped the wrapper off a granola bar. “The scenery makes me miss Scarlet Springs.”
“That’s where you grew up, right?” Dean didn’t wait for an answer. “I’ve been through there. It’s beautiful country. Have you thought of settling there?”
Megs answered without hesitation. “No! Don’t give him ideas.”
Mitch laughed. “I’ve thought about it.”
Mindful of the dark clouds that heralded an approaching storm, they didn’t stay too long, taking time for hydration and a snack before they started down.
Dean went first. “Watch the loose rock.”
“This is one hell of a mountain.” Mitch followed, taking care where he placed his feet before he stepped. “It might be less than half as high as Everest, but it’s no walk-up.”
There was no clear trail to the summit, and some of the terrain was deadly, with unstable rock, cliffs, and exposed ridges. There were snowfields and stretches of ice, too. A slip or a sudden gust of wind could result in a fall of hundreds of feet. The stretch near the summit was class four scramble, reminding Mitch of the Hillary Step but without the snow, ice, or extreme altitude.
Megs went last, reaching down carefully with her feet and testing each rock before putting her full weight on it. “Does this remind either of you of the Hillary Step?”
“Yes,” Mitch and Dean answered almost in unison.
They were still up high and picking their way through boulders and talus, when the wind picked up, those storm clouds blowing closer, the temps dropping rapidly. They stopped to put on rain gear, then shouldered their packs once again and moved on.
Dean glanced up at the sky. “I think this storm is going to hit before we get back to the vehicles.”
He took a step, and the large block of talus beneath his foot flipped backward onto his shin, knocking him to the ground, making him cry out. Groaning, he pushed the rock aside and grasped his leg, a grimace on his face.
