“Come on,” Richard said, patting him on the back. “This is what we all came for, squabbling like the old days.”
“Hey, remember that first trip we took when everyone got the shits?” Scotty burst out laughing.
“Ah, man, we agreed never to talk about that!” Van said, then groaned. “It was the eggs in that crap hotel we stayed in. I swear it was.”
Now they all laughed. First Scotty and Van, then Richard and Brooks.
“Speaking of which, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m rethinking breakfast,” Van said.
“Me, too,” I offered. “I think it’s the altitude. Or maybe the altitude medication.”
“I thought it was delicious!” Scotty said.
“That’s because you’re a human garbage disposal,” Brooks said.
Scotty looked like he was about to argue, but he grinned instead. “I’d live on McDonald’s if it wasn’t for Hilary’s five-star tastes—Per Se, Eleven Madison Park…”
“She’s still breaking the bank, huh?” Richard asked.
Scotty shrugged casually. “Should I break out the pictures again? There’s a cost to everything—women, especially.”
I kept my expression neutral, but inwardly I winced. It was awkward being privy to their casual sexist banter, but at the same time I found it strangely comforting to think that maybe all men like this—wealthy, successful, privileged—were the same. Perhaps I hadn’t chosen so poorly with the Senator after all.
“Fellas, I’m not sure this conversation is making us look very good.”
When I glanced up, Richard nodded in my direction. Everyone looked appropriately chastened for a beat. Was I annoyed Richard thought I needed protecting? Yes. Annoyed and a little touched.
“Thanks, but you don’t have to be careful around me,” I said. “We should all be free to be ourselves. Otherwise, this is going to be a very long week.”
“Amen to that,” Scotty agreed.
“So, Frankie,” Van said. “What brings you to Africa?”
I had rehearsed my story. A woman, traveling alone—I’d known I’d need one. But I had imagined my audience being a group of nuzzling couples, not an all-male group of old friends. I’d expected to be a different kind of outsider.
“I just got my first solo show at a really big gallery,” I said with a faint tremor in my voice. There was a chorus of congratulations around the table, sweet and unexpected. “I wanted to celebrate, and I’ve always wanted to climb Kilimanjaro. I grew up hiking in Colorado. But it’s been a while. I’ve been in the city since college. That’s a long time not hiking.”
I was still smiling as I glanced over at Richard. He was looking at me intently, like he could tell I was leaving something out.
“You know, my good friend has a son who went to NYU,” Brooks said. “He’s maybe about your age. I’m not sure. Noah King?”
I could feel my eyes bugging out. “Noah is one of my closest friends!”
Brooks laughed stiffly. “His dad and I used to work together, back in my law firm days.”
It was surprisingly nice having even this tiny connection between these strangers on the other side of the world and my life back home. It made me feel a little tethered, in a good way.
“The Kings recommended True Altitude,” I said.
“That’s funny. For us, too,” he said with one of his awkward smiles. “Small world.”
“Good morning, everyone!” Kito called out cheerfully as he entered the lounge. “I need to take everyone’s blood oxygen and pulse now. So we have a baseline. We will do it twice a day, every day, while we are hiking. Remember, it is not a competition.”
Kito set about passing the pulse oximeter, a small device that clipped to the end of your finger. Of course, it immediately became a competition. The goal was high blood oxygen, low pulse—and to my surprise, I won. Blood oxygen 97%, heart rate 59—numbers that were better than even Bakari’s or Kito’s. I wanted not to care. But as the only woman, I cared very much. And aside from a little good-natured grumbling, I was pleasantly surprised that no one said a sexist word.
Apparently, it was all very random. AMS, or acute mountain sickness, was like a tsunami sprung from a lake—felling people suddenly and randomly, the vulnerable and strong in equal measure. It didn’t matter what kind of shape you were in, or how hard you had trained. Eating and drinking enough helped keep it at bay along with taking all the medications. Resting when you needed to. Praying. Even so, there were no guarantees. No one knew for sure how their body would respond to high altitude, even from one expedition to the next. It leveled the playing field in a way that felt both liberating and terrifying.
Kito was still recording all our vitals in a little notebook when Bakari arrived with an exquisite map that he spread out over the coffee table. Crouching alongside it, pencil in hand, he traced a twisty trail.
