I think again of Richard’s last text, try to read between the lines even though it’s hardly necessary. He wants to see me again. Sent at 1:36 a.m. Because he couldn’t sleep either.
And so what? Richard can be a catalyst to this new life of mine. But he shouldn’t be a part of it. Neither should the Senator. This new life is mine.
Noah, on the other hand—I’ll make it up to him somehow. He’s joining Max upstate this weekend at their house in Rhinebeck. He’s always in a better mood after being upstate. When he gets back, I’ll throw myself at his feet. I can start now with a text.
You’re right to be angry, Noah. All I can say is how much you mean to me as a friend. You’re the last person I’d ever want to hurt. I will do anything to make it up to you. Please don’t give up on me. I’m more sorry than you’ll ever know. xo Frankie
I stare at the message after I hit send. No immediate ellipses. He needs time. I have to believe he’ll eventually come around.
For now, I’ll try to focus on painting. My work has always been my home. Maybe, someday, I’ll find the right person to meet me there.
***
The summit was everything I’d hoped for and yet nothing like I’d imagined—vast and snowcapped and endlessly flat. Deserted, too, but for the sign marking it as the highest point in all of Africa, one of the highest in the world. I started crying when I saw it in the distance. We were so high that it felt like you could reach up and touch the cerulean sky.
We’d made it.Ihad made it.
It had been touch-and-go up until the very end. The last stretch of climbing was way worse than I’d expected. Short, like Bakari had said. Only about an hour. And this time we could see the real end—there would be no more false summits. But something about the wide-open topography and the accumulated exhaustionmeant that the more we hiked, the farther away the final ridge seemed. The pitch was nearly vertical and without rocks to grab. The freezing wind had also picked up again, tearing at the bits of exposed skin around our eyes.
I sucked down three gel packets as we went, waiting and waiting for the usual sugar high. But my body was so spent, I felt nothing.
And then, all at once, wewerethere. The final few steps, the last ridge just a low line of stones. Then a plane of white under a brilliant, cloudless blue sky. I bent over for a moment, head throbbing as the tears came. A flood of so many emotions at the exact same moment. Joy. Relief. Delight. Triumph.
But also a strange sort of grief. It was time to say goodbye to the broken girl I’d been carrying all these years, the girl with a brave, open heart. Too open. It was time to lay her down. To let her be. I knew it, and I was ready. But long-overdue closure is also a kind of loss. You need to recalibrate your equilibrium in its wake.
We paused briefly for group photos at the sign marking the summit and spent a few more moments taking it all in. I cried the whole time. Silently. But deeply. I wasn’t the only one.
We didn’t linger. I was feeling better, and I said as much. But Bakari was convinced we shouldn’t press our luck. Apparently, a woman with another group earlier in the season had been happily snapping photos at the summit when she suddenly crashed. And she’d been fine the entire climb.
“Did she recover?” I asked after Bakari recounted the story to get us moving along.
Bakari shook his head. “No, she did not.”
—
Sure enough, I started backsliding as we began to descend. My vision blurred, and the tingling returned to my fingertips. I felt like a giant marionette, all jutting knees and thrusting elbows, and I had to focus hard just to keep my body in proper walking alignment.
Bakari took up the front, followed by Scotty, then Richard, me, Van, and Brooks. Kito was bringing up the rear. We stayed mostly quiet on the descent, except for the usual warnings: “Watch,” “Left,” “Heads up,” in spots where there was a loose rock or where the sand was especially deep.
Kilimanjaro was as wide as a ski slope on the back side, the terrain now deep sand. Every fifth or sixth step you’d slide, sometimes wrenching your back or twisting an ankle. We were all complaining. After about an hour, we moved out of the sand to the side of the trail, where the footing was easier. While we were on the rocky edge, it was nowhere near as perilous as the Western Breach. Yet Bakari warned us several times to watch our step. Meanwhile, the light turned a magic gold as the sun sank. And despite everything, a sense of peace flooded me. I couldn’t stop smiling.
“Everything you were hoping for?” Richard asked. He glanced back at me over his shoulder.
“One thousand percent,” I said.
Richard laughed. “Glad to hear it, Frankie.” I floated for a moment on the sound of my name, so warm and full.
Brooks must have said something snide, but he was too far back for me to make it out. But I did hear Van, who was right behind me. “Leave it alone, Brooks.”
Our train stretched out as people tired at different rates. At one point, I avoided a large rock that Richard and Scotty had stumbled over in front of me. “Watch,” I called, or rather mumbled—my brain was moving so slowly. Then Kito was at my side, in the deeper sand.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Tired,” I answered truthfully. I was struggling, and it was a relief to be honest about it. No one could send me home early now.
Kito nodded. “Me, too.”
“That makes me feel better.”
