Chapter Eleven
Walking into Global’s big-top tent was like walking into a different world. Everything was bigger and fancier. The tent was light and bright, with a ceiling that was six feet higher than Winslowe Expeditions’s and had sections of clear plastic that served as skylights. There were two central dining tables with a whole row of small tables along one wall and a line of yellow plastic Adirondack chairs with footrests along the other.
Unlike Winslowe Expeditions, where our kitchen tent was separate from the main tent, Global’s kitchen was open-concept inside the main tent. On the enormous counter that separated it from the rest of the tent was an astonishing display of steam trays heaped with lunch entrees and side dishes. Off to the side was the PB&J bar and a self-serve toaster with bagels, butter, jam, and squeeze packets of cream cheese. For drinks, there was flavored water, three kinds of juice, soda, and an array of protein shakes in addition to coffee and tea.
Noticing me standing near the door, Doc jumped out of her seat and rushed over. “So I presume it all worked out?”
“Yeah.”
“Congratulations!”
Someone coming inside the tent bumped into Doc. That someone was Luke in his Yellow Yeti jacket. He did a double take at seeing me.
“Give us a minute, bud,” Doc said, shooing him past us. My eyes followed him to the lunch line where he dished up a plate of food.
“Dad thinks it’s a bad idea,” I told her.
“He would. Like I said, he’s a helicopter parent. But you’ll be okay. There’ll be a lot of new faces for you to learn, but you’ll get to know everyone with time. I think the plan was to put the new guide with A-Team. Some of the A-Teamers are a little obnoxious, but they’re all good men. And you’re really going to like your fellow A-Team guides.”
Luke, now seated at the far table with that behemoth, linebacker-sized guide who had come to Winslowe Expeditions the other night, eyed Doc and me curiously and then made a goofy face. I laughed. Perhaps it would be okay with both of us working for Global. That is, if I could manage to keep my feelings in check.
Jim walked in. “Hey there, Emily. You’re here already. Good. Come with me.”
He escorted me over to the food, introducing me to Randall, the professional chef from San Francisco, as well as his Sherpa assistant, whom everyone called Cook-Phurba.
Jim and I sat down at the large table next to Norbu, Global’s head Sherpa. Luke was at the table, too, but on the opposite end. Looking around at the dozens of people in this tent, the enormity of what I was embarking upon hit me like a wrecking ball. I couldn’t get my head around an expedition this size. Dad was right about it not being a good idea to jump in last-minute like this with a completely unfamiliar company. I didn’t know anything about any of these clients, other than that to be able to afford a full-service guided trip like this, most of them were wealthy beyond my wildest imagination.
At Winslowe Expeditions, I was just the tagalong daughter—I always exceeded expectations because there were no expectations. But here, I needed to be a leader and, with this many people around all the time, if I showed any cracks, I would be found out right away.
Luke caught my eye and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. I needed to go tell him why I was here. But just as I was standing up, Jim stood, too. He clinked his metal coffee mug with a fork to get everyone’s attention.
My heart sank, realizing Jim was about to introduce me to the whole company.
“Everyone, this is Miss Emily Winslowe,” Jim said. “She’s joining our team as a guide. She’s the daughter of Greg Winslowe—you might recognize that name for his first American ascent of Annapurna without oxygen and for being the expedition leader over at our frenemy, Winslowe Expeditions.”
Luke’s expression went from shock to accusation to hurt to anger. My heart thudded in nightmare slow motion.
“Emily has summited Everest six times, twice without oxygen,” Jim continued. “Please make the time to introduce yourself over the next few days. She’s one you want to be nice to because I hear she makes a mean high-altitude peanut butter fudge cookie.”
I waved to everyone, then quickly sat in the chair next to Jim, my cheeks hot. I purposely avoided looking in the direction of where Luke was sitting, even though I could feel his eyes boring into me. The fleeting hurt that had crossed his face made my heart ache, but the anger that followed crushed me.
He was mad that I hadn’t told him the news personally, and I didn’t blame him. My mind churned, trying to figure out what I should do. Walk straight over and talk to him? Wait for him to leave, and then catch him alone later? Or—
Luke stood, stopping my thoughts in their tracks. Before I could act, he put his dish in the wash tub and stalked out of the tent without a word.