Chapter Thirty-Two
Everything was all messed up. There were seracs the size of semitrucks falling toward me like dominoes, but they disappeared before they hit. There were huge pine trees and rain. Headlights that flashed from side to side as cars drove a wet, windy road. The cars morphed into people with headlamps, and the road became a trail. The rain turned into snow that was being sucked down a gorge toward the raging river at the bottom. I was being pulled, slowly, by my waist, into this gorge. There was nothing to hold on to. Nothing to stop me.
I knew, logically, I was having a nightmare, but my brain was curious what was going to happen next, and it took me a long time to wake up. When I finally succeeded, I sat up and calmed myself by stretching my aching shoulder.
Luke’s back was to me, his itchy, dry cough repeatedly interrupting whatever he was listening to on his phone. With the storm howling all around us, the tent was in constant motion as the wind pulled it one way, then pushed it hard in a different direction.
I was dying of thirst. I pulled my water bottle out of my pack, but it was frozen solid. I would have to boil some water if I wanted anything to drink, but that would involve melting snow on my stove, and that meant going outside to get the snow, which was the last thing I wanted to do.
Luke flipped over to his back, pausing abruptly when he noticed I wasn’t asleep anymore. His neutral expression was forced. He was not happy to see me.
“You were shaking,” he said.
“Yeah. It was damn cold out there, and it’s supposed to get even colder.”
His only response was a single nod before facing away again and turning up the volume on his phone. This was going to be a long day.
No. Not a long day. A long couple of days in the tent. Great.
I grabbed my frozen water bottle and put it between my legs with the hope of melting enough for a swallow or two. Mr. Music over there, with his much faster clients, and therefore extra time in the tent, had probably already brewed a ton of water for himself, but I would rather die of thirst than ask him for any.
I checked my water bottle. Still frozen solid. I tore open a pouch of energy gel and sucked it down, hoping it would make my dry mouth feel better. It made it worse. Now I was even more thirsty, and I had nothing to wash away the super-sweet aftertaste.
Irritable from my thirst and the icy chill from the bottle leaching through my pants, I glared at Mr. Music. It took some nerve for him to be acting like an asshole, especially when he had promised he’d be civil.
I tapped him on the shoulder. He looked over. I motioned for him to sit up and was a little surprised when he actually did.
“You said you’d be normal,” I said.
His eyes were dead, and this gave me a pang of guilt. But I had to ignore it in order to keep going. “We have at least ten more nights sharing a tent before we tag that summit, and we have to be able to work together like civil people.”
Still, he wasn’t reacting, and I struggled to keep hold of my anger. At the moment, it was the only thing protecting me from panic and grief.
“Fake it?” he asked. “That’s what you want me to do? So, what, should we get the checkers board out and pretend we’re thirteen again?”
“Yes!” Having to speak loudly to be heard over the wind gave me more conviction. For once, there was no worry about being overheard. “You promised you’d be civil.”
“Well, Emily, guess what? It doesn’t work like that.”
“It has to.”
“Oh yeah?” His eyes were fiery.
“Yes, definitely, yeah. You have to stop acting so…so angry.”
“You’re so used to everyone walking around on eggshells. Your dad, you, the Sherpas—you guys are afraid to death of anything unpleasant. Well, I’m not acting angry, I am angry.”
He put his earbuds back in.
Blood burned beneath my wind-raw cheeks. He’d basically just slammed a door in my face. I got control of myself, then dressed to go out in the storm to get some snow to brew.
Outside, the winds had to be at least fifty miles an hour, sustained. They pushed me so hard, I could barely zip the door. Keeping a careful hand on the tent frame, I went around to the back and packed snow into my three wide-mouthed bottles.
I was covered in blowing snow from just a few minutes outside, so I zipped myself in the vestibule to shake it all off before going the rest of the way inside. The wind and cold had zapped my anger, though I still wished I was anywhere else in the world besides a five by seven tent with Luke.
Now I perfectly understood why all those Going on Eighteen articles advised readers to not get tangled up with coworkers. It wasn’t the getting together part that was the problem; it was the falling out. They liked to warn about crossing the friendship line as well. Once things went bad romantically, the friendship would be gone, too.
I had both cases on my hands, and in an isolated and high-stakes situation the Going on Eighteen writers could never have envisioned.
My mind jabbed me with the words, fight for it, but at the moment, I couldn’t muster the strength. All I wanted was a drink of water.
Back inside the tent, Luke continued ignoring me. I tried to not let it hurt.
I set up my stove and dumped a bottle of snow in the pot to melt, but the push-button igniter wasn’t working. I lit one of the backup matches and held it next to the flow of gas. Nothing. Great.
I turned off the gas and vented the tent door a little so there wouldn’t be a buildup of propane. I shook the canister. It was nearly full. I reassembled it and tried again. The stove would still not light. My nerves were tight with frustration. All I wanted was a drink of water, for god’s sake. I was thirsty enough to consider putting my face in the pot and taking a bite of snow despite the risk of contamination. I tried one more time to get the stove lit. It didn’t work. Damn. My whole body was shaking, and I was seconds from losing control and throwing the stove across the tent.
It was like my inability to produce a sip of water was representative of all that was wrong in my life. I didn’t seem to be in control of anything, including the ability to reach the one person my soul needed as much as my body needed water.
Just like that, my built-up frustration morphed into sorrow. Tears sprung to my eyes and ran down my cheeks, too big and too fast to stop.