CHAPTER TWELVE
KATY
December 16
Once they got out of the van at La Soledad and faced their co-campers to the summit of Acatenango, Katy could tell Marcus was less than on board.
“It’s the Colorado climbing man,” Marcus said, groaning at the sight of a fellow passenger.
“Greg, I think, is his name.”
“Didn’t he already try to ditch us because of altitude sickness? I’m not hiking downwind of him.”
“Hush,” Katy said, but she shared in the quiet laugh.
“Well, hello,” Greg said, his cheeks reddening.
“Did you bring your oxygen tank this time?” Marcus asked with a straight face.
Greg’s eyes flashed. “That was an aberration,” he said.
“Good luck, man. I hope your affairs are in order.”
Later, in private, Katy asked Marcus, “Why are you so mean to him?”
“He’s a pompous fool. Besides, someone has to be. I know you won’t.”
“Of course I won’t,” she protested. “It would be rude.””
“Katy Stevens,” he said in his deep voice, making her shiver with pleasure. “One of these days, I’m going to corrupt you. I’ll make you speed five above the limit. Have you take one of those ‘postal mail’ baskets from the post office and use it as a laundry basket. Put up a campaign sign on a public right-of-way.”
“Ha,” she said. “If I turn politician, that’s the ultimate corruption.”” She lifted her chin. “Very well. I will, in turn, reform you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What does that look like?”
“You will call your mother every night, and not just to inquire about your trust fund. Kiss a pig for a kindergarten fundraiser. Help the lunch ladies serve breakfast.”
“Why breakfast?”
“Because you have to get up earlier in the morning.”
“Ah, yes. That would be saintly. Giving a million dollars comes close, though?”
She shrugged, stifling a smile.
They had two guides leading them up the mountain. Greg hiked alongside them, asking lots of questions.
Marcus rolled his eyes and whispered to Katy, “He reminds me of this kid in my third-grade class who always asked questions, even after the bell rang.”
“It’s good to ask questions. That’s the only way to learn.”
“It’s a way to take up air. Hey, what is that?” He pointed at a coiled pile at the base of a tree.
“A snake!” Katy screamed. She lunged away from it and into Marcus’s arms.
Marcus held her tightly.
She became aware of his nearness and her heart revving up wildly. “Sorry,” she said, pushing off him.
“That was no problem at all,” he murmured, as he set her back on the ground.
Greg snickered. “There’s more of that where we’re going.”
“Actually, there isn’t,” Rico, one of the guides, said.
“Thank goodness,” Marcus said.
“Scared of snakes, are you?” Greg ribbed Marcus.
“I don’t mind them,” Marcus said. “I’’m happy to carry Katy anytime…”
Her cheeks warmed.
“…as long as I have earplugs.”
Greg snickered. as Katy gaped at him. She narrowed her eyes. The smart aleck.
Katy backed away as Marcus picked up a stick and flipped the snake into the bush. Or at least tried to. The snake landed by Greg’s feet instead.
Greg’s screams echoed in the clearing.
“Oof. He screams louder than you.” Marcus glanced at Katy, whose cheeks warmed with embarrassment. “You know I was teasing you, right?”
“Ye-ess,” Katy stammered.
Marcus grabbed her hand, surprising her. “Did I offend you?”
“No,” she said, unable to think straight with her hand in his. “I was just surprised you’d say something…”
“Mean?”
She nodded.
He reached out and touched her cheek, and her breath stilled.
“You are so soft-hearted, Katy.”
She couldn’t speak. His hazel eyes bore into hers gently, making her all woozy inside. She felt breathless, and she was sure it wasn’t just from the high altitude.
“The question is, what will we do with Mr. Know-it-all over here?” His glance flicked toward Greg.
“We’ll be nice to him and…and carry him down on a stretcher when it comes time.”
Marcus’s eyes glimmered. “See?” he said. “You’re catching on.”
***
MARCUS
No wonder they told them to dress in layers. Even at the outset, the temperatures cooled. Rico said Acatenango was a tough slog, but they eased into it in stages. First, they passed farm fields, barren acreage that normally would have corn, snow pea, or lily.
Next, they hiked through forest.
“Here you will find some of the oldest trees in Guatemala,” Rico said. “Do you hear that? That is the Violet Sabrewing, and that is the Hairy Woodpecker. This is the home of the Resplendent Quetzal. If we are lucky, we may find it.”
Katy’s eyes glittered as she scoured the canopy above.
Marcus glanced around too. Normally, he wasn’t a big fan of birdwatching; it was too slow for his taste. But if he knew to look for something, he could be patient.
Just as they were about to go on to the next part of the hike, the guide put up his hand. “Listen.”
A bird called. It was a gentle sound, distressed. Like your mom calling if you were due home for dinner determined to get you home yet reluctant to have such a wild bunch indoors. Especially if everyone’s crusted with mud.
“Wait, everyone hold your breath. I’m recording it.” Greg said while holding out his cell phone that was connected to a mini-microphone.
No one followed his advice. As far as Marcus could tell, everyone was still breathing, and no one had passed out. Greg wasn’t worth uncalled for death and dismemberment.
While they listened, the Quetzal, with its bright green and red plumage, flew past. Marcus tried to take a photo on his phone, but the bird was too quick for him. It was pretty cool to say he’d seen one.
After the guide finally convinced Greg to move on, they next came to an overlook of all the volcanoes in the area, all with such difficult names that if they were siblings in a family, the parents would probably resort to numbering their children. Atitlan was one, Toliman, San Pedro…and a mountain chain with a mouthful for a name.
Of course, Katy, being Katy, said it in one swoop like it was poetry: “Cuchumatanes.”
She could have said it all day, and he would’ve followed her around the world, hypnotized.
“Uh-huh.” Marcus nodded. “I bet you were one of those spelling bee contestants in junior high.”
“I didn’t say I could spell it.”
“We’ll set up camp here,” Rico said. “Everyone grab a tent and set it up.”
While the guides made dinner, the hikers gathered around a campfire. Katy got everyone talking about themselves, where they were from, and where else they’d traveled in the world. All they needed was to hold hands and sing “Kumbayah.”
Even as this crossed his mind, he thought Katy was a lot like the sunset they were privy to again, casting light in the darkness.
Speaking of songs, someone started a carol, and pretty soon, everyone was singing in their language. Everyone except for Marcus.
He stood and bolted to the edge of camp, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets.
“Hey,” came Katy’s soft voice. “You okay?”
He didn’t look at her. “Sure.”
“Are you having fun so far?”
He relaxed his posture. She was trying so hard. “Sure.”
“This had been on my bucket list.”
“Glad I can scratch it off mine too. If only we didn’t have to endure that Greg.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I think Greg’s kind of funny, but interesting.”
“Yeah.” Marcus sighed. “He grows on you. Like fungus.”
Katy rolled her eyes.
“What,” Marcus teased. “No scolding?”
“I only scold if he’s within hearing.”
“What, so he’ll think more highly of you?”
“No,” she paused. “So he’ll think more highly of himself.”
Marcus noted her earnest expression. “Did you ever want to be a psychiatrist? Because I think you’d be good at it.”
“No.” She crinkled her nose. “I do love reading the magazine Psychology, but I think I would burn out so fast.”
“Maybe.” He thought back to his darkest days after the accident. All that bitterness and hatred he’d spewed out. “Psychiatrists probably feel like sewer ponds sometimes.”
Katy flinched. “Yeah. I can see that. Anyway, I’m gonna head back.”
“Hey,” he said.
She turned, her expression soft. Affectionate.
“Thank you.”
She didn’t ask why or what for. “You’re welcome.”