Twenty Four
They walked back into Camp 4 at sunset. Dirty. Covered in a thin film of dried sweat and dust. Rilla’s fingertips were rubbed raw. Her palms blistered and cut from the last pitch of shuffling her way up on lead. All she wanted was to take off all her clothes and go bury herself in the Merced.
Of course, when she walked into the campsite, Walker was leaning back on the picnic table with his radio sitting by his arm. He looked up, gaze flickering over the length of her in one quick glance before he swallowed and looked away.
A tremor of excitement fluttered in her stomach, and her exhaustion was forgotten.
Caroline took her pack and handed her another gallon of fresh water.
“Just in time for dinner. I’m almost done,” the old man said from where he worked over a camp stove on the end of the table and a pan set over the fire.
“They’ve returned,” Adrienne said, pushing out of the screen door of one of the canvas tents. “We were starting to get worried, but then we remembered you were with a newbie.”
“That newbie,” Caroline loudly declared, dropping her hands onto Rilla’s shoulders and pushing her forward for the crowd, “took a zipper fall on the last pitch and got right back on it. Like a champ.”
It wasn’t something anyone would brag about, but she recognized the praise Caroline was giving her was for having the tenacity to go on and not tap out. It was praise meant for a newbie, but she couldn’t help but give a salty, dusty, cracked grin, and try very hard not to look at Walker, though she was dying to know what his expression was.
“Oh. Yeah. Right on.” The old man smiled. “Did you have fun or have you sworn off it forever?” He looked at Caroline. “That’s the true test. If she’ll do it ever again.”
“Let’s go right now,” Rilla said, her voice cracking halfway through. “Whatcha got?”
Everyone laughed. But differently than anyone had laughed at her before. And she hadn’t even known there was a difference until right that second. This was the way she wanted to prompt their laughter—not because she said things that made people uncomfortable.
“I gotta get a ride back up to the Grove,” Caroline said, sinking into a chair with her water. “Any good calls today?”
Hoping it wasn’t too obvious, Rilla gingerly sat on the other end of the picnic table beside Walker.
Walker said, “Someone fell into the Merced.”
Caroline grimaced. “Did they come out?”
Old guy nodded. “Took over an hour.”
“Your sister came over,” Walker said to Rilla.
“She was doing the rescue?”
“We put her on the line, since she’s trained for it.” Walker nodded. “We needed extra people, with the current so strong.”
“She’s okay, right?”
“Oh yeah,” he said, as if there was never any question. “I bet she’s pretty pumped. The person might even make it.”
Rilla smiled, happy to hear something went right for Thea.
No one even asked if Rilla wanted a plate. One was just handed to her, overfilled with fried potatoes, softened and charred onions and cloves of garlic, eggplant, and corn, a piece of battered, fried fish, and a soft roll that looked familiar to the ones Jonah stole from the dining hall.
“That hiker we brought off Half Dome the other day gave us the fish as a thank-you,” old guy said as Caroline lifted her phone high and took a picture.
Rilla hadn’t thought she even had an appetite until she inhaled the char-grilled smell. The others chattered away and the campground swirled around them, Rilla leaned on her elbow, forcing her aching muscles to move from her fork to her plate to her mouth.
“Tired?” Walker asked quietly, leaning back on his elbows.
“Sore,” she said. “I don’t think I even have energy to shower.”
He chuckled, gaze dropping in a distracting way. “What did you guys do?”
“El Cap Tree,” she said over a mouthful.
“You weren’t overplaying this,” Caroline said to him as she ate.
“I told you,” Walker’s voice lightly sang. “You didn’t want to believe me.”
Rilla wasn’t sure what they meant, but it seemed to be good, and she’d never felt more at home, despite being an outsider. The food went down easily, warming her belly. Her limbs stiffened and filled with sleepy lead.
They stayed there—in camp chairs propped up in a world carefully constructed of light. Shifting gold into fuchsia pinks, and deepening nearly fluorescent purple alpenglow, the sunset wove into the rocks and the water. The sky was sugar. The sheer cliffs rising up on all sides were veined granite polished into mirrors. Light gushed, frothing in iridescent foam on the Merced.
Every time she glanced at Walker, his blue eyes reflected the ephemeral joy she felt, sitting on that picnic table bench. Everyone sat around, laughing and talking. Rilla’s eyes burned and she eventually pushed off the table and said her thanks.
“I’ll walk you back,” Walker said.
Even in her exhaustion, Rilla felt the surge of adrenaline as his long body fell into rhythm beside hers and the people they left behind hollered suggestively.
He rolled his eyes and flicked them off.
She laughed.
“Martinez would kill me if her little sister died on the walk back,” he hollered over his shoulder.
Rilla groaned, tripping over the rocks in the dark. “It is possible I might die. I am so sore and tired.”
“That happens.” He reached over and grasped the back of her neck, giving it a squeeze like he was massaging her muscles, before awkwardly dropping his hand and pulling away.
Her eyes widened in the dark and tried to find something innocuous to say. “Busy day for you?”
“Not really. I wasn’t involved in the river thing.” He laughed. “I mean. I rescued bear cubs from the river, one in each hand.”
“With no shirt, right? And an axe or some shit, like a deodorant commercial.”
“Oh, we’re past deodorant commercial. More like body spray level.” He tossed his head like he was whipping back his hair in an imaginary wind.
She laughed, then cried. “Don’t make me laugh, my stomach muscles hurt. Everything hurts.”
“Poor baby,” Walker murmured mockingly, knocking the edge of his shoulder into hers.
“Ow.” She slapped at his stomach.
He grabbed her wrist and for a blissful second, they were entangled before he shook her off, laughing. “How did it go though, really?”
“Other than climbing with the most intimidating climber possible, you mean?”
“Caroline is nice.”
“Yeah, because she’s your sister.”
“If I was answering about my sister, I would not say that.” He snorted, still holding her wrist. “She was impressed. You did good. Does it feel good?”
Every beat of her heart pumped blood into that sliver of skin under his warm, roughened fingers. “It feels so good,” she said.
They walked under the spreading, lichen covered black oaks, the darkness sweet and warm and the wind tinged with a faint hint of smoke. His skin glowed in the dark and she closed her eyes, walking beside him with her wrist still held between his fingers, a little awkwardly like he was almost holding her hand but hadn’t committed to it.
Her head pulsed with the feeling of this moment.
It was everything.
In sight of the house, he let go. “See ya ’round, West Virginia.”
She didn’t respond—all the feeling was stuck in her throat. Turning, she wistfully watched the sway of his shoulders as he walked back into the dark. The wind blew and she shivered, longing rippling into something else. It was terrifying to want something she’d never wanted before—something that would expose her and risk herself in a way she’d avoided. Curtis had never been a risk, not like this. She narrowed her eyes into the dark. She wanted him, even if she had to work for it. Turning, she headed inside.
Thea was asleep on the couch when she went inside—belly down, fingers on the floor. And drooling. Rilla paused by the couch. Hopefully, Thea hadn’t been waiting for her.
Rilla showered off the dirt and grime. When she closed her eyes, all she saw was dihedrals and arêtes and her body making angles to work her way against gravity. She defied gravity. Broke the rules. And had come back alive.
After her shower, she came out to Thea sitting upright, with a stack of paperwork in her lap.
“Thought I heard you come in,” Thea said. “You look like you got sun.”
Rilla looked at her pink shoulders and shrugged. “Want tea?”
“No . . .” Her gaze flickered over Rilla. “I mean . . . sure. What were you up to all day?”
“Playing outside,” Rilla answered, pulling a mug out of the cupboard. “I heard about your river thing.”
Thea made a noise.
“Are you . . .” Rilla frowned and watched the microwave numbers descend. Somehow it seemed silly to ask her sister if she felt okay. Thea was always okay. But suddenly Rilla wondered if that’s just how she saw Thea because that’s how she wanted to see her. She swallowed. “Are you okay? I heard they’re going to live.”
“Yeah. We seemed to get to him in time. I’m just glad it wasn’t you,” Thea said, standing and stretching her arms wide. “I didn’t anticipate how I’d assume every rescue call was for you.”
Rilla snorted. “I’m not that much of a disaster.” She wasn’t. She’d climbed with Caroline Jennings and everyone had lived.
“You’re not a disaster, baby girl.” Thea pulled her forward and kissed her forehead in a way that made Rilla feel young, in a good way. “You’ve been doing so well. I’m proud of you. I’m so glad you’re here.”
The microwave dinged.
“But just because you’re not a disaster doesn’t mean disaster can’t happen to you. You can do everything right, and still not come back alive,” Thea said. “That’s just the risk we take to live our lives sometimes.”
Rilla pulled out the hot water and added a teabag. She handed Thea the mug and took a deep breath. If she could do it on the wall, she could do it here. “I am sorry.”
Thea’s forehead creased. “For what?”
Rilla swallowed. It was a little easier than it’d been the first time, but not much. “I am sorry I made you feel like you had to tell Mom something you weren’t comfortable sharing. That wasn’t right of me. I didn’t realize I was making it about that. But I can see now, it was easier to make it about you and your feelings than to admit how angry I felt when you left.”
“Anger isn’t an emotion, it’s a reaction,” Thea said.
Rilla made a face. “Ugh. What do you want from me?”
Thea smiled softly. “Yeah, I know. It’s hard for me too. To talk about my feelings.”
If she wasn’t angry when Thea left, what had she been? She chewed her lip. “Abandoned? I felt abandoned. Everyone started leaving. Granny died. Daddy . . . Marco,” she corrected. “Left. Then you did. I can’t fault Granny for dying. But you and Daddy—did you just leave because he did?”
“No!” Thea sat down, looking stunned. “No, that wasn’t it at all. I was angry at Daddy for leaving. I didn’t even talk to him except for a few years ago. I left because I had to. I didn’t mean to abandon you, but . . .” She rubbed her face and sighed. “It’s hard to explain.”
Rilla looked at her hands. “I can listen.”
It was silent. Thea exhaled. “Mom depended on me . . . to the point where I was paying the bills, I was running the house, and Mom and Tom—they got angry if I did anything else. I woke up one morning and realized this wasn’t how I wanted to live. I was eighteen and if I didn’t leave then, I was afraid I never would.”
“I didn’t realize . . .” But Rilla could see it, now when she looked back.
Thea shook her head, dangerously close to tears. “I couldn’t stay, Rilla. I’m sorry.”
“I wouldn’t want you to have stayed. I just didn’t know that until now.”
Thea smiled. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Rilla nodded. “Me too.” It was worth the fear and the agony. Her phone buzzed and she pulled it out. Caroline had texted—three pictures. The first was their selfie, smiling wide and messy hair in their helmets. An up-the-nose shot for Rilla, lovely.
The others were Rilla on the edge . . . the massive Valley framed behind her. She smiled. She barely recognized herself. Saving them to her phone, she flicked over to Instagram and got halfway through uploading a shot of her looking down, when she canceled it.
The only reason she’d wanted that picture was to prove something. But who was she trying to prove something to? Everyone at home had only wanted a spectacle. When she stopped being a spectacle, they stopped caring.
She looked at the photo again. That is me, she told herself over and over. Staring at the girl’s thick, hardened arms. Her curious look hundreds of feet below. Her strong legs and messy braid. That is me. No one in West Virginia needed to believe this. No one needed to see it. It was all she’d hoped she could be, and all they’d never believed. She was the one who needed to see it. She was the one who needed to believe it.
Going back to Instagram, she uploaded the one of her and Caroline, #ValleyGirls. Upstairs, she combed through the slopped over pile of homework, pulled out her algebra, and folded her legs under the bare lightbulb. Pencil in one hand and chin tucked into the other, she began.
And didn’t stop.
All night. Under the wind gusting through the open window, whispering all the things she could want, because a tree and a frog grew four hundred feet above the Valley floor.