Thirty Five
After the photography crew left and the circus subsided, Celine and Andy’s wedding became the thing everyone talked about at the Grove and in Camp 4. They’d been given things to do at the event—treated like family as an honor to the community of climbers who became family everywhere.
Two days before the ceremony, Rilla told Thea she was going on a camping trip, and just didn’t tell her it was camping on a wall. The climbing was easy. Rilla wasn’t there to learn the climbing. She was there to learn the logistics in preparation for The Nose.
Adeena and Petra taught her to pee into the air, or into a container to pour out away from the belay, and shit into a container, while in a harness. Rilla learned how to set up a portaledge and sleep in her sleeping bag on the small nylon cot hanging off the side of the wall, while still in a harness.
No one was on her period, but Adeena showed her the easiest way to change a tampon or menstrual cup—which some climbers used, apparently—midair. It was a task much simpler than she’d expected.
It was not glamorous or cool, but if Rilla wanted to climb The Nose—if she wanted to climb like them—she’d have to learn to live on the rock. They made it easy though. The two girls somehow made Rilla laugh as she hung ass out in the air, trying to relax enough to pee. And when she learned where to lash the waste container in the anchors or pack it in the pig, so she wouldn’t drop it, and it wouldn’t touch anything else.
They spent the night, not far off the ground, talking as they stared into the Milky Way and watched the tiny dots of lights moving on the valley floor below.
In the end, it all was less gross and less fuss than she’d imagined. But she returned to Thea’s house eager for a shower, and trying hard not to pester her sister about the prospect of getting her GED.
The afternoon of the wedding, Rilla felt like she spent at least an hour scrubbing dirt out of her nails and feet and slathering her sun-and wind-dried hair with conditioner. The hot water ran out, but she clenched her chattering teeth and cursed the goose bumps on her legs as she finished shaving. Her stomach trembled with anticipation and excitement and she tried not to let herself dream up a thousand different ways Walker could fall to his knees and worship her, but she couldn’t help a few. She hadn’t seen him in a few days, between climbing and his work, and she missed him. Missed him like she hadn’t even known was possible.
Grateful for the warmth of her attic bedroom, she toweled off, smeared lotion into her suntanned limbs, and spent a long time sitting on the floor half-naked, brushing out the snarls of her hair.
Outside, the afternoon sunbeams lengthened. The air sizzled. The chill from the shower faded and she was starting to sweat again as she blow-dried her hair and carefully smoothed it out with a brush.
She had brought three dresses from West Virginia. One was white, so she put it back right away, hearing her grandmother in her head about never wearing white to a wedding. One was an Easter dress an aunt had given her when she was fifteen. It was pink with darker flowers. Perfect wedding attire. She picked it up and began putting it on, but as soon as she pulled it over her head she broke out in more sweat, and her stomach cramped. She paused, stuck in the polyester lining, the dark pink flowers wrinkling like a bad metaphor. It wouldn’t go any farther. She was fitter, tighter, and leaner than when she’d arrived. But also bigger. Well-fed and healthy and bigger. She only wore stretchy pants or the new things Thea had bought her to replace what she’d outgrown.
She took a deep breath and clawed the dress back up over her head. What was she going to do? This was the dress for the wedding. The last dress was a blue sundress. Cute for putting over a swimsuit. Cute for a long day with her legs up on the dashboard of a jeep. Not for a wedding.
Hands on her hips, she took a deep breath and glanced out her window. The sun was deep and golden, and she was definitely late. She tried to make the pink flowered prison work, forcing it somehow over her hips and trying not to sweat as she put her makeup on and smoothed oil on her hair. Finally, she was ready.
And ready to die.
With a groan, she peeled herself out of the dress again and wiggled out of her bra like she was escaping a spider. She grabbed the blue sundress and pulled it over her head, pausing only to add big, dangly earrings and a bracelet to dress it up before scurrying downstairs. The right thing be damned.
Even with rushing, she got to the road just in time to see Walker, waiting with white ribbons hanging out of his pocket, looking worried. He wore a pair of light pants. A white dress shirt. His hair was combed, and his shirtsleeves rolled up. The ribbon trailed along beside him. He caught sight of her, and his chest lifted for a brief enough moment that it made everything worth it. She had to duck her head; her smile was so big.
“You’re late.”
“I know! I’m sorry.”
“They’re almost here.” He pulled the ribbon out of his pocket and shoved one end in her direction.
“What are we doing?”
“Stay there. We’re stretching it across the path. They’re walking from Camp 4 to the chapel, and we’ll join when they come on through. It’s a local custom where Celine grew up.”
She grasped her end and tried to slow her heartbeat, watching his big body as he moved to the other side of the path. The ribbon fluttered between them.
He smiled. A slow, liquid smile. “Hey,” he said, his voice deep and sexy.
She couldn’t help but grin. “Hey.”
“You look nice.”
“It’s a bathing suit cover-up.”
“Oh. Well.” He blinked. “You still look nice.”
She nodded. “Thanks. So do you.”
“Oh, this?” He looked down. “It’s a bathing suit cover up.”
She laughed and tossed the ribbon between them. “What is this anyway?”
“They walk together to the chapel. We’re um, supposed to stand here until they come get us and cut through the ribbon.”
Rilla squinted and frowned. “Are we . . . are we an obstacle to love?”
“Not us!”
“Right?”
“We’re the most pro-love people out of everyone,” he said.
Rilla did a fist-bump into the air. “Pro-love. I love it.”
“We can’t be an obstacle.”
“Never.”
But they didn’t look at each other anymore. And they gripped tighter to the ribbon between them—not an obstacle, but true love’s ability to cut through obstacles.
Rilla held tight to the flat ribbon, melting a little in her damp hand. She closed her eyes, feeling Walker’s heartbeat in the line. Louder than the people and the cars passing on the road. Louder than the rushing Merced and the wind through the trees. Louder than her mind. At least for a moment.
She wished she could have a picture of this. Whatever it was. In a way that would capture her body underneath the dress and the wind on her skin and the feeling of Walker’s broad and muscled body facing hers, in the same wind and the same layer of clothes. Maybe it was all the talk of love. Maybe it would fade. But right this second, it felt like the closest she’d ever been to saying she was in love with someone.
She opened her eyes, both startled and unsurprised to find Walker watching her. Her face. Her eyes. His gaze locked with hers and they stood there, watching each other. Their heartbeats thrumming in the white ribbon stretched under the watching granite.
Walker took a step, ribbon sagging, his lips tight and eyes full of something that made Rilla terrified and excited and . . .
And then Celine and Andy rounded the path.
They both straightened, and pulled the ribbon tight.
Rilla swallowed and tried to look calm, turning her attention to the bride and bridegroom.
Andy looked a little like Rilla felt. Trussed up.
Even though his suit—cream, with a white shirt and smoky purple tie—looked like it fit impeccably, it immediately betrayed his athletic-not-aesthetic body. His long hair looked trimmed and smoothed back; but it was still long, shaggy hair on a man who probably needed a good sit-down with a barber.
But Celine? Celine looked like the goddess she was. She walked with her arm in Andy’s, holding a cluster of white and purple flowers in her other hand. Her dress was long sleeved and close fitting. A frothy chiffon and lace paneled skirt swirled from her knees as she walked. It was the perfect balance between the idea of a classic French woman and a rock climber who traveled the world and peed out of her harness.
Behind them, a crowd had gathered, walking and talking and playing sweet, lulling melodies on guitars and mandolins and ukuleles. Celine and Andy led them on.
They paused before the outstretched ribbon, and Celine smiled at them before Andy sliced through it.
Rilla felt the cut. And found she missed the connection.
Walker caught her eye, and they waited as the procession passed before falling in at the back. Caroline wasn’t there yet and neither was Petra. Amid the lilting guitar and the happy chatter, Rilla felt a sudden dive in her chest of loneliness and longing for something she didn’t know how to put words around. She didn’t think it was just Walker, but something bigger . . . beyond . . .
The back of his knuckles grazed her hip as they walked, and her breath caught.
They crossed the meadows, collecting Adeena and Hico, Gage and Petra, Caroline and newcomer Leland on the way to the chapel, in the evergreens under the watch of the Valley cliffs. Adeena wore a long fuchsia dress with ornate gold trim and gold jewelry, and Caroline was in a simple black silk dress. They were like Celine, in that they wore their dresses as well as they wore their climbing clothes. Petra looked totally different from them, but right in her own way—with a floral dress that touched the ground and flowed easily in the breeze as they walked.
They all were definitely in dresses and not swimsuit coverups from Walmart, but each girl complemented Rilla as if they didn’t notice, and Rilla tried her best to stop comparing.
The service was short. Rilla listened in a stupor of late golden sun through the glass into the tiny chapel, enjoying the feel of Walker breathing beside her, and the dry dust smell of the inside.
Afterward, they all proceeded across the Valley to the hotel’s gardens.
It was so very Celine, and you knew that without knowing Celine. A great bower stood heavy with snapdragons, asters and freesia and greens, dripping forward into a curve over an empty spot on the lawn. Someone had even climbed up into the great live oak to drape long trails of twisting greenery and flowers and lights.
They ate sweetly seared scallops and lobster in cups while they laughed awkwardly and fumbled with their hands and limbs in unfamiliar dress clothes. Rilla hadn’t ever tasted either dish, and copied others dipping the lobster in butter. They sat all together at a table on the edge of the crowd. Hico knocked over a glass, and Petra talked at length about her time in Paris. Walker slid his hand onto Rilla’s thigh and squeezed gently. Rilla leaned on the table and smiled. They were served duck with crisp skin and fatty meat that pulled off the bone, potatoes, and soft bread. Champagne drunk, they grew more at ease and laughed at each other, all copying Caroline and Petra, who seemed to be the only two who knew how to eat duck off a bone with a fork and knife.
The dancing began, and Rilla leapt up, with Walker’s hand tightly held in hers. They joined Celine and Andy. Rilla laughed as she realized that as much as she often thought of climbers as dancers, on two legs and flat ground they weren’t that great.
They danced and drank and shoved the lightly sweet almond cake into their mouths, washing it down with champagne. All around them, the night was cool and pleasing on their arms.
And then it was time to go.
Celine hugged the four of them. “I already told Caroline, but you’re welcome to visit my home in France. Come climb with Caroline. She’s coming for spring. I’d love to climb more with you.”
“Oh my god, totally,” Petra said from across the circle of people.
“I’d love to . . .” Rilla said. But I have no idea how I’ll manage. France. It was a weird country in a geography book—a joke even, at home, because it didn’t exist except in stories—and suddenly it was real, a place that existed and was so close she could taste it on the air around them.
“Adeena?” Celine asked, touching Adeena’s arm. “I would love for you to make it.”
“Thank you so much for asking,” Adeena said. “I’ll definitely consider it.”
They hugged and moved aside for Celine and Andy’s family, waving goodbye.
Walker draped his arm over Rilla’s shoulder, and she tipped her head, studying his profile in the dim light. He was gorgeous, and he was hers. Rilla wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned into his hard body. “Let’s go look at the stars on El Cap,” she said.
He smiled, biting his bottom lip briefly as he looked over her face and pulled her so tight she could barely breathe.
They left the crowd on the paths they walked every day. The moon was high over the Valley, making the shadows dance in the wind.
“I heard Celine invite you to France. That’s gotta feel great,” he said, his fingers rubbing the curve of her shoulder.
“To think, I started this summer not even knowing how to tie a figure eight.”
“I’m so blown away by you. I feel like the biggest ass for writing you off that day. You completely amaze me and everyone else, every time you start climbing and we realize somehow, you’ve gotten better than you were yesterday. I’ve never seen someone do that.”
Rilla laughed and pulled away, dancing ahead on the path. “You should feel like an ass.”
He watched her. Then with a quiet roar, ran after her. She squealed and ran. Head back, arms pumping. He couldn’t catch her. Or he chose not to.
She slowed and circled back.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
“I know,” she said, laughing. Even though she didn’t really know, she felt it right then, and that was all that mattered.
Hand in hand they crossed the road, turned off the path, and threaded through the tall grass.
In the middle of the meadow, they dropped to the ground and looked up.
El Capitan stood over them, tall and foreboding in the dark.
“Come closer,” Walker said widening his legs and dragging her tight to his chest. She tipped her chin, leaning against his shoulder.
The lights on El Cap—tiny white lights—looked like stars fallen from heaven to decorate the granite. And above them, the haze of the Milky Way stretched wide and clear.
His fingers softly stroked the skin of her calves, running up and down the lines pushed into her body by running and hiking and climbing. The night air was sweet and his fingers stirred a deep ache in her stomach. She pretended to watch the flickering pinpricks of headlamps on the massive shadow of granite under the moonlight, but all she saw was the haze of stars and the sweep of Walker’s fingers up her legs, to her knees . . . to her thighs.
Her breath came fast, feeling the stillness in his body—the focus and attention. When she looked up at him, in the dark, his chin was tucked, watching the rise and fall of her chest in the sundress. The heart beating just under her skin.
They were in the meadow, but in the dead of night, the Valley had fallen silent. Tourists were tucked in their tents. In a room of rustling grass and the cool mountain wind, Rilla reached up and slid the straps of her dress off her shoulders.
His fingers stilled.
A shiver ran up her spine as the wind touched her skin, bringing the ache to the surface. She reached up and touched his lips; and in response, his fingers crushed the flesh of her thighs with desperation.
This was more than she could have ever dreamed for herself, back home. And here, she’d not only dreamed it into reality, she’d brought it to be so. Somehow. This gorgeous boy. The stars so clear and bright. With France ahead, and The Nose just within her grasp. Her body felt strong and capable. She slid a hand up her body, relishing in the hitch in Walker’s breath. She did it again. Teasing him with a body she possessed. A body that was hers.
He kissed her neck, hands moving from her thighs upward, dress clutched and caught in his grip. The cotton bunched around her waist, and his hands stilled at her hips.
She slid her feet closer to where she sat, letting her knees open wide in invitation.
When he didn’t immediately move his hands, she pressed back against him and slid her fingers between her legs.
Walker gave a low moan as he watched. His breath a rush of warmth on her skin, mixing with the cool breeze. The grass tickled her thighs. She owned this night. This body. This moment.
Tilting her chin up, she closed her eyes and sank into the ecstasy of both the moment and the journey. Her fingers moved under the edge of her underwear, trembling a little from the cold and desire and the idea that Walker was watching. Confidently, she touched herself—urged on by the hardness pressing in her lower back and the way Walker nearly whimpered before softly sinking his teeth in her shoulder.
“Can I?” His breath caught. “Touch you?”
The urge to deny him leapt in her throat; but she wasn’t ready to play that game. Maybe someday—but she was too hungry for the newness of his touch right now. Instead, she smiled dreamily and pulled his hand downward. His fingers were warm, and she shuddered at the way the hard grooves of his callused fingertips stroked her wet and exposed skin.
She moved her hands away, allowing him to take over. Desperate to touch him, she shifted over and reached behind her back.
He moved for her, pausing for a moment so she could unzip his pants and find his skin in a way that made him bite his lips tight to keep from crying out.
She smiled as he pulsed under her touch.
His fingers moved slowly at first. Teasing. Exploring. Responding when she reached down and gently adjusted his fingers. Pulling the strings of her need deep down along her spine until she was engulfed in her desire, panting and gasping and pushing her hips up in little shakes in an effort to get more. She tightened her grip on him, her arm awkward, feeling messy and raw, but not willing to lose hold of him and his pleasure at the same time as she chased hers. She arched her back, falling to pieces as he brought her to the edge and pushed her over. The stars exploded and showered her in effervescent sparks behind her eyes.
“Fuck. Keep going, please,” he whispered in her ear.
She leaned to the side, twisting between his legs to kiss his mouth as her hand moved. His hand closed over hers and, together, their shared breath roaring in her ears, she brought him with her.
His head fell back and the moonlight touched his lips.