Clear to Lift (17 page)

“It was just like the Pyrenees. God, the colors in autumn there!”

“Wait. The Pyrenees? When were you in the Pyrenees?”

“Oh…” Her voice falls, enthusiasm evaporating into the ether. “It was before you were born.”

“But … you never told me that. I thought you hadn't traveled. That you—”

“That was a long time ago,” she says with finality. Topic shuttered.

“Um … that sounds amazing.…”

The prolonged silence is awkward. Like our conversation on Friday. She must know I'll want to follow up on what we talked about, and now that she's just hinted at the past again, that's exactly where my brain goes. I'm about to bring it up—which she senses—so she dodges.

“Have you found out anything about Thanksgiving?” she asks. “Will you be able to come to the lodge?”

That's weird. She's must be pretty desperate to keep me off the subject of my father, if she's bringing up the lodge.

“Um, no. No, I'm sorry. I haven't had a chance to ask. But um, the lodge … you're okay with that?”

“I think so,” she says. “I think so.…”

Wow. She's okay with it. Going to the lodge. That's new.

I breathe in, set to speak, ready to broach the subject of our last phone call, and darn it if she doesn't sense it again. She launches another preemptive strike.

“Have you spoken with Rich this weekend?”

Okay, later.

“I did. Twice.” My left hand reaches for the zipper on the pant leg of my flight suit. I zip and unzip, zip and unzip. “He seemed really sorry.”

“Of course he is. I'm sure you two will have a great time this weekend.”

Zip, unzip. Zip, unzip.

“Mom, can we—”

“Will you tour him around Reno?”

“No … no, I don't think so. I'd rather show him the mountains.”

“The mountains? You?”

A comment like this from me probably surprises her as much as her comment about hiking surprised me. Given the option—a tour of the city or a trip to the wilderness—in the past, I would have chosen the city every time.

“Well, yeah,” I say. “We fly to them a lot. And they're really something. High. Rugged. Snowy.”

“I'd have bet money you'd have preferred dinner in a penthouse restaurant with a view.”

“Well … that would be nice, too, I guess.”

“I'm sure Rich would like that.”

“Probably … yeah … so, Mom, I really need to talk … that last phone call—”

“Alison. Please. I need time.”

“But … but, Mom. You can't leave me hanging like that!
Why?
Why did he leave?”

It wouldn't surprise me if a tumbleweed blew by in this moment of strained silence. It would fit, though. The helicopter cabin frames a view like a picture window—a desert so still, so remote, hawks lazily riding the updrafts above the staunchly rugged foothills of the Desatoya Mountains. And there is no sound here. Like literally, no sound. No cars. No humming of motors or generators. No conversation. No birdcall. The wind in my ears is about all that registers. And oddly, I find it overwhelmingly beautiful.

“He loved you so much,” she whispers.

I jump to attention.
What did she just say? What—?

The statement is so out-of-the-blue, so shocking, I almost drop the phone.

“What? What did you—? How could he—”

“You should know that, Alison. It's something I should have told you a long time ago. But at the time … well, at the time, I couldn't afford to think that way.”

“Mom…” My eyes glass up and my throat chokes with … hope … frustration … irritation? “Why? Why didn't you tell me? This would have been nice to know,” I say, not able to keep the anger out of my voice. As a kid, it's natural to blame yourself. You're the reason a parent would leave, right? Too much trouble. Too much whining. Too much crying, needy, needy, needy.

But you can't walk away from your kid. You just can't. Not if you love her. So since he did walk away, I assumed he didn't love me. Hated me even.

“I was selfish,” she says. “So much was my fault. I didn't want to hurt anymore. Better to just shut him out.”

I stand, unable to keep my place, leaping out of the cabin onto the barren desert floor. How is this conversation happening? Out-of-body experience? Are you kidding?

“Oh, Ali, that's the other line. I have to get this.”

“No! No, Mom. I need to talk with you!”

“I'm not ready yet, Alison. I don't want to hide this anymore, but I need time. Do you understand? Please, I need time.”

I stumble, catching myself before I faceplant.
Ali, think about what she's saying. She's not refusing to talk about it. There's still an opening here.
I blow away my anger in a long, exaggerated exhale.

“I understand,” I say.

“I love you, honey. We'll talk soon.” Click. And she's gone.

I hit
END
, and my hand drops to my side. Hamster mode kicks in, and I begin doing circles around the aircraft. I'm walking around a helicopter in the middle of freaking nowhere surrounded by dirt and dust and sage and … my father loved me.

Oh, god. I bend over, hands on my knees. It's what I've wanted to believe. I've wanted it so badly.…

“We're back!” Beanie calls.

I look up, world still spinning. Snoopy and Beanie are walking toward me.

I stand upright and drag myself back into the cockpit, donning my helmet and sliding the visor down so they can't see my watering eyes.

“He loved you…”

Why, if it's something I've wanted so badly, does it hurt so much?

 

19

“Next, I'll demonstrate how to use the figure-eight knot to secure a rope to a climber's harness,” Will says. “I just need a volunteer.”

Now almost a week since Jack's party, it hasn't gotten any easier—Will still fixed in my thoughts. But I've worked to get my mind right, to focus on reality. I've decided that, yes, I can acknowledge my physical attraction to Will, but I don't have to act on it. How could I possibly jeopardize what I have with Rich for some passing fancy?

But then this came up. Rock-climbing training. Led by Will. And we've had a rough start this morning.…

“Alison would love to volunteer!” Jack pipes up.

“No. She wouldn't,” Will says flatly.

What?
Sure, Will wasn't satisfied with the outcome of our last conversation, but to have him answer for me…?

“
Yes.
She would,” I say, stepping forward.

Our aircrewmen shuffle their feet. Tito and Danny clear their throats. Kelly, Tawny, and the rest turn their heads, looking at the sky, the dirt.

I step closer, right in front of him. “I'm ready.”

Will holds my eyes a moment longer—not happy—before getting back to the business of training. It doesn't take long to figure out why Jack so readily offered me up as a volunteer, because Will has to stand so close to demonstrate what he was talking about.

He threads the rope through my harness—
yank
—then rethreads the rope through the figure-eight pattern—
yank
and
yank
—never meeting my eyes as he speaks to the group.

“After you tie the figure-eight,” Will says, stepping away, “you're set to climb.”

Will picks up the other end of the rope, runs it through the belay device on his harness, and pulls in the slack.

“You're on belay,” he says. No inflection. Nothing.

“I am? Wait! How am I first?” I ask, turning to Jack, to my aircrewmen.

“Well, you're tied in, ma'am,” Beanie says. “Only makes sense.”

Jack offers a too-cheery smile.

“Thanks a lot,” I say, with a scowl in his direction. It only makes him smile wider.

“After I say, ‘You're on belay,' you say, ‘Climbing,'” Will reminds.

Will did cover all of this, the proper communication phrases between climber and belayer, and I actually did pay attention. I just didn't think I'd be
first.

“Climbing,” I say.

“Climb on.”

I face the granite slab and look fifty feet up to the top, where the anchor system holds the rope in place. Schoolhouse Rock is supposed to be the beginner area on Donner Summit, but you could have fooled me.

Oh, boy.

“You've got this, Alison,” Jack says. “Remember, keep the weight on your feet.”

I study the rock, with its microscopic indentations, where I'm supposed to place my feet, then look at my running shoes, which seem to grow in front of my eyes, as large and bulbous as Mickey Mouse's. No way this is going to work.

I chance a quick peek at Kelly, who wears slim, rubber-soled, sticky-bottomed rock shoes, understanding registering in a flash of the need for proper gear.

Clark leans in next to me. “You know the deal,” he says in his comforting way. “Relax, and you'll be fine.”

Deep breath.

Will must sense my nervousness, because he adjusts the tension on the rope, a reassuring gesture to let me know he's got me. I'm not going far, if I slip.

And so, I start up. Reaching for handholds, placing my feet with care, slowly, surely, not wanting to do anything rash or spastic, especially not in front of an audience. Jack offers hints—put this hand here, stand on that nub there, pull your hips into the rock, and up I go. Every reach, every step, every movement is performed with greater confidence the higher I climb. I am concentrated. Focused. Only the next hold. Only the next placement. Up and up and up.

What a bizarre, crazy, wonderful thing. Muscles enervated, small beads of sweat trickling at my neck, loose strands of hair lifted by a crisp, soft breeze, eyes wide, looking for the next hold, stretching, flexing, breathing, exhilarating—and in one of those fast-forward, time-warp moments, my hand touches the carabiner that anchors the rope at the top.

To my right, Donner Lake glistens turquoise in the midmorning sun, and ten miles beyond is the deep sapphire blue of Lake Tahoe. I breathe it in, the scents, the sights, the silence, filling my lungs, filling my soul. And in one long, satisfied exhale, I'm able to purge the stresses and tension of the morning, feeling fresh and new.

Will's voice startles.

“Ready to take?” Will says.

Take? Wait a second—

“Lean back! Let the rope take your weight!”

Lean back?

He covered this earlier—get to the top, lean back, make an L shape with your body, straighten your legs, plant your feet on the rock, and let go of the rope. But now, fifty feet above the ground, the instructions don't seem that simple anymore.

My forearms tighten, my fingers squeezing harder on their holds, secure in my perch.

“Alison, lean back!”

I look down, meeting Will's tiny eyes. I feel the rope tighten as he pulls it in. “I've got you!”

Will's voice is no longer so remote. Clearly, he's concerned.

I start to lean back, but stop. I can't let go. There's no control in this. I look below me, lowering my foot. Maybe I can just climb down?

“Alison, I've got you! You have to lean back!”

My calves, tiring from where I cling, begin to quiver. My fingers are numb, heavy. I can't hold here. Shit!

“He's got you, Alison!” Clark yells up. “You have to relax and lean back! You can do it!”

I feel the last bit of strength ebbing from my fingers. Please let there be another way. I look down again.
Just start down-climbing, Alison!
But it's too late, my fingers start to slip off the rock. Out of options, I grab on to the rope.

“That's it! Now lean back!” Will says.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I lean back, at the mercy of Will and the rope, yet still clinging to it for all I'm worth.

“Let go of the rope!”

Let go? Every molecule in me screams,
No!

“Let go, Alison! You gotta let go!”

I stare fixedly at the twisted nylon strands, a blue and yellow mix.
Will has done this a thousand times. The rope will hold. It'll hold, Alison. You have to trust him.

I close my eyes as he lowers me, surely only moments away from plunging to my demise. But as my feet touch bottom, the switch flips, and the exhilaration returns. I've cheated death! Every over-the-top emotion I felt at the top washes over me in a torrent. I put my hands to my face. Yes, that's a smile I'm feeling. A big one.

“Off belay,” Will says.

Bursting and bubbling, a five-year-old at Disneyland, I turn to Will. “That was awesome! I want to go again!”

The look in his eyes rocks me to the core—something so deep, so sad—like he's had the rug pulled out from under him.

“You should probably let the others have a turn first, though, don't you think?” Jack says, completely upbeat.

“Yeah, no hoggin', ma'am,” Sky says.

I clear my throat. “Um, yeah. I mean, after everyone else, of course.”

Clark arrives with a fist bump. “Nice work.”

“Thanks,” I say.

As Clark walks away, I look down at the knot, unsure how to proceed. Undo the whole thing? Untie it partway for the next person? “Now, how do I—?”

“Like this,” Will says, moving close. He begins to unthread the rope from its twisted figure-eight configuration, but unlike earlier, no yanking this time.

“Have you ever climbed before?” he asks.

“No, never.”

Will looks to Jack, and they shake their heads.

“What is it?” I say.

“You're just…” He lowers his head, and pulls the rope through and out of my harness, leaving the skeleton of the figure-eight knot still twisted into the rope.

“What?” I ask.

He hesitates, focusing on the knot, pulling it out a bit to loosen it.