Worth Every Step

by K. G. MacGregor

Startled, she stopped and realized she had continued on past the Internet café.

  “It’s probably not a big deal, but it might not be a good idea to go off by yourself,” Drew said.

  “I kind of zoned out there.”

  They went inside and took a seat on the window ledge. The tiny shop had two tables with computers, four in all. One was occupied by locals, three young men who crowded around the monitor. The others in their group were already logging on.

  Mary Kate’s thoughts drifted again. To whom would she write, and what would she say? The first answer was clear. No one in her family had e-mail, so that left only Bobby and Deb. When she finally got her turn at the computer, she was surprised to find an e-mail from Bobby already waiting.

  Hello, sweetheart! By the time you get this, you’ll probably be home, back from “conquering” that big old mountain of yours. I just wanted to send this so you would know how soon I started missing you. Can’t wait to have you back in my arms where you belong. Love, Bobby

  She read his message three times with growing irritation. The quote marks around the word “conquering” were his little joke, another patronizing putdown. And the idea that she belonged in his arms made her feel like a piece of property. Two could play that game, she thought, hitting the reply key.

  Hi, Bobby! I’m writing from an Internet café here in Moshi, the village where we’re staying before we start our climb tomorrow. I made it here without any problems at all, just as I knew I would. I’ve already gotten to know some of the people in my group, including a couple from Seattle. Mei was the one who really wanted to come, but her husband Neal came along to give her moral support and share the experience. They’re so nice. I’ll write again when I get back down. Tell Mom and Dad I got here okay. Love, Mary Kate

  She revised it a couple of times to make it seem less bitchy and sent it off. Then she wrote a quick note to Deb, officially announcing her intention to break up with Bobby as soon as she got home.

  Chapter Seven

  “…stay on the line. Your call is very important to us…”

  Addison flipped through her backpack in search of her itinerary. It was probably useless at this point, but the information on the hotel was there. At the other end of the line, Tom Muncie was scrambling to find her a seat on the next plane to Kilimanjaro.

  When she began training five months ago, she hadn’t anticipated that the most arduous part of the trip would be getting to the trailhead in time to go up with her group. Cyn’s meticulous travel plans had fallen all to hell when her father persuaded her to stop in London on the way over. Since she was now traveling alone, she had forfeited her economy-class ticket to Tanzania through Amsterdam in exchange for first-class to Gatwick and on to Nairobi, courtesy of Reginald. But the Kenya Airways flight had been delayed nine hours for maintenance, which caused her to miss the Kilimanjaro connection. The ticket agent was unable to confirm her on a later flight.

  She rolled her eyes at the folly of accepting her father’s “invitation” to spend the afternoon with him so he could hear all about the Kilimanjaro quest. He couldn’t have cared less about her trip, though he was complimentary of her weight loss. His intent was to show her the office she would occupy at the London headquarters of Global Allied Investments and to introduce her to her future coworkers. He was unfazed by her insistence that she wasn’t in any hurry to start the job, showing her also the nearby apartment building where he was prepared to lease a one- bedroom flat. The real topper, as far as Addison was concerned, was his tour through neighboring Soho to remind her of London’s lively gay and lesbian community. She had almost laughed aloud at how much that phony gesture must have pained him. He was still holding out hope she would outgrow her lesbian phase.

  “Addison?” The crackly voice finally returned on the phone.

  “I’m still here.”

  “Okay, here’s what we’ve got.”

  She listened in disbelief as Tom outlined an overland bus trip to Arusha where she would transfer to a vehicle bound for Moshi. That would put her at the hotel sometime after ten p.m., but enable her to leave first thing in the morning with her group. Otherwise, she would have to be escorted the next day by porters to a meet-up camp along the route.

  “That doesn’t sound like much of a choice, Tom.”

  “It isn’t bad. Some of our trekkers opt for the overland route so they can see a little more of the countryside.”

  Two hundred miles in a third world bus wasn’t Addison’s idea of a pleasant sightseeing trip, but she didn’t like the idea of spending a night in Nairobi either, especially at the airport. She jotted down the details and thanked Tom for his help. There probably weren’t many tour operators who would piece things together on the fly at three a.m., the time back in Seattle.

  The bus to Arusha wasn’t due for another two hours, enough time for a shower in the Simba Lounge, the travelers club for elite passengers on Kenya Airways. She checked with the agent and got the key, shuddering as she endured a rude suggestion from a balding Afrikaner who was waiting for a flight to Cape Town. Inside the lavatory, she double-checked the lock before undressing.

  The mirror confirmed her exhaustion, most evident in the way her shoulders slumped forward, making her appear shorter than her five-eight frame. She stood up straight and rolled her neck in a circle to loosen up. It was hard not to admire her own figure, slim and sculpted from hours of running and lifting weights at the Wellness Center on the University of Miami campus. Whether she made it to the summit or not, getting ready for the trip had certainly had its benefits.

  She pulled the tie from her hair and shook it free. It never surprised her to get come-ons from men, or women either. She had inherited what she thought were her mother’s best features—a golden complexion, full lips and brown eyes that angled slightly from her Peruvian-Japanese ancestry. Celia had called her exotic.

  Turning on the spray, she shook away thoughts of her last lover, an aspiring model she had stolen from another woman, only to lose her to someone else. Lesson learned.

  Thirty minutes later, she emerged from the Simba Lounge refreshed and with a second wind she would undoubtedly need for the home stretch into Moshi. Tom had advised her to stay alert while in the airport and keep to herself. Though it was normally safe for Westerners, he said, the Kenyan capital had suffered political violence recently, and steering clear of crowds was a good idea.

  Addison picked up her bus tickets at the window and settled with her bags onto a bench, using her sunglasses and cap to shield her eyes from those around her. When her bus arrived on schedule an hour later, she boarded and took a seat to herself near the back. Too late, she realized she was hungry and that her packages of trail mix were stored in the bottom of her Summit bag.

  An hour out of Nairobi, she trained her eyes out the window, hoping to see the giant mountain in the distance. Finally, she gave up in the waning light. A view of the savannah would have to wait, she thought, closing her eyes with fatigue.

  A gentle tug of her leg awakened her, and she automatically jerked her foot to draw her backpack closer. She had looped the shoulder strap around her ankle for safekeeping, and was annoyed but not terribly surprised that someone behind her had attempted to move it. Without turning around, she straightened in her seat to make room for the pack beside her.

  At the border, they were guided through immigration and herded onto a different bus. The couple who had been sitting behind her didn’t make the transfer, but Addison fought the urge to sleep again, reminded of Tom’s warning to stay alert. The last thing she needed—as if her travel fiascos weren’t already enough—was to be robbed of her passport and cash.

  She transferred again in Arusha, this time to a van with two other passengers. When they reached Moshi, the van stopped at a traffic circle, visible only from their headlights.

  “View Hotel?” the driver asked.

  “That’s me,” she said, heaving her backpack over her shoulder. She scanned her surroundings as she stepped o
ut, trying to locate the hotel.

  The driver unloaded her duffel and Summit bag from the back of the van and pointed to a road extending from the circle. “View Hotel there.”

  “Down that road?”

  “Yes.”

  Even in the blackness of night, she could make out a few buildings, none of which were large enough to be a hotel. “How far?”

  He pointed into the abyss. “There,” he said, clearly struggling with his limited English.

  “Can you take me?” she asked, fumbling in her pocket for cash. She hoped she was handing him a five dollar bill, but who could tell in this light?

  “Asante,” he said, his face lighting up in a smile. Then he hastily hopped back into the van and drove off, leaving her standing in the street.

  “Shit.” Out of options, she hoisted her bags and trudged down the road. Acutely aware she was breaking the promises she had made to her mother to be careful, stay with the group and not go off on her own at night, she tuned in to her surroundings. The street was lined with houses—shacks, really—the faint glow of what she guessed was candlelight emanating from within.

  As her eyes grew accustomed to the night, she made out a large compound in the distance nearly a half mile ahead. Three times she stopped to rest, her shoulders screaming in agony with her heavy load each time she started up again.

  Suddenly, the sound of male voices made her stop in her tracks. Two shadowy figures were walking toward her. She hated to think the worst, but a woman out alone at night could tempt anyone. Her mind raced to inventory her belongings for something she might use as a weapon. As the men drew closer, her heart pounded with fear.

  “Addison Falk?”

  She was startled by the sound of her own name. “Yes.”

  “We are from the View Hotel. Tom Muncie phoned to say you would be taking the late bus from Arusha.”

  Addison exhaled and dropped her bags, which they quickly picked up. “I wasn’t even sure where the hotel was.”

  “You arrived early or we would have met you in town.”

  She fell into step with them, trying to slow the shaking in her legs. “It’s okay. Thanks for coming.”

  They bypassed the deserted front desk and went by candlelight to a room on the second floor. There, she dumped her belongings and undressed, finally crawling beneath the mosquito netting to her bed. In moments, she drifted off.

  Chapter Eight

  Addison completed the hotel’s check-in process and stowed her passport in the side pocket of her convertibles, the hiking pants that became shorts when she unzipped the legs.

  “The rest of your group is having breakfast,” the woman told her, coming around the large mahogany counter to steer her into the restaurant.

  Addison counted nine at the table, three men and six women, all laughing and talking like old friends. Her first stop was the buffet, where she filled her plate with scrambled eggs and bread. The meat—whatever it was—looked a bit overcooked, and Cyn had warned her not to eat too many fruits or vegetables. She dropped a teabag into a cup and poured it full of steaming water. Only then did she approach the table, clearing her throat to announce her presence. “Is this the Summit crowd?”

  A young man jumped to his feet and pulled out a chair. “Guilty. My name is Drew. And you are…?”

  “Addison Falk, from Miami.” She had studied the list from Tom Muncie. Drew Harper, she remembered, was from Colorado. The others shouted friendly hellos in unison as she set her plate at the open spot.

  Drew gallantly pushed her chair to the table. “I’ll make the introductions, Addison from Miami. Now pay attention because you may be tested on this later.”

  She set down her fork and studied the group, mindful of any clues that would help her match the faces to the names.

  “This is Ann, from Minnesota.” His accent changed to poke fun at the Scandinavian cadence. “They talk funny there, you know.”

  “Yah,” Addison said in agreement, drawing a laugh from everyone, including Ann. She appeared to be oldest in the group, in her mid-forties.

  “The lovely woman next to her is Mei, and the ugly man is her husband, Neal. They’re from Seattle. You still with me?”

  “Ann, Mei and Neal,” she repeated, committing their names to memory.

  “Those two at the end of the table are the lovebirds, Kirby and Rachel. Courtney is their chaperone. They all wear clothing that says Penn State in case they get lost.”

  Addison chuckled, glad she hadn’t worn her UM cap. As a frequent world traveler, she had learned to avoid wearing anything that proclaimed she was American.

  “And that child next to Courtney is Nikki, niece of Ann, also from Minnesota. At a mere eighteen years old, she is wiser than all of us.”

  “Kirby, Rachel, Courtney and Nikki.”

  “And this is Mary Kate, from Jaw-ja,” he said. The young woman blushed as Drew butchered what Addison bet was a lovely southern accent. Then he cast Addison a challenging look. “Now it’s your turn.”

  Addison rubbed her hands together and concentrated, remembering not only the introductions, but the additional information Tom had sent in her travel packet. From her work with Miami’s business community, she prided herself on being prepared so she could make a good first impression.

  “Wait,” Drew said. “Chinese fire drill!”

  Addison shook her head indulgently as everyone got up and changed seats. Then one by one she pointed at the expectant faces around the table. “Okay…Nikki from St. Paul, Drew from Aurora, Mei and Neal from Seattle…Ann from St. Paul…Kirby, Rachel and Courtney from State College, Pennsylvania, and”— she looked the southern woman in the eye and smiled—“that makes you Mary Kate Sasser, from…don’t tell me…Mooresville, Georgia.”

  The whole group applauded her triumph as her eyes lingered on Mary Kate. She was pretty—not stunning like the Latina models that adorned South Beach…more like the girl-next- door—slender with short brown hair and small features. Addison couldn’t wait to hear her speak in that accent.

  “You must have gotten in late last night,” Mary Kate said.

  Addison related the whole miserable turn of events. “I could use two more days just to catch up on my sleep, but word has it we have a mountain to climb.”

  “Mary Kate understands all about sleep. She’s been doing that a lot. By the way, you didn’t happen to bring any extra underwear, did you?” Drew asked.

  Everyone laughed at what she knew was her curious expression. “I might be able to spare a sports bra. What size do you wear?”

  “Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of long johns, but a sports bra could be kind of fun too.”

  “Drew’s luggage is still back in Atlanta,” Mary Kate said. “The hotel found him a sleeping bag and a parka, but we’re all pitching in a few extra things so he won’t smell so bad.”

  “Good plan.” She stood and motioned for Drew to do the same, wondering if Drew’s route through Atlanta had anything to do with being Mary Kate’s boyfriend. From their teasing, they seemed familiar. “I have another pair of convertibles you can use if they fit. And an extra fleece pullover.”

  “Fantastic! Can I kiss you?”

  Probably not the boyfriend. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Can I kiss you anyway?”

  “Only in your Larium dreams,” she answered, drawing a raucous round of laughter. Larium was the medicine prescribed to ward off malaria, and she had taken the weekly dosage upon arriving in London. On the subsequent flight to Nairobi, bizarre images had filled her head each time she dozed off.

  Neal stood and pulled out his wife’s chair. “It’s almost time to go. We’re supposed to bring down all the stuff we’re leaving here so they can lock it up.”

  “Finish your breakfast. I’ll sit with you,” Mary Kate said.

  Addison liked that idea very much. She checked her watch. “We have about thirty minutes. My stuff ’s packed already.”

  “Mine too.” Mary Kate nursed a
cup of what looked like cocoa. “There was another couple on our list from Miami, but they aren’t here.”

  “Cyn and Javier Juarez…friends of mine,” Addison mumbled, her mouth full. “Cyn got pregnant and it was too risky for her to take the shots.”

  “It’s too bad you had to deal with all those travel changes on your own.”

  “More adventure than I wanted, but at least I got here.” She finished her eggs and wiped her mouth with a linen napkin. “I haven’t even seen the mountain yet.”

  “You’re kidding.” Mary Kate’s eyes grew as wide as a child’s, causing Addison to grin with delight. “Come out here.”

  Addison followed her out the front door of the hotel and into the street. The monstrous peak loomed over them and she gasped. “Holy shit.”

  “My words exactly. They don’t call it the View Hotel for nothing.”

  “There’s no fu—there’s no freaking way we’ll get to the top of that.”

  “How much do you want it?”

  “I want it bad,” she said, smiling at Mary Kate’s look of determination. “You?”

  “That’s what I came for.”

  “All right. We’ll get there together.” She slapped a high five, just as a bus pulled through the hotel gate. “I bet that’s our ride. We better go in and lock up our stuff.”

  Twenty minutes later, the hikers were gathered on the front porch, where a tall, muscular black man waited with papers in hand. “Do you have copies of your passport?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Good. I am Luke. I will be your trail guide for the trip to the top of Kili. Today, we will drive for three hours to enter the park at Londorossi Gate. Everyone must sign the book and write down the passport number. It is required to enter the park. When we reach the trail, we will hike through the rainforest for four hours to Mti Mkubwa—which means to you Big Tree—where we will camp for the night. You will be tired tonight. Do not forget to drink water, even if you are not thirsty—two liters each day.”