A Song for the Asking

by Steve Gannon

  “She can learn all that in a year?”

  “Sure. I’m a good teacher. It’s no different from raising kids: repetition, consistency, patience, and discipline.”

  “And letting her know when she does something right,” Nate added protectively, bristling at his father’s reference to discipline.

  “Of course,” Kane said with a smile. “That’s the most important part, but it won’t take much. You’ll see. Labs are the finest dogs in the world, and once we get going, you’re going to find she’ll do anything to please us, unlike kids. It’s built into the breed. When we’re done, I’m going to want to take her hunting a couple times a year, if that’s okay with you. By then you’ll be old enough to handle a gun yourself. Maybe you’ll want to come along.”

  Nate looked down and shook his head.

  “We’ll see when the time comes,” said Kane. “Now, second off, feeding and cleaning up will be your job, too.”

  “Okay.”

  “Well, do you want her?”

  Nate hesitated. “She’ll really be mine?”

  “That’s right, kid. She’ll be all yours.”

  “And you won’t ever hurt her?”

  Kane studied his son. “Like I did Sam?”

  Nate stared at Kane without answering, his lips compressed in a silent slash of defiance and anger.

  Kane gazed out over the ocean. “You know, Nate,” he said, “when you came along, Sam had already been part of the family for a lot of years. By the time you were old enough to notice him, he’d grown pretty feeble.”

  “I loved Sammy,” Nate said quietly.

  “I know you did, kid. I also know how much you miss him, and how mad you are at me for what I did. I know I screwed up bad in the way I went about it, but it was his time to go and putting him down was my responsibility. It was something I had to do. Do you know why?”

  “No.”

  “Because I loved him, too.”

  Nate glanced away, refusing to look at his father.

  “I’ll tell you something, son. If you take this pup, she’s going to be with you long after everyone else leaves except me and your mom. She’s going to become your best friend in the whole world, and you’ll love her more than you can imagine. Maybe even as much as you loved Sam.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You’re afraid of that, aren’t you?”

  Nate stared at his hands without answering.

  “I thought so. Look, there are a lot of great things about having a dog, but there’s a hard part to it, too. The hard part is being responsible for her, and sooner or later it’s something you’re going to have to take on. One day somewhere down the line it’ll be her time to go. It may be a year from how; it could be fifteen, but that day is going to come. And when it does, it’ll be the responsibility of the people who love her to do whatever’s necessary to help her out.”

  “You mean like giving her pills, taking her to the vet?”

  “You know what I mean, Nate. Having this pup means accepting that someday we’re going to lose her, just as we lost Sam. Can you do that?”

  “I … I don’t know.”

  “Nate, before you make up your mind on this, let me tell you something,” said Kane sympathetically. “Some people might think you’re too young to hear this. I don’t. Considering what happened a few weeks back, I think you’re ready—not to mention the fact that you’re a Kane. So here it is: A lot of hard things like losing Sam, and other things like those guys breaking into our house are going to happen to you during your life—things you can’t do anything about. But a lot of good things will happen, too. Growing up, falling in love, having a family of your own. Unfortunately, there’s a hard part to that, too. You’re going to discover that some of the very best things in life, the ones you treasure more than anything else, often carry a heavy price. But unless you’re willing to pay that price, you’re going to miss out.”

  Nate nodded slowly. “Mom told me something like that, too.”

  “She did, huh? Well, I’m not surprised.” Kane paused, again regarding his son. “Well, what do you think? Do you want this pup or not?”

  Nate thought for a long time. Finally he answered. “I want her,” he said.

  Kane smiled. “Good. You just took a big step toward becoming a man. What are you going to name her? And for God’s sake, please don’t pick some pansy name like Princess or Fluffy or Daisy.”

  Nate considered. “Callie,” he declared. “Her name’s Callie.”

  “California Callie,” mused Kane. “I like it.”

  “Just Callie, Dad.”

  “Okay, kid. Callie it is.” Kane laughed, tousling Nate’s already disheveled hair. Then his smile faded. “Now that we have that settled, there’s something else I’ve been meaning to bring up.”

  Nate sat quietly, waiting for his father to continue. Callie, who by now had tired of stick-chewing, yawned, stretched, and trotted over to curl up in Nate’s lap.

  “It’s about the night those punks robbed our house. I’ve already had a private talk with your sister about it. I’ve been waiting for the right time to go over it with you.”

  “You talked with Allison? What did she say?”

  “Not much. She still claims it happened just the way she told the sheriffs. But from the way you two have been acting, I have a suspicion that more went on that night than you’re telling.”

  Again, Nate looked away.

  “Do you know why I didn’t push Allison about it?”

  “No,” said Nate in a small voice.

  “I’ll tell you,” said Kane. “I figure whatever else happened that night, those scumbags broke into our house, and the guy who bled out on the beach got what he deserved. The investigation is closed, the DA has no interest in pursuing things, and I’m sure not going to open it up again—especially as the only reason I can think of that might explain your not telling all you know is that you and Allison are ashamed of something. And Nate, I can see from looking at your face right now that I’m right.”

  Nate sat numbly, wishing he could hide.

  “Son, you and Allison are Kanes. I know you would never do anything wrong, but since that night you and your sister have been acting, I don’t know … different. So I’m asking you once more. Is there anything you want to get off your chest?”

  Miserably, Nate shook his head. Travis had confronted him recently with similar suspicions. Nate had wanted to tell the truth then as well, but he couldn’t then … any more than he could now.

  “Allison made you promise, didn’t she? Don’t answer, I figured that already.” Kane thought a moment and then continued. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll respect your promise to your sister for now, but I definitely plan to get to the bottom of things. Sooner or later I’ll find out what you’re hiding, but I would prefer it if you and Allison came to me on your own. Will you think about it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “One more thing. Look at me, Nate.”

  Nate turned, reluctantly lifting his eyes to his father’s.

  “You’re a good kid,” Kane said slowly. “I sense you may be having doubts about that right now—with this secret or whatever it is—and I can see how it’s affecting you. Whatever it is, it could never change the way your mom and I feel about you. No matter what. Okay?”

  Abruptly, Nate felt the sting of tears. He tried to hold them back and failed. Torn between embarrassment and desolation, he sat before his father, furiously wiping his cheeks with his small fists, unable to stem a long-overdue flow. “I … I’m sorry, Dad,” he sobbed. “I can’t help it …”

  “It’s okay, Nate. It’s okay.” Kane put his arm around his son and drew him close. For several minutes they sat without speaking as the boy cried himself out, their figures joined on the hilltop in the hush of early morning. At last Callie, who had grown tired of the strange new game her humans had decided to play, yapped and tugged at Nate’s sleeve.

  “I guess it’s time to go,” Nate sniffed, looking down at th
e insistent pup. “She’s probably getting hungry.”

  “Me, too,” said Kane, giving his son a final hug. “Let’s go home and have your mom scare us up some breakfast before church. What do you say?”

  “Okay, Dad.” Nate took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. Gathering Callie in his arms, he stood. “Let’s go home.”

  *

  High on the vertical granite of Needleham Mountain, Tommy and Travis rested briefly, talking quietly and taking in the view. Then, all too soon to suit Travis, Tommy decided it was again time to move. But instead of taking the lead as he had before, he slipped off the equipment rack. “Last chance, Trav,” he said, offering the rack to his brother. “After this one it’s a scramble to the top, then a walk off the back.”

  Travis hesitated. Despite the difficulties experienced during the initial pitches, as the climb had progressed he had felt his fears gradually being eroded by a growing sense of confidence and accomplishment. Presented now with the prospect of leading the final pitch, his terror came flooding back, stronger and more pervasive than ever.

  “Come on, bro,” Tommy prodded gently. “You can do it.”

  “Guess I can’t let you do all the work,” Travis replied, wishing he could refuse but knowing he couldn’t. Trying to keep his hands from shaking, he took the rack.

  He spent several moments nervously arranging the equipment, sorting slings, and replacing the pieces he had cleaned on the preceding pitch. Next he dipped his hands into his chalk bag, finding, to his embarrassment, that he had to dust them twice to dry his sweaty palms. At last, filled with a presentiment of disaster, he leaned out, placed a large stopper in a crack above his head, and clipped in the rope. He looked down. The wall fell away in a sickening plunge to the jagged rocks below.

  “On belay?” he said, hoping Tommy didn’t catch the tremor in his voice.

  Tommy passed the rope around his back. After checking the anchor to make sure it would take an upward tug, he braced himself in the cave. “Belay on.”

  Travis took a deep breath. “Climbing.”

  Trembling with anticipation and exhilaration and fear, the rock cold and unforgiving beneath his hands, Travis edged out over the void. Heart pounding, he abandoned the safety of the embrasure, his back to the drop. Using opposing pressure on the flaring walls on either side, he moved out carefully, eyeing a handhold higher up. He swung his left foot onto the face, finding a toehold on a small nubbin. Gingerly, he transferred weight to his foot. Attempting to ignore the vast, sickening plunge beneath, he squinted up the sheer vertical expanse. After surmounting the chockstone, he would have a respite on top, then a face climb using a series of small finger cracks to the ledge above the main overhang.

  “I assume you’ll need plenty of slack for this move—say, fifteen or twenty feet,” offered Tommy from his perch in the cave, clearly enjoying his brother’s apprehension.

  “Screw you. Just keep that rope tight.”

  “Hold on a sec. I’ve gotta pick my nose.”

  Although irritated by Tommy’s cavalier attempt at humor, Travis recognized it for what it was: an effort to decrease Travis’s anxiety level and, at the same time, goad him into making the difficult and exposed move. Thanks to his hesitation, Travis’s left leg had already begun to tire. He realized he had to do something. Soon. He considered placing a second protective piece. Rejected it. No time. Besides, the first nut looked solid, and Tommy would recognize another piece placement as a patent indication of fear, as unmistakable as writing on a billboard.

  “Anytime, bro.”

  His leg trembling now under the strain, Travis knew he had reached a pivotal moment. He either had to proceed or retreat. Nervously, he placed his hand high in the slot and wedged his fingers between the chockstone and the wall. Leaning back on his arm, he brought his right foot to his waist, smearing his toe against the granite.

  Weight on his right leg now … moving up through an adrenaline rush of excitement and fear, jamming a fist, his other foot finding a small flake, left hand scrabbling, searching for a hold … finding one, right leg up again …

  … and over.

  “Nice move, Trav. I missed the last part, though. How about doing it again?”

  “Not a chance,” Travis replied, cramming a small stopper in the crack above him. “I plan on enjoying the rest of this pitch.”

  “Don’t let me stop you. I’ll be down here takin’ a little nap.”

  “Funny, Tom. You just be ready.”

  A moment later Travis started out once more, the sun warm on his back. He moved up smoothly on a nearly invisible series of nubbins, using tiny cracks in the surface for finger jams and an occasional nut or stopper for protection. Twenty feet higher the climbing relented to 5.9 or 5.10—still tricky and demanding, but within his ability. With a surge of relief Travis felt the knots in his stomach beginning to loosen. He was leading the best pitch of his life, climbing as well as he had ever climbed—moving surely, eyes and fingers exploring the rock above, his body following with fluid and unconscious grace.

  A half hour later he traversed to the sloping bulge they had seen from the ground, and shortly afterward gained the narrow shelf over the main overhang. He peered over the edge. The granite fell away to a small outcrop thirty-five feet down, past which it dropped in a dizzying plummet to the talus eight hundred feet below.

  “You there yet?”

  “Yeah. Off belay,” Travis called down. “Give me a minute to get in an anchor.”

  Glancing at the equipment rack, Travis saw he had used most of the small wired nuts on the ascent, and, unfortunately, they were exactly what he needed now for a new anchor. Making do with the equipment remaining on the rack, he finally got in two fairly good pieces: a medium stopper and a large Friend. As an afterthought he looped a nylon sling around a rock horn nearby and added it to the anchor system. Next he took a ten-foot bight at his end of the rope, tied a figure-eight knot, and clipped it to his anchoring setup, securing himself to the rock at the end of a short tether. That done, he hauled in slack rope until he felt Tommy’s weight at the other end.

  “Belay on,” he yelled down.

  “Climbing.”

  Although from the ledge Travis couldn’t actually see his brother, he could follow his progress by maintaining tension on the belay. Over the years he had learned to read the rope, deciphering a rich texture of meaning in the pauses and hesitations, the rapid ascents and sudden strains, and the occasional jarring tugs. He concentrated as he felt Tommy pause at the chockstone, then shook his head in silent wonder as he took in rope seconds later, realizing Tommy had easily surmounted the overhang. A brief interruption followed for piece removal, then again rapid progress. Barely fifteen minutes later Tommy’s head topped the base of the ledge.

  Nice lead,” said Tommy as he mantled onto the shelf. “Off belay.”

  “Thanks,” said Travis. He stepped out of his belay, then tied a second figure eight in the rope near Tommy’s belt, preparing to secure him to the anchor. “I have to admit getting over the chockstone got my heart pounding a little.”

  Tommy grinned. “Me, too,” he agreed, offering the wired nuts and stoppers he had retrieved on the way up. “Here.”

  Instead of taking the pieces, Travis clipped a carabiner through Tommy’s figure eight. “Let me anchor you in first.”

  Impatiently, Tommy shoved the hardware at Travis. “Just take ’em, Mr. Safety. We’re standing on a ledge, for chrissake.”

  Shrugging, Travis reached for the pieces. As he did, a large stopper slipped through his fingers and bounced across the ledge.

  “I’ve got it.” Tommy grabbed, missed, then dropped to his knees and lunged. His hand closed on the stopper just before it skittered over the edge. “Like they say,” he said, holding up the piece triumphantly as he rose, “the hand is quicker than the—”

  As he stood, Tommy cracked his head on the rock horn that Travis had used as part of the anchoring system. He stumbled, nearly dislodging Travis’s an
chor sling. He tried to catch himself, teetering for a long terrible moment. In the passing of a heartbeat his expression changed from surprise and irritation to numb, mindless terror as he realized he was going over. “No—”

  Travis’s eyes widened in horror as he saw Tommy disappear over the edge. He grabbed for the rope, grappling at the loose coils as they snaked after his brother. Trying for a belay, he whipped a loop of rope around his back.

  Too late.

  His hands burning now as the rope shot through—faster, faster …

  Tommy’s scream grew distant. Heart in his throat, Travis braced for the final jerk he knew was coming, praying the anchor system he’d placed would hold. An instant later Tommy’s weight hit the end of the rope.

  The line between them snapped tight, sweeping Travis over the edge.

  22

  Travis shook his head, trying to clear his vision. He peered down the rope through a haze of red, trying to spot his brother. “Tommy!”

  No answer.

  Fighting panic, Travis hung suspended a body’s length beneath the ledge, eight hundred feet above the valley floor.

  “Tommy!”

  Something running into his eyes …

  Blood.

  Travis squeezed his eyes shut and wiped his face on his shirt. Finally able to see, he stared into the sickening abyss below him. The rope disappeared past the small outcrop he had noticed earlier, thirty-five feet down. Tension on the line told him his brother was still at the other end.

  Travis glanced up at the ledge. His breath caught in his throat. Both the stopper and Friend, the two pieces he had placed as belay anchors, now dangled uselessly from the figure eight he’d tied in his end of the rope. Placing his feet against the wall, he leaned out on his short tether, noticing that only the sling he’d looped as an afterthought over the rock horn had held. With a chill, he also saw that it had slipped precariously close to the tip.