“Dad,” I start, unsure what to say.
He shakes his head, every motion looking painful. “Not sure this is going to happen,” he says, his voice flat. “I…” He breaks off into a coughing jag that leaves him doubled over.
Bishal takes off his pack and leaves it in the corner. “Let’s go to the clinic, yes? It will be better if the doctor can see you.”
I get up. “I’ll walk him over,” I say, shrugging into my jacket. “You’re probably tired after the trip down.”
Bishal smiles and shrugs. “I am okay. But maybe it’s better to be with family.”
Dad doesn’t say anything, and we walk out into the afternoon chill. “So what…Did something happen?” I ask. Then I want to slap myself. “I mean, obviously something happened. But what—?”
Dad shakes his head. “I went up to Camp Two—only Camp Two! Twenty-one hundred feet! And just…felt like crap. Could barely make it down.” He shrugs, a weird, helpless move that I don’t think I’ve ever seen him make.
I slow my steps, like I’m walking at a funeral. But even at that pace, he lags behind. I feel like my strength is another fuckup, another way that I’m a disappointment to him. I stay silent until we get to the clinic, then mumble something about checking in later before handing him off to Bo.
* * *
—
When I come back an hour later, Bo’s in the front room, organizing papers.
“You here to see your daddy?” he asks, stepping over a big pile of donated blankets. “He’s doing okay. Resting and taking fluids. But…” He shakes his head. “I don’t think I can send him back up. He’s cracked a few ribs coughing, and he’s too weak.”
I sigh, imagining how pissed Dad must be. He’s a strong climber, one of the best. On climbs in Switzerland, Chile, all over the world, he’s rocked it. And here of all places, his body, like his son, is betraying him when he needs it to be tough. Too bad we can’t mind-meld—with my stamina and his force of will, we’d be up and down that mountain in record time.
“Tate,” Bo says, interrupting my sci-fi imaginings. “Go see him. He feels like crap and could use a visit.”
I shake my head. “Dude, you have to know by now I’m only going to make it worse. I mean, come on. He can’t climb, but having to stare at his perfectly healthy fuckup of a son who refuses to? That’s not going to help.”
Bo stands over me, a bemused look on his face. “You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t about you fucking up. This isn’t about you at all. He’s feeling like a pretty big failure right now, and believe me, this mountain is very good at making people remember that they’re insignificant little parasites on this planet. How old are you, man?”
I blink at the change of subject. “I turned eighteen right before we left.”
“Eighteen. You’re a man. You’re going away to Rhode-Freaking-Island in the fall, right? And then what? Let me tell you something. Remember what I said about climbing this mountain, about how small mistakes can snowball into big-ass catastrophes? Well, that’s not only true on Everest.”
I start to say something, then shut my mouth.
Bo shakes his head. “Shit. Just talk to the man.” He walks over and claps me on the back, hard. “You got this.”
My chest is hot, and I want to tell Bo to go to hell, that he has no idea what the fuck he’s talking about, except that I know he does. So I nod and walk down the narrow hall toward the treatment rooms.
* * *
—
When I open the door, Dad looks like he’s sleeping, and I’m chickenshit enough that I debate tiptoeing out again before he sees me. But then his eyes open.
“Hey. Just checking on how you’re feeling,” I say. I try to keep my voice chill, but my feet are shuffling, begging me to get the hell out of there.
“Like crap.” He’s silent for a second. “How are you?”
I shrug. What am I supposed to say? I’m great? I’m finally sleeping again? I have absolutely zero regrets about not climbing?
“Fine.” I stand there. “Look, Dad…” My voice trails off. I have literally no idea what to say to him. I want to be anywhere but here. But I think about Bo’s words and try again. “I know this is shitty, and I’m sorry, but—”
He puts up a hand. “Tate. Son. I love you, but I can’t do this. I can’t deal with you right now.” His eyes shut, and he rolls away from me. “Close the door when you go, okay?”
Oh.
He wants me gone. I’m making things worse. He can’t. Deal. With me.
Fuck it. That makes it easy to leave.
I shut the door quietly, even though I feel more like slamming it.
Whatever. It’s not like I wanted to sit there and attempt to make him feel better about his pathetic trying-to-outrun-death midlife crisis or whatever this is.
I almost run into Bo in the outer office. “Whoa! Slow down. Where are you going? What’s up with your dad?”
“He’s sleeping,” I say and leave it at that. I slow my breathing, trying to push away the anger and hurt. I need to get out of here.
Bo shakes his head. “He’s in rough shape. And the timing couldn’t be worse. I was talking to Dr. Celina up at EBC, and she told me the weather window’s starting to open. Expeditions are scrambling to get ready for the summit push.”
I pause, halfway to the door. “They’re heading up? Rose and Paul?”
“Not sure who’s going when, honestly. Sounds like Peak Adventure climbers were already gone, but maybe Finjo’s group is waiting? It’s always a shoving match, who gets to summit when. Crowds on the mountain have gotten so bad that some operators are trying for less optimal weather in order to miss the lines.” He shakes his head. “Much respect for those folks, but no thank you.”
I look at him. Bo’s kept his word and hasn’t asked me about climbing or why I quit. But now I’m curious. “Do you ever want to try for it? You know, the summit?”
Bo perches on the edge of the desk, his long legs stretched out. He laughs. “Hell naw. Nope. I love hiking, and living here in the mountains is pretty amazing, but yeah, no way. I’ve tried climbing a few times, and it’s not my thing. There’s just too damn much of me to haul up the rock.”
It’s true, he’s ridiculously tall. “But you’d have a hell of an advantage with that reach,” I point out. “And you’re obviously strong.”
He shrugs. “Maybe. But I don’t like it enough to keep hanging myself off a rope and praying it holds.” He looks at me. “You know, there’s nothing wrong with not wanting to climb. Most people in the world don’t want anything to do with this crazy shit. But when you hang out with a few people who make it their whole life, it can feel like you’re the weirdo for wanting no part of it.”
He pauses. “But that’s not to underestimate the effort it takes for the people who really commit to this, who pour their life savings and years of their life into training for it. And the bone-crushing disappointment if they fail.” He’s quiet, and I know we’re both thinking of Dad. He looks at me. “It’s good you’re here, man. He’s going to need some family time.”
My thoughts fly to Dad’s voice, telling me to leave him alone. Bo’s cool, but he’s dead wrong. I’m the last person Jordan Russo wants to see right now. I shrug and continue out the door.
When I get back to the lodge, Bishal is gone. The lodge owner tells me he’s expected back at Base Camp, so he’s going to head up as fast as he can, hoping to get there before dark. A familiar churn of guilt sucks at me. There are literally hundreds of Sherpas working to get our bodies up and down the mountain, and for every time one of us is sucking wind, exhausted and cold in our state-of-the-art microlight down jackets and expensive boots, they’re doing twice the work, twice as fast, in half the gear.
I know there’s a ton of money coming into the country from tourists, and I know Finjo and Mountain Adventure are good guys,
but still. As shitty as it feels to bail on this climb, I could walk away. I wonder if Dawa and Asha and the rest of them see it as a choice at all. Summit Everest and you’re always guaranteed a spot in the next expedition. What for me is a whole lot of angst about pissing off Dad and feeling guilty about Rose is a matter of job security for them.
The room darkens around me, and I sit in smoky silence, thinking about Dad—hooked up to oxygen the next building over—and about Rose.
Rose, who’ll be leaving any day now for a summit push, climbing into the death zone, spending the nights breathless and freezing in a tiny tent on an ice face. Rose, who I called selfish. Rose, who’s climbing without Maya, without me, and now without Dad.
I never even said goodbye. Suddenly a rush of pure, unadulterated fear rushes through me, not for myself, but for her. We are RoseAndTate, best friends since long before I could have found Everest on a map. What happened to us?
What did I let happen?
I’m awake all night, and when the sun comes up, I leave a note with the lodge owner, asking him to give it to Bo, and head up the trail for Base Camp.
Chapter Twenty-Six:
Rose
May 12–13
Everest Base Camp
17,600 feet above sea level
Paul and I try to find Finjo but finally give up, going back to wait in the warmth of the kitchen tent. We stay silent, watching as the sky brightens outside the plastic windows. Morning is coming, and we have missed our chance to climb anywhere today. Soon the sun will bake into the Icefall, melting and moving the ice, and no one wants to be there for that. There is no sign of Yoon Su, but I don’t go looking for her. I wait.
Finally Finjo comes in, his face bright and wreathed in his usual grin.
“Okay! Okay, okay, we are back to work. It is all good. You two will leave tomorrow, with me and Asha.”
Paul and I both jump.
“What? What about Jordan? What about Yoon Su? What’s happening?”
Finjo’s smile dims a little, but not totally. “I spoke to the clinic. Jordan will not be back soon, if he comes back at all. He is stable but in no shape to climb. And Yoon Su left an hour ago, to meet up with Luc. They will be ahead of us, but that is okay! We all go at our own pace.”
He pauses when he sees my face.
“They are the faster climbers; they will push for the summit one day, maybe two days, before you. It is dangerous for you to try and go too fast, dangerous for them to go slower. You will each have your own guides.”
I can’t speak.
It’s happening, and Yoon Su left without saying goodbye, charging up the mountain to tag it like it’s a race. I feel stupidly hurt, like this is some kind of betrayal, even though I understand that we move at different speeds. But the feeling of being abandoned, left behind, threatens to overwhelm me. We were supposed to be together: me, Mami, Tate, Jordan. Then Yoon Su and Luc, my friends, my partners for the past months. And now it’s just me. And Paul. Thank God he’s still here.
Paul puts his arms around me. “Hey. This is okay. We knew this. Groups don’t stay together on Everest unless they happen to move at the same pace. Better that we all move safely, right?” His voice is calm and soothing, and I try to swallow my panic.
He’s right, of course. I exhale and picture the route up the mountain. This is my climb.
My summit.
“Yeah.” My voice is quiet, and I clear my throat and speak louder. “I’m in. Let’s do this!”
“Okay? Yes, Rose says yes! She’s ready. We must take advantage. It is auspicious, really, this early window. This is very good. You are both strong and well acclimated. It will be good.” Finjo smiles again and starts to turn. “So today you rest. You eat as much as you can. All kinds of calories, especially for you!” He points at me. “Time to get excited! We will get to the top of the world!”
* * *
—
Today we leave for the summit. It’s still dark in my tent, but I am awake, have been all night. And even though I thought I had buried it, Tate’s absence is everywhere.
We’ll leave at first light, back through the Icefall, past Camp One, and up to Camp Two. Paul and me and Asha. And Finjo, though Finjo will run ahead to scout the trail, then run back to us, always keeping in radio contact with Dawa and Bishal and their climbers. In theory the weather looks good. In theory I will be fine. Two nights at Camp Two, one at Camp Three, then a few hours trying to rest in the death zone at Camp Four in the South Col before leaving in the middle of the night for the summit attempt. If it all goes to plan, we’ll summit early on May 17 and be back down to Camp Four or even as far as Camp Two that night. If all goes to plan, I will stand at the summit of the world.
My heart pounds with excitement.
Sleep isn’t happening, so I finally give up. I get dressed, filling my pack with PowerBars, water bottles, goggles, and everything else I will need these next few days. My tent is a lived-in mess of my stuff, a few fashion magazines from Yoon Su nearby. I remember laughing with her over the articles, pretending to write a report on Base Camp fashion. I can’t wait until we’re back together, celebrating.
I walk out of the tent, zipping it shut behind me. The sky above is a crowded bowl of stars. The cold bites any part of me it can reach: my wrists, my neck, my forehead. I move toward the kitchen tent, ready for tea and ready to be on our way. To begin.
I’m not the only one up. Several of the Sherpas are by the fire, and Paul is there, bleary-eyed but upright, staring into his coffee like he’s searching for secrets in the inky blackness.
He looks up when I enter. “You too, hey?”
I nod, gratefully taking the cup that Devi hands me.
I sit down next to Paul, and my smile feels so huge it might break my face. “It’s happening,” I say. “I can’t believe it’s finally happening!”
We look at each other. No Tate, no Jordan, just us. As if thinking the same thing, Paul reaches over and puts his hand on mine.
“No matter what, I’m glad we’re climbing together, Rosie. If I had to trust anyone to be on the line with me doing this, I’d choose you. Again and again.” His eyes are warm and, despite the exhaustion, I see excitement brimming up.
I squeeze his hands. “Ditto,” I say. “So let’s do it.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven:
Tate
May 13
Everest Base Camp
17,600 feet above sea level
As I race up the trail toward Base Camp, I can’t help wondering if Dad’s awake, if he’s wondering where I am. If he read the note I left and is relieved that his fuckup son isn’t around to be another exhausting thing to deal with. I wonder if he knows that the climbers are heading up. If he’s heartbroken. But I push myself to walk faster, my body, as always, rising to the challenge. I make it to EBC in under five hours, my blood pounding in my head as I half stumble into the main Mountain Adventure tent.
But I’m too late.
Rose and Paul are gone. I find out they left before dawn this morning for their summit push. If all goes well, they’ll be back in five days, having been to the top of Mount Everest.
I can’t believe they’re gone.
And I’m here, left behind. I didn’t get to say goodbye. Disappointment floods through me, and I realize how much I was counting on seeing Rose, on telling her I’m sorry. Fear of what she’s facing sucks at me, but I push it away. It’s Rose, the most focused, organized, careful climber I know. She’ll be fine.
She has to be fine.
I sit in the main tent, unsure what to do next. Dr. Celina, with no one else to mess with, radios over to say that Bo told her I was coming and to see her for a check-in. It takes twenty minutes just to walk through Base Camp, past all the different expedition tents, mostly empty now as climbers head up for their big push.
“Come on in,” D
r. Celina says from the door of the infirmary. “You want something for that headache?”
I peer into the med tent. Seeing it makes my gut churn, remembering Dad barely moving after his collapse.
“What are you, psychic? How’d you know I have a headache?” I say, then realize I’m clutching my forehead with one hand. “Oh.”
She smirks at me. “Yup. Psychic. Have a seat.” She moves fast, grabbing Tylenol and a water bottle. “So now will you stay up here, enjoying all that Base Camp has to offer until they come back down?”
I shrug. “I guess so. At least I’ll see them when they get back. And there’s more to do here than in Pheriche.” I drink, gulping the whole bottle in seconds.
She nods. “It’s wild, isn’t it? This is my third time as expedition doctor, and I still think it’s great. Those guys have a massage therapist and taco night,” she says, gesturing to a particularly large tent with a Starbucks flag on top. “And the Aussie group Mountain Monsters play the Beach Boys from giant speakers on Saturdays. Call it a beach party.” She shakes her head a little. “They’re all whistling in the dark.”
“What does that even mean?” I ask. But I think I know.
“It means they’re hoping not to notice, with all the good food and loud music and fun, that this is the waiting room to risk their lives.”
She looks at me. “Your dad talked a lot about you while he was in here, you know.”
My heart lurches. “What…Really?”
“Oh yeah. He told me you were his youngest. That you were an amazing artist. That you and Rose—who’s pretty great, by the way—had been best friends since you were little, but he thought things had changed on this trip. He thought you were head over heels. Those were his words.”
I look down. “Did he talk about me climbing?” I feel like a tool. “Never mind,” I say, starting to move toward the door. “I should go.”
Above All Else Page 18