Valley Girls

by Sarah Nicole Lemon

  “Really?” Walker asked with surprise.

  “What’s that mean?” She realized too late it sounded intense and defensive.

  “No. It’s fine. I just . . . I don’t know. I expected—” He stopped abruptly and clamped his mouth shut. After a long drink of his tea he said, “Nothing. It means nothing.”

  She narrowed her eyes.

  “Was it serious?” he asked.

  For Curtis, not for her. She’d been using him. She’d never thought about it like that, but she could see it now. It still wasn’t okay. It wasn’t okay. She told herself, but for the moment it was hard to believe what happened to her hadn’t been something she deserved—the price she’d had to pay.

  “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want.”

  Rilla looked up. “Oh. Sorry. No, it was complicated. Not serious, but complicated.”

  His forehead creased and those blue eyes locked tight with hers. “Yeah?”

  She tried not to squirm.

  “Complicated but not serious. Hmm . . .” He put his chin in his hand. “That’s pretty vague.”

  She spun the mug, not looking at him. “I never got close to anyone. I didn’t want to. Then I might get stuck somewhere. People are dangerous. Ya know?”

  “Yeah. Totally.”

  She glanced up. “How about you? A girlfriend back home?”

  He snorted. “No. No. The rumors are true,” he said with a touch of bitterness. “I’m not known for having serious relationships.” He studied his tea. “It’s like climbing with a stranger. The idea of a relationship, I’ve done it, but . . .” He shuddered.

  “Right? How are you supposed to even know? They could, like, tell you just to hang on, while they pick their nose. And you’re screwed. You’re up there, trying not to die. While your partner just has a thumb up his ass.” Or wants more than you can give and is angry with you.

  Walker laughed. “People are the worst.”

  “They really are,” she said, trying not to replay the worst of her memories.

  He took a large swallow of his tea and straightened off the counter. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be a risk. Just like . . .”

  “Like climbing with you?” She said it as a joke. And then suddenly flushed, realizing what she’d said.

  “I’m much better . . . than . . .” But he seemed flustered too.

  She looked at his hands, curled around the mug.

  “This valley is so small,” he said after a moment. “It’s just like Ohio in a weird way. It’s hard to keep anything quiet. Turns out you can never escape certain things.”

  “Except it’s the most international small town I never imagined.” Too late it occurred to her that he might have meant something else, something she hadn’t addressed—she couldn’t tell.

  “Well, thanks for the tea.” He slid the mug over.

  Rilla took it, stomach nose-diving in disappointment—clutching after something she’d missed. Some opportunity.

  He straightened and stretched his arms, rolling his wide shoulders. Delaying?

  She swallowed. “I’ll walk you back.”

  His eyes flickered to hers.

  “Caroline would be so pissed if you got hurt on the way back,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  He chuckled.

  Her heart raced even faster. This was it. This was it. Somehow, this was totally it.

  It was silent, and only a little awkward, as Rilla slipped on her sandals and looked up to find Walker watching her.

  He had brought his bike, which made it more ridiculous that she was “walking” him home; but she hopped up on the back sprockets, and he kicked off, and the night opened up as they sped out of the meadow.

  Her hands were on his shoulders, her chin above his head. Trust yourself. Trust your gear. Trust . . . your partner.

  She ran her fingers up the side of his hair and back, tugging at the long, dirty strands. His chin tilted up toward her, his head hitting her chest. He couldn’t see where he was going, but they knew the paths so well he didn’t need to. His throat was bared in the moon, his lips slightly apart. Eyes closed. The wind kissed their faces.

  Slowly, she lowered her lips to his, nipping gently at his lower lip.

  The bike dipped to the left and they yanked apart. He pulled forward to right it, the spell broken.

  Her heart beat against her ribs as he leaned away from her and pedaled slowly to the edge of Camp 4.

  She got off the bike, aching and bursting at the seams to keep on in that moment. He leaned over the front of the bike and watched her. “Tired, West Virginia?” he asked.

  Her pulse throbbed in her head. “Not right now,” she whispered.

  He opened his mouth to say something, but a shrill beeping interrupted.

  They stared at each other, confused.

  And realized at the same time. His pager.

  “Oh, fuck,” he said, digging it out of his pocket like it was a bomb about to explode.

  Her shoulders sank.

  He looked up. Grabbed her chin, and pulled her up to his mouth. “Later, West Virginia,” he breathed onto her lips. And was gone.

  Later. She turned for home, fingers crossed it was a promise.

  Twenty Nine

  Between climbing with Caroline, having Adeena teach her to aid, and all the ways in which Rilla’s world was unfolding out from this narrow thing it had once been—something invisible unlocked in her brain. Suddenly, The Nose route seemed possible. And as soon as it became possible, Rilla realized how much work she had ahead of her. Like she had to be at this point to see both its possibility and its challenge.

  The route consisted of thirty-one pitches. It would take her roughly four days. That meant she’d climb straight through four days. It meant she’d sleep on the wall, live on the wall, and haul all the food and water she’d need throughout those four days. It meant peeing on the wall. Shitting on the wall. Somehow. It meant having the mental fortitude to be in a harness and not touch solid ground for four days.

  All day long, she found herself thinking of the route, imagining how she’d feel to have it completed. To reach the summit and look down the thousands of feet and have accomplished it. It felt like, if she could somehow do that—do all the work, do all the climbing, and stand at the top—she’d be the person she’d wanted to be all along. In her attic at night, she fantasized about what she’d pack, what she’d wear, how she’d smile. She pictured herself as Caroline—beautiful while she ate out of a can in a portaledge. Under the light of the bare bulb, her homework forgotten, she studied a route map she’d found on the Internet.

  When Jonah asked if she wanted to work someone’s shift at the hotel, she agreed immediately—never mind she had no idea what that job entailed. If she wanted to climb The Nose, she’d need as much of her own gear as she could get. Her backpack was full of Petra’s gear, but she wouldn’t be able to always use that.

  “Meet Allie at the laundry at five thirty A.M.,” Jonah said. “I’ll tell her you agreed.”

  Rilla took the coffee he slipped over the counter and went back into the intense July sunshine.

  The Nose.

  She was going to do it.

  One by one, she asked everyone what they thought went into something big and bold and out-of-this-world like climbing The Nose.

  “Being responsible,” Thea said, eyes narrowed. She dropped her chin. “Also, how’s your schoolwork going?”

  “Learn to aid climb efficiently,” Adeena said.

  “Controlling your mental state,” Walker answered, before getting called out on the radio.

  “Learn how to pee in your harness without peeing on yourself,” said Petra.

  “Discipline,” answered Caroline, after finishing climbing and Rilla had showered and climbed into the backseat on the way to the Grove for Petra’s turn to cook. “You have to commit to one thing for a long time.”

  She asked Gage during dinner at the Grove, partially to distract herself when Walker walked in. Pet
ra had made sushi. “Believing you can do it,” said Gage, dipping his tiger roll into a bowl of soy sauce. He pointed his fingers at her as he talked over the food in his mouth. “Even if you have all the physical skills, to be able to believe you can put together something that big is a huge component. If you don’t believe it, who will?”

  Rilla picked up a roll and studied it. Petra had said there was avocado, fried shrimp, and cucumber in the rice wrapped in seaweed. She’d never eaten sushi before, but she followed Gage’s example and dipped the roll into the bowl before popping it in her mouth.

  “Oh shit,” she muttered over the bite. “That’s delicious.”

  Gage grinned. “Yeah, I was dubious, but this is pretty good.”

  “I heard that,” Petra said, putting another plate onto the table.

  Gage reached over Adeena to grab one. “I’m just saying. The amount of people who say they can make sushi, versus the amount of people who can actually do it, is a big difference.”

  “I took a class with a Michelin star sushi chef,” Petra said.

  Rilla had no idea how tires and sushi connected, but she caught Walker watching her from farther down the table, and forgot to ask.

  He looked showered—for once—and his sandy blond hair shone bright from all the days in the sun. He wore a clean, white T-shirt, and his blue eyes were shocking in his tanned face. He lingered for a minute, a little smile on the edge of his mouth. She scrunched her face, uncomfortable with the intensity but wanting so badly to be that uncomfortable always.

  Someone said something, and Walker looked away.

  Rilla stared at her plate until her pulse resumed a semi-normal speed, and Gage passed her a platter with spicy tuna rolls.

  “Rilla, you doing anything tomorrow? Want to do a route on El Cap with us?” Tam—a visiting climber—asked.

  Rilla sat up straighter, the yes immediately on her tongue. Then she sank. “I agreed to work. I’m sorry. But I would have loved to.”

  Tam moved on, but Rilla glowed with the feeling of being invited—being part of them. Maybe she could bail on the shift she’d picked up.

  The house was full, the windows open to the cool mountain breezes, and the beer and sake were poured liberally. Rilla eyed the platters of fish Petra kept bringing, unable and unwilling to calculate how much this had cost, or how far Petra had to drive to get to a town where she could buy it all. For the first time, she realized everyone but her pitched money in for these meals. After this, she decided, she’d pull her own weight.

  She ate until she was bursting, and drank until she was warmed and glowing and could practically feel Walker at the other end of the table. Their eyes kept connecting in between the laughter and the stories; and when his eyes grazed over her, she felt it as a pulse of electricity in her whole body.

  Long after dinner had ended they sat there, drinking slowly and sipping tea Petra had put out. Rilla’s thighs were sweaty and stuck to the chair, and her cheeks ached from smiling.

  Walker stood and patted his chest. “I’m stuffed. That calls for a smoke.”

  It was like her whole body had been waiting. She jumped up. “I’ll . . . uh . . . come with you.” She tried to be cool, but Adeena laughed outright, and Gage even covered his mouth with his hand.

  “Shut up,” she muttered. “Can I bum a smoke?” she asked Walker. And then she blinked, because she had been bumming smokes all summer—which didn’t really amount to quitting, but it was something like once or twice a week, which was basically quitting. And hey, look at her. She’d quit!

  “I was going to ask you,” Walker said. He winked. “I can lend you one.”

  She pushed out her chair.

  Adeena smacked her on the ass on the way out, and she yelped.

  Walker glanced back at her with a confused face. “You all right?”

  She swallowed her laughter. “I’m good.”

  “She’s spectacular,” Adeena said.

  “Y’all are juvenile,” Caroline said.

  “What are they talking about?” Walker said, holding the door for her. “I missed it.”

  “I have no idea,” Rilla said with a roll of her eyes.

  And then they were outside.

  She took a deep breath of the cool breeze, the moonlight bathing the wide-open meadow, and the mountains.

  Walker started down the road, lighting the smoke and then handing it over for her to share.

  “Thanks,” she said, suddenly shy.

  His white shirt glowed in the moonlight, blue on his skin. “Man, that was good.”

  She exhaled and nodded. “Oh my god, yes. That was the first time I’ve had sushi. I didn’t expect it to be that good.”

  “Petra’s a good one. She’s got some . . . quirks, but she’s never stingy about sharing an experience. Did you see the bathtub in that house yet?”

  “The copper one?” Rilla asked. It was the only bathtub she could imagine him meaning.

  “Did you try it yet?”

  “Is the experience worth its weight in scrap?”

  Walker laughed so hard he choked.

  She took the smoke from his fingers as he bent over gasping. “I mean, it wasn’t that funny,” she said, pounding his back.

  “It’s funny,” he gasped, grabbing her wrist and using her to stand up. “Because that was exactly what I thought when I first saw it.” He grabbed the smoke back, still leaning on her.

  “Are you drunk?” She laughed, not sure whether to push him up.

  “I am not.” He ground the butt carefully into the gravel and picked it up. “But you’re going to go sit in that ridiculous copper tub.”

  She snorted. “I am not.”

  “You are. When in life are you ever going to get to sit on that much scrap? This is luxury. We have to take it when we can.”

  She laughed. “No! It’d be so weird. We just had dinner.”

  He shook his head, bent his shoulder, wrapped one thick arm around her thighs and hoisted her over his shoulder.

  Rilla yelped and swatted at his back. “Walker Jennings, put me down.” Never.

  “Not until you sit in that tub,” he declared, marching back down the road for the house.

  “I don’t want to be a weirdo.”

  “Too late, buttercup.” He hitched her higher, his hands gripping firm on her thighs in a way Rilla was completely and utterly there for.

  He hauled her up the steps and threw open the door, stomping right through everyone, to Rilla’s total embarrassment and utter delight.

  “Uh . . .” Hico said.

  “We’ll be upstairs,” Walker said.

  The silence must have made him realize what he said.

  “Not like that,” he said. “She hasn’t used that bathroom yet.”

  More silence.

  “The tub!” he roared. “The door will be open, people!”

  Hico busted out laughing and Caroline groaned at the same time.

  “I mean, I’m not opposed to a closed door,” Rilla said into his T-shirt.

  He lightly slapped the back of her thighs. “Stop.”

  A flush of power ran through her body and she pushed her head up off his back so she wouldn’t pass out.

  He put her down in the bathroom and she wobbled unsteadily as the blood rushed back into her head.

  “Hey guys . . . what’s uh. What’s going on?” Petra asked, stopping as she walked past.

  “Rilla hasn’t used the tub yet,” Walker said as he leaned over the edge and turned on the faucets.

  “Oh, Tam hasn’t either.” She leaned out the door and hollered over the railing.

  Rilla wanted to shake Petra.

  “Come on,” Walker ordered. “Take off your clothes.”

  Rilla laughed, her cheeks pink. She folded her arms over her stomach. “I’m not doing this.”

  “I’m not saying get naked. Just leave your underwear on.” He swiped at her knee with a grin.

  She shook her head, stomach trembling.

  Everyone trai
psed upstairs. Rilla didn’t unbutton her pants until everyone else did too. She was used to being around everyone in her swimsuit or climbing in a sports bra and pants, and her cotton underwear and sports bra weren’t anything skimpier. But still, Hico handed her a cold beer as they all crammed into the oversized tub, with Tam and Walker sitting on the edge behind her.

  “Y’all are weird,” Rilla said happily, her arms up on Walker’s legs. “If this tub disappears one day, it’s because I sold it for scrap.”

  Hico leaned back and looked at the floor. “Is it not bolted down? That’d be super easy.”

  “Let me tell you something,” Petra said, lifting her bottle out of the steaming water to gesture. “If you’re going to steal anything from people as rich as my grandparents, don’t go for the tubs. Go for the watches or electronics. My grandpa has a broken watch around here you could pawn for more money than this tub. And then you don’t have to carry it out.”

  Hico laughed. “I guess if someone has a copper tub, you shouldn’t stop there.”

  “A watch though?” Rilla asked. “Really?”

  “I got a watch for climbing Everest,” Adeena said. “From the Pakistani government.”

  Rilla nearly choked on her drink. “You’ve climbed Everest?”

  “When I was fifteen,” Adeena said, her eyes tracking away. She took a drink.

  “Oh my god.” Rilla blinked. “That’s incredible.”

  Adeena shrugged. “It was . . . memorable.”

  “Really?” Caroline said. “They gave you . . . a watch? Not money or a scholarship?”

  “An engraved Rolex,” Adeena said with a nod.

  “Did you keep it?”

  She laughed. “It basically funded my entire education.”

  “Will you ever climb it again?” Tam asked.

  Adeena exhaled, looking at the ceiling. “I’d like to. For my brother. He was with me the first time.”

  There was a moment of silence. Walker’s legs tightened on her sides.