A hole? What are you telling me?
Dude, the key. It’s, like, fucking gone.
Ellie is twenty yards ahead of me.
She’s following Grahame, who is thirty yards behind Ceo, who is not following any discernible trail and hasn’t been since late yesterday afternoon. He’s traversing upward, carving random switchbacks through low bushes and over granite slabs. The increasingly steep terrain will soon become all granite because the summit, from what we’ve seen of it, is one massive dome of barren rock. Meanwhile the clouds get closer, the air colder, and there’s a bear in our rearview mirror. All this is feeding an unkillable notion that we’re being squeezed from every side and going up before we go down is a deeply flawed concept.
What I’m trying not to think about is how she hasn’t spoken a word to me this morning. No, I take that back. After we finished packing up our gear, she handed me the remains of her Pop-Tart and said, Could you finish this for me? This coming at the tail end of a chain of events that led to the decision (initiated by her) to leave today. The two biggest links in that chain being whatever happened last night in Ceo’s tent, and that bear hug stunt Grahame pulled this morning while Ceo and I watched like idiots. Which gets me thinking. Maybe I’m a link in that chain. Maybe Ellie regrets telling me the truth about why she’s on this trip, and even worse, thinks I told Grahame and now she blames me for what he did.
Then there’s Ceo telling me we need to talk. No shit about that. But he’s up there and I’m back here, so how’s that going to work? This whole mess is a second-guessing parade, and I’m in the middle of it. I glance up, and Ellie has stopped at the edge of a long patch of granite. Oblivious, Grahame and Ceo keep walking. She watches me as I close the distance between us, then stop a few feet from her, panting vapor in the thin, cold air.
Ellie says, “Not that this is any of your business, which it isn’t. I’m sure you think something happened last night in the tent. That I sealed the deal, or whatever you male types like to say. Well, you’re wrong, bucko.” Then she turns and says as she walks away, “So you can be finished not talking to me.”
Ellie smiles to herself, thinking about the stunned look on his face. His jaw hanging open, eyes wide. It was perfect and what she hoped for. Counts to seven before hearing him say, “Wait a minute! You can’t throw that pitch and walk off the mound.”
“Sorry. I have a rule—no sports metaphors. Ever. Try again, please.”
After a beat, “You said I think something happened and that I’m wrong.”
“Correct.”
“So what you really said is nothing happened.”
“Correct.”
“But nothing is, in fact, something.”
She smiles to herself again. “I’ll allow that.”
“So now I’m wondering how she feels about nothing.”
“She feels very good about nothing.”
The voice behind her is silent. Ceo and Grahame have disappeared over a ridge.
Then Colin says, “What if…?”
“Yes?”
“What if it was someone else in the tent?”
“Would that someone else have holes in his sneakers?”
“He would buy new sneakers for the occasion.”
Ellie stops so he can catch up. She wants Colin to see the smile in her eyes when she says, “Now that would be something.”
The summit ridge is a broad and barren place dotted with oddly shaped rocks, some as round and smooth as giant eggs, with clusters of tough old trees scattered about. As we search for Ceo and Grahame my thoughts should be on how we’re finally at the top of this thing and are about to turn around. I should be focused on those clouds and how that heavy bucket is about to tip. But instead my thoughts are trained like lasers on the person standing so close that I can smell the chocolate on her breath, drilling into this single unbelievable fact that she is choosing me over Ceo. I smile and repeat it to myself, as if the act will make it more real.
Me. Over. Ceo.
Statistically it’s in the same ballpark as a one-armed monkey performing face-transplant surgery. But I’m allowing myself to go there. To believe this one big thing despite the fact that she could be playing me like she’s playing Ceo. Although those odds are less than monkey transplant surgery because with me there’s nothing to play. Ceo can promise her rippled abs, baby models, and studio connections that help fulfill her deepest-held passion. I can promise her a lifetime supply of maple syrup and fresh bass. It’s not what I or any sane person would define as a close call.
But I refuse to snuff out this fragile flame of hope.
Which leads to the question of how this development will play out on planet Ceo. He obviously trusts me with her. Otherwise why would he put me in so many situations where we are alone? On the other hand, why not trust some kid from Vermont who doesn’t have the nerve to ask a girl selling muffins if she has a name?
Then there’s his whispered comment to me last night, This is your moment, Q. Use it or lose it. It confused me then, and continues to bounce around in my brain like an evil echo. Earlier this morning, just after Grahame pulled his stunt, Ceo said we need to talk. That’s a lot of cryptic shit he’s flinging my way, even for him. Now there’s a ripple in the status quo that puts things spinning in a whole new direction. I may have to force the issue and have that talk, tell him that trusting me may not be the best card in his hand.
I follow Ellie up a well-defined trail on the rock, pass a bow-shaped tree along the way. It leans heavily to one side and looks like it was bent in a hurricane. I ask her to take a couple pictures for my mother, one of me inside the bow with Half Dome framed in the distance, and one with me just looking off into space. She shows me the shots on her camera. They’re amazing. Even in the small viewing screen I can tell she has talent. Then, while we’re still close and with those brown eyes going deep, she asks me how my father passed. For once I’m able to answer that question without deflecting, as if I can see beyond the hurt.
“My mom was upstairs watching Jeopardy! reruns and making lunch for Dad. Sliced radishes with Vermont cheddar and fresh dill on pumpernickel. He was in the basement tying flies for a fishing trip with a friend that afternoon. Mom called down to let him know that his lunch was ready. He didn’t answer. She called again. He didn’t answer. She found him on the floor, eyes wide open like a mounted fish. She knew in that instant that he was gone.”
“A heart attack?”
“Massive aneurysm. He died in seconds.”
“Colin, that’s awful. I’m so sorry.”
“He died with feathers glued to his fingers and a fishing hook in his hand. That’s how he’d want to go.”
“Was…was that the Q-tip morning?”
I nod. “Definitely not the way I wanted to burn my fifteen minutes of fame.”
“Thanks for telling me.”
“Thanks for asking. I’ve never told anyone about the radish sandwich. Not even Ceo.”
She smiles, leans forward, and kisses my cheek. Time literally stops. The bear, the clouds, all the baggage of this day fades to nothing while I consider kissing her back because I think she wants me to, so I face her and—
A familiar voice shouts from above, “Hey, kids!”
We turn to see Ceo waving from what better be the top of this mountain, since there’s nothing beyond him except air.
A short walk later we’re shrugging off our packs next to Ceo’s, with him saying, “Welcome to the top of Bruce Willis’s head, also known as the summit of Mount Watkins.” I look around quickly. There is no sign of Grahame or his pack. Ceo leads us down a short distance on the valley side to the edge of the void. In front and to the left are thousand-foot death plunges leading to the valley floor, which is nearly clear of smoke. To the right, on this side of the valley, is a steep granite slope leading down to yet another vertical wall. Across the void, the very top of Half Dome is capped by clouds. Ceo points to and names some of the surrounding geography that is still visible, w
hile Ellie’s camera clicks. Clouds Rest is particularly interesting, with its broad gray flank and odd shapes and depressions. It looks like the hide of some ancient, wrinkled beast.
When Ceo is finished, I ask him, “Where’s Mount Grahame?”
“Skulking around here somewhere.”
I scan the summit. There aren’t that many places to hide.
I ask, “Why is he skulking?”
“We were having a chat about a thing—”
“A thing?”
“Yeah. A thing. Then he goes all Jamaican pimp on me, and you know how I feel about that. I asked him to stop, but he kept on going. So I told him he violated the terms of our no-accent deal, and I did what I had to do.”
“What did you probably not have to do?”
“I Bic’d the other half of the hundred.”
“You burned it?”
“I knew I’d never get his half back. So, yeah.”
“And now he’s pissed.”
A shrug and a half smile from Ceo. “Just a wee bit, mon.”
I know from poker that Grahame often talks in that accent when he’s stressed. It’s the most obvious tell in the history of the game. Something had to be the cause of that effect.
“What was the thing you talked about?”
“That’s between me and the pimp.”
He gives me a quick look like maybe it isn’t.
Ellie’s camera continues to click, but there was a definite pause.
Since Grahame still has his pack, I ask, “Is he coming back?”
A shrug from Ceo says he doesn’t know, doesn’t care. He reaches into his pants pocket and comes out with the GPS. He says, “Ellie? Do you mind if I take a short walk with Q? I need his help calibrating this thing.”
She asks with the camera swinging from Ceo to me, “How many men does it take to calibrate a GPS?” Click, click, click.
“Five,” Ceo says. “But two Smurfs with skills can manage.”
“What’s wrong with it?” Click, click, click, click.
“It says we’re at sixty-two hundred feet. I know we’re around eight.”
Ellie lowers the camera. “You said it was working yesterday.”
“True. That was before this morning. Since then it fell out of my pack and bounced off a couple rocks. Now it just keeps searching.” He shows her the face of it.
“You’ve rebooted?”
“Twice.”
“Well,” she says, looking at the two of us, “I guess you’d better get started.”
I think about Grahame. About the odds of him returning while we’re gone versus the odds of him not returning at all. Neither option works for me. But I know this isn’t about the GPS. And I suspect Ellie does, too.
“You’re okay with this?” I ask.
“Oh, sure. That gives me some quiet time with Mr. Willis’s head.” Ellie plants herself on a rock facing the void. Takes the remains of a chocolate bar out of her pocket and snaps off a chunk. Waves at our hesitation, saying, “Go already. Go forth and calibrate.”
We start walking, get about twenty feet when Ellie says, “Hey, guys? Did you feel that?”
“Feel what?” I ask.
“A raindrop.”
We wait thirty seconds. In that short span the wind dies to a mere whisper. That takes the sting out of the air. But I don’t trust this sudden calm. It’s like we’re floating on a raft in a slow-motion current with the uneasy rumble of something big around the bend. Meanwhile the clouds continue to drift and morph and hang so low I swear I can hear them oozing over the rocks.
“Guess I was wrong,” Ellie says.
“We’ll be back in ten minutes,” Ceo tells her.
“Make it nine.”
Colin is in bed on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling tiles, listening to the muted thumping of music down the hall and the constant background hum of traffic and sirens somewhere outside his window while Grahame watches a movie on his laptop in the dark with headphones on. He prefers all this to the catfight in his head every time he closes his eyes. That’s when he replays his conversation with Ceo after the match and it Just. Won’t. Stop.
Ceo pulling up to him while he stood at some crosswalk, miles from where he should be, waiting for the light to change.
He said, C’mon, Q. You’re being crazy. Get in.
Colin said, I need to walk.
Ceo said, Maybe, but not here. Don’t be a crime statistic. I’ll buy you dinner. We’ll work this out.
Colin said, I’ve been mugged once today. It can’t get any worse.
Ceo said, I gave you clemency anyway. That should be worth something.
Colin didn’t answer.
The light changed.
Ceo yelled over the traffic and horns behind him, I’m sorry, Colin.
And drove away.
He wonders if sleep will ever come. Or if this day will turn into the next without changing one molecule of its structure. He wonders about Coach, about the disappointment in his eyes when he saw the score of the third set, 6–0. Wonders if that disappointment will still be there when the new day finally comes and Coach has to tell him that he lost his scholarship.
And his phone buzzes.
CEO
Can’t sleep. You?
COLIN
No.
CEO
Still pissed?
Yes.
The phone goes dark. Colin hopes that’s the end of it. Considers turning off his phone, or putting it in a drawer under his socks. But his mother might call, and those events he can never miss. So he keeps the phone in its sacred spot, beside his bed on top of Robert Frost.
Five minutes later the phone buzzes again.
Still pissed?
Still yes. WTF??!
San Clemente?
He types, Not interested.
DELETE.
He types, No Way!
DELETE.
He types, No. Freaking. Way.
DELETE.
Shakes his head.
Types
COLIN
FUCK San Clemente.
SEND.
Ellie watches them hike up to the summit. Smiles as the GPS finds its way back into Ceo’s pocket. She returns her gaze to the valley, nibbles on her chocolate while considering the unlikely progression of today. It started in Ceo’s tent, waking up next to him. When he smiled down at her, there was something in his eyes, the hint of a more-than-casual interest that she’d been looking for ever since that walk on the beach in Santa Cruz. She didn’t see it at the airport, in the car, or basically anywhere on the trail, since his attention has been focused on a chest-thumping match with Grahame. She figured somewhere between the text he sent and their embrace at the Fresno airport, he’d found a shiny new object more aligned with his model-world tastes.
And then this morning happened. He kissed her. She held her breath while he tugged the zipper on her sleeping bag, teased it down one click at a time. But he left moments later to pursue yet another thing with Grahame. And she could breathe again. Well, none of that matters now. It’s ancient history, like this valley spread out before her. Last night, in the ten minutes it took Ceo and Grahame to share a joint, she revealed secrets to Colin about her future plans that even Nadia didn’t know. She was certain that deeper moment of truth would cause him to think less of her. He’d see that when it comes to collecting shiny objects, she’s in the same orbit as Ceo.
Then the big surprise later this morning. The Great Wall of Colin cracked and he opened up just enough for her to see some light. Ellie smiles at this unexpected development while contemplating these three undeniable truths. Ceo looks amazing catching a Frisbee. His father owns a movie studio. But Colin quotes John Cusack, and that quality alone offers an entire universe of unexplored potential.
She finishes off her chocolate, feels another raindrop hit her cheek. A shiver runs through her even though there is no wind, senses a deeper chill and wonders about the source. Shouldn’t they be back by now? She turns aro
und just in time to witness a wall of gray crawl over and engulf the summit dome. The horizon east and west are gone, the surrounding rocks and trees reduced to dissolving shadows. Seconds later the cold wraps around her. It is thick and wet, and the rocks it touches are coated with a shiny glaze.
She scans her world and gasps.
There is no valley.
No Half Dome.
No sky.
Ellie is ten yards from a vertical wall that plunges down for a thousand feet. But she doesn’t know where it is. All she sees in every direction is gray.
We hike up to the summit dome, do a quick scan for Grahame, and come up empty. Ceo says this isn’t far enough, so we walk a couple hundred yards down to a cluster of trees and rocks overlooking Clouds Rest. I’m uncomfortable being this far away from Ellie. We could have stayed at the summit next to the packs and had all the privacy we needed. But this is Ceo’s play, and he walked this far for a reason. It clearly has nothing to do with the GPS unless he plans on calibrating it from the inside of his pocket. I’m wondering how I can bring up Ellie and her revelation this morning, or maybe not bring it up at all because hell, we’re leaving today, so what’s the point? That’s when Ceo turns to me, and the first words out of his mouth since we left Ellie are, “Dude, I seriously fucked up.”
I assume he’s talking about whatever that thing is he said to Grahame that sent him into his latest snit. If his absence continues much longer, with the weather looming like it is, this situation will escalate from minor irritation to serious issue.
I say, “How bad?”
“Kittens in a blender bad.”
“Whoa. That’s a serious kinda bad.”
“More than you know.”
“I know burning the hundred was not cool.”
“Nah, he deserved it. The part I’m talking about was before that.”
“Is it because you sold the weed?”
“That contributed. But more before than that.”
“How much before?”
“You remember our last poker game?” He picks up a rock, hurls it over the edge. It sinks down into a gray soup that has consumed Clouds Rest and the valley below. I know it is creeping our way, that the landscape is fading before our eyes.
Bad Call Page 13