Antipodes

by Michele Bacon

  “Yell ‘take.’ And have a rest.”

  “I don’t need a rest.”

  “Trust me.”

  It was almost a whisper. “Take.”

  The rope yanked her up an inch or two. “Got!” Hank yelled. He held her entire weight.

  Erin pulled up on tiptoe and still couldn’t find a sufficient hold. What’s more, Hank had hoisted her up two inches, which must be cheating.

  Marama said, “He’s really got you. You can sit and have a break if you want.”

  Erin’s harness made a reasonable seat, and her thighs were grateful for the rest. From her perch, she spotted three reasonable handholds.

  “Climbing,” she shouted before scurrying up the wall in no time.

  She held onto the top, dangling her legs in the air. “Falling!”

  Hank called, “Fall on,” and lowered her to the mat.

  Gloria untied Erin’s rope and tethered it to her own harness. Marama had gone bouldering in the other room.

  “What did you think?” Gloria said.

  “I loved it. Indoors is a lot easier than outside. Just hang onto anything and go.”

  “Yep. This is a great place to practice, but the real challenge is outdoors.” Gloria turned to Hank. “I’m going for the 30.”

  She didn’t climb straight up the rock face. Her moves were slow and calculated.

  “What is she doing?” Erin asked.

  Hank said, “The 30. Route’s marked in red.”

  The patterned duct tape made sense as Gloria climbed what seemed like a strenuous and tricky route. Gloria shifted from full-on spread eagle to a tiny crouched position in a matter of seconds, then reached for a marked hold slightly out of reach.

  She fell five feet.

  “Missed it by a hair,” Hank said as Gloria set up in her tiny crouched position and tried again.

  She tried seven times, with longer and longer breaks between attempts. “I’m done,” she hollered, and Hank lowered her.

  Gloria untied the rope. “I’ll have another go after I’ve warmed up.”

  While Gloria belayed Hank, Erin said, “Well that was a damn sight harder than just scrambling up the wall.”

  “What’s that?” Gloria kept her focus on Hank, who was climbing a blue route.

  “I said you were doing something really hard. I thought I was doing okay, scrambling right up the wall. But you were doing something amazing.”

  She nodded, her eyes on Hank. “You got it, baby!”

  Each time Hank moved up a couple of feet, Gloria pulled taut the rope between herself and the thing at the top of the wall. A loop? A pulley? Erin couldn’t tell from the floor and hadn’t looked while she was climbing. With Hank’s every shift, Gloria went through three motions: pull down with left, grab, pull down with right. Pull, grab, pull.

  Belaying wasn’t complicated.

  Gloria grinned as Hank returned to the mat. “Took long enough,” she said.

  Erin said, “I thought that was pretty fast.”

  “I’ve has been trying that 27 for two weeks,” Hank said. “In my defense, it was set by a tiny contortionist woman who does not design routes for human climbers.”

  Gloria unhooked her belay device. “I didn’t have a problem with it.”

  “I didn’t say superhuman.”

  Erin said, “Can I try?”

  Hank and Gloria wore matched expressions of surprise.

  “Maybe we should try you on something a little easier,” Gloria said. “There’s a really nice 14 over there.”

  So Gloria was a 30, Marama and Hank were 27s, and she was a 14? No way.

  “I’m pretty strong. A month ago, I was the best swimmer in New Zealand.” She couldn’t believe she’d brought that up.

  “Sure, go for it,” Gloria said.

  And, of course, they were right. Erin couldn’t even stabilize herself on the starting holds. The barrette-shaped handhold was barely a nubbin sticking out of the wall. And that was the better handhold. The other one was reachable only after opening stance was established, and she couldn’t even do that.

  Hank kept the rope taut, but he and Gloria were quiet as Erin worked. Her face sweat as she moved her fingers around that stupid little nubbin, trying to find purchase where there was no friction. She chalked up her hands like Hank had taught her. She chalked the hold. She chalked the wall.

  It wasn’t happening.

  At eye level, Erin read the route key. Erin’s stripe-y route was rated a 27. She also could try Gloria’s 30, another 27, a 19, or a 13.

  The starting holds for the 19 felt reasonable. Without looking at them, Erin said, “I’ll try the 19. Climbing.”

  “Climb on,” Hank said.

  She followed Gloria’s instructions: two whole seconds on the starting holds before climbing. And, finally, she could move upward. She made quick work of the first four feet but wasn’t even out of bouldering range before she was stumped.

  Gloria called, “You have a right foot inside your right knee.”

  What the hell?

  “If you feel around near your right knee, you’ll find a foothold for your right foot.”

  She felt around and found it.

  “Not that one. Up a little.”

  Her shoes were starting to hurt again. She tapped another with her right toe.

  “That’s it. Turn your right knee in and lean back.”

  Erin reached up with her right hand, but the hold was out of reach.

  Gloria would not shut up. “Look up and to your left.”

  Erin found it. They continued this way—Erin trying holds just out of reach and Gloria helping her work up the wall—until she reached the top.

  “Falling,” she said.

  Gloria said, “I got some pics of you up there. Nice work.”

  “Not as nice as that 30,” Erin said.

  “Been climbing since I could walk. Did you have fun?”

  Had she? Climbing was a puzzle. A physical puzzle. And it was a lot different than managing her air and maximizing her strokes. “It was fun. And a damn sight harder than bouldering.”

  “View’s not as good, either: We’re heading up to Payne’s Ford over the summer holidays,” Gloria said. “Limestone, with climbing for all sorts of abilities. You should come.”

  Even weak-ass people like Erin could climb there. “Maybe. I am supposed to go back to the States when term 4 ends. That’s in December.”

  “I am keenly aware of when I graduate!” Gloria said.

  “You’re in school?”

  “Christchurch Girls. That’s how I met Hank. His sister, Meg, was in year 13 when I was in year 9.”

  “She taught you to climb?”

  “I taught her, more like.”

  Hank smiled. “In our age bracket, Gloria is the seventeenth best climber in the world.”

  Gloria rolled her eyes. “It’s not about the title. Competing gives you access to the most challenging and gorgeous terrain on Earth. I do it for the views.”

  Erin had only ever competed to win.

  Quigleys.

  Erin heard the whispers before she saw them. Three lean swimmers, walking in file, approached her swim team.

  Erin’s summer team coach, Waterson, pushed out of the crowd, falling over himself to present them, though introductions weren’t required. Claudia, Ruth, and Hillary Quigley were three of the best swimmers in the nation; everyone anticipated an Olympic berth for the whole family. The littlest sister—the sophomore—had won the 100-yard fly at Nationals, but all of them had raced in finals.

  Something funky was going on in their gene pool, for sure: one was blonde with brown eyes, one brunette with blue eyes, and the third brown on brown with olive skin. The oldest Quigley, Ruth, was shorter by an inch, but with extra years of muscle.

  Waterson asked everyone to give their names and strokes.

  Lalitha grinned so hard she had dimples, but Erin could hardly smile. “Erin Cerise. Hundred-yard-fly and relay.”

  Claudia Quigle
y said, “We swim fly, too.”

  No fucking kidding.

  Losing her relay team for the summer season wasn’t dire. And, if she trained with the Quigleys all summer, Erin might learn a few things.

  Her future was still bright.

  Waterson, grinning in full veneers, said “Erin, Lalitha, Sam, Jamie—these ladies are transferring to Wheaton, so they’ll join your team next autumn. Be sure to show them around.”

  And just like that, Erin’s future slipped through her fingers.

  FIFTY-TWO

  At ten past six, Hank hugged Gloria and Marama good-bye and loaded Felicity’s bike onto his rack.

  He closed his door and turned to Erin. “That’s an amazing facsimile of Felicity’s helmet.”

  After hearing the whole story, Hank said, “I assumed you’d scoped all the bike racks.”

  “Next time, I will.”

  “So you’re up shit creek in leaky gumboots.”

  “Oh, I like that one!”

  “Good, eh?”

  “Really, Hank, I can’t thank you enough for your help. And thanks for the delicious care package.”

  “So, I have a confession, too,” Hank said.

  “You stole the bike in an effort to spend more time with me?”

  He laughed. “That would be a brilliant ploy. Next time, I will. I was going to say Marama was partly responsible for your care package. She gave me the idea. I just dug around your posts to find specifics.”

  Erin imagined how that could have happened. “Well, thanks. It did help. Thank you.”

  “Any time. Swinging by the sweetshop for caramel slices was no problem. Caramel is my favorite.”

  “Well, it was really thoughtful.”

  “My pleasure. I like seeing you happy.”

  “Have you seen me happy before?”

  “Not much. But then, I don’t think you subscribe to my life philosophy.”

  “And what might that be?”

  Erin considered her own life philosophy while Hank focused on the double roundabout. If pressed, she might say great medical school, great job, great life. That sounded good.

  As Hank zoomed into traffic, Erin caught his musky scent. Essence-of-Hank wasn’t fresh, nor was it gross. She drew another breath. His scent was almost intoxicating.

  After the roundabout, Hank said, “My philosophy is ‘always ask for what you want, and always do what makes you happy.’”

  That suited him. Quietly, hopefully, Erin asked, “So, what is it you want?”

  He smiled. “My greatest skill in life has been to want but little.”

  Erin gaped at him.

  “I didn’t say that. That’s Henry David Thoreau. It’s from Walden.”

  Erin knew it was Thoreau, but how did Hank know it was Thoreau? “I don’t understand you at all.”

  “Howzat?” He turned into the driveway and their attention turned to Felicity, who stood in the garage with the new bike.

  Hank unloaded the old bike, and Felicity said, “I’m so confused.”

  She looked between the twin bikes and back at Erin.

  Hank said, “Erin bought a bike, but forgot to buy a helmet.”

  Grateful, Erin smiled at him. Quick on his feet, this one.

  Felicity walked them into the garage and ran her fingers over her new bike seat, now Erin’s new bike seat.

  “I suppose you enjoyed biking to school?”

  “I did.”

  “I guess it’s going to be an everyday thing with you, then?”

  Crap.

  Erin said, “Yeah, and this one is actually yours. We’ll need to find a way to tell them apart.”

  “I’ve got it!” Hank jogged back to his car and emerged with a sticker from The Roxx, which he plastered onto Erin’s new top bar. “She’s a rock climber now.”

  Felicity raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

  “I am a convert,” Erin said.

  Felicity said, “I want to hear all about it.”

  FIFTY-THREE

  Spring break in New Zealand was two full weeks. Same with autumn break and winter break. Two weeks, three times a year, and one six-week summer break at Christmas.

  And every single time schools were on break, the Wakefield family traveled.

  “I thought we’d bop around Golden Bay this year,” Felicity said.

  Pippa leapt at the news. Literally.

  “Golden Bay it is.”

  Pippa was bouncing. “Can we stay at the caravan park?”

  God, no. No.

  “Maybe, Pip. Most people have been booked in for weeks. We’ll see what we can do.”

  Pippa left, and Erin said, “So where will we stay, actually?”

  “I do think the caravan parks will be full. But we can park the caravan almost anywhere. Not on the beach, of course, but we can get close.”

  Either option forced Erin to camp for days on end.

  She said, “Do you think I could just stay here? I’m very responsible and have been alone overnight loads of times.”

  Felicity said, “This isn’t an issue of trust. Of course, I trust you, but we’d miss you. And you’d miss out. It’s a family holiday, and while you’re here, you’re family.”

  That afternoon, Erin muscled her FedEx box into her room, sliced it open, and could not fathom why she’d packed so much stuff.

  She’d sorted most of her summer wardrobe when Felicity knocked.

  “Erin, mobile service is lousy at Golden Bay. Maybe your holiday would be better if you brought a friend?”

  “Probably, yes.”

  “Bring anyone you like, then. I really like that Marama.”

  “I do, too.” Erin whipped out her phone and texted her.

  “Erin?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking before. I don’t have much practice parenting teens.”

  Gobsmacked, Erin paused. “I think you’re doing a pretty good job, actually.”

  Felicity bit her lower lip and smiled before leaving Erin to her phone.

  Marama was sport climbing with Gloria, Hank, and other advanced climbers. Jade was heading to Dunedin. Gemma was seeing relatives on the North Island. Ruby was visiting her grandparents in Perth.

  She had to go alone.

  In her room, Erin spun in the chair and the room flashed before her eyes: bed, window, bed, stuffed closet, door, bed, window, bed, stuffed closet …

  She stopped spinning and texted her mother.

  Erin: On “holiday” with no cell service for the next two weeks.

  Erin: Email instead and I’ll reply when I’m back.

  Claire didn’t respond right away, but Erin knew she wouldn’t text if she thought Erin wouldn’t respond immediately. Two weeks of peace.

  She still resented a two-week break without anyone her age. Even the best vacations dragged when Erin was away from her people.

  The summer Erin was sixteen, she drove her new Fiat to the U.P. as soon as school was out. Six hours was a long time to dissect five small words.

  I’m interested in your brain. The new guy, Ben, had said that to her. Twice. What did that even mean?

  She debated until she crossed the bridge into the U.P., and Ben texted her. She pulled over at her first opportunity.

  Ben Grey: When do you come back?

  Erin: Ten days.

  Ben Grey: June 16th?

  Erin: At the latest. And I leave again on the 17th.

  Ben Grey: Where to?

  Erin: Summer study in Massachusetts.

  Ben Grey: So are you free the evening of the 16th?

  Erin: I am.

  Ben Grey: May I take you out on a date?

  Erin: You may!

  Ben Grey: Do you get a signal up there?

  Erin: I do.

  Ben Grey: Let’s keep in touch.

  Erin: Will do. I’m nearly there. Talk later.

  A date, a date, a date, a date! Erin didn’t know people had dates anymore. So formal. And so cute. What did Ben have in mind?


  He’d only been around two weeks, and already half the population of Wheaton had their eyes on him.

  And he wanted to go on a date. With Erin. And her brain.

  Grinning, Erin turned onto her grandparents’ long, leafy driveway. Spotting Tea’s birdhouses nestled among the ivy, she felt at home. Wooden wind chimes hung over the open porch where Grandma Tea sipped from a mug. She ran to Erin, and enveloped her in a hug.

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  “I’m happy to be here at last. Where’s Grampa?”

  “He’ll be around,” Tea said. “I just talked to your mother. She says you have to practice cello the instant you get here. Where’s George?”

  “In the car. I’ll get him in a minute.”

  “You could probably take a day off,” Tea said.

  “Not a chance. I’m closing in on two thousand days.”

  Tea put her arm on Erin’s shoulder as they walked into the cottage. Projects and artwork filled the rooms. The cottage always had secrets to explore or invent; it was magical.

  “I’m in my suit, you?” Tea asked.

  “Not yet. Give me a sec.”

  Erin slipped into her room and scanned more texts from Ben.

  A few minutes later, Erin’s Grampa rapped on the door.

  “Getting slow in your old age, Fish?”

  “Nearly ready!” Erin dropped her phone on the bed and slipped into her swimsuit. She opened her door and wrapped her grampa in a hug.

  “Back to Harvard this summer, I hear. Astrophysics!”

  “I am beyond excited! I have to study human anatomy at College of DuPage the rest of the summer. Prep for med school, you know.”

  Her grandparents exchanged a look.

  Tea passed Erin a towel, and they walked to the dock barefoot.

  “You do the honors!” Tea said.

  Erin hooked her toes over the edge of the dock as if she were about to race. She dove into the crisp water.

  Summer at last.

  Ten days after that dive, she had her first date with Ben.

  Eleven days after that dive, she left for Harvard.

  A month after that dive, Grandma Tea died of a massive stroke.

  Seven months after that dive, Erin’s Grampa died in his sleep.

  FIFTY-FOUR