Finjo continues as though he hasn’t heard. “And by the time we need them, the fixed ropes will be perfect. This tragedy, it was an accident of nature. There was no wrongdoing, no way to know. The storm that arrived, it was not expected.”
“But there will be all kinds of accurate weather-forecasting technology up there when we arrive, n’est-ce pas?” Luc says, speaking for the first time. “God rest the souls of those men, but when our asses are hanging on those ropes—excusez-moi, Rose et Yoon Su—I hope you will have only the best weather tools.”
Tate pushes past me and runs out the door to the airstrip. Falling to his knees, he throws up in the dirt.
* * *
—
Inside, everyone’s discussing the news. There are delays, of course. Two of the guides, Dawa and Mingma, turn out to be cousins with one of the Sherpas killed on the mountain. Also, the funerals are being held tomorrow in the village that we’re supposed to get to the following day, so there will be no rooms for us. I walk to find Tate crouched over, swigging water from his bottle and spitting into the bushes.
“You okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He shrugs. “Fine. Queasy from the flight, I guess.” He stands up, stretching and wincing. Around us, the village of Lukla is going about its business: more flights with trekkers and climbers arriving, Nepalis lining up against the fence, offering their services as porters and guides. Overhead a massive bird wheels and dips against the almost navy-blue sky. It is post card–beautiful, with jagged mountains in the background and picturesque prayer wheels along the trail in front of us.
“Yeah. It was pretty bad,” I say, but I don’t know if I’m talking about the flight or the accident.
Tate turns to look at me. “You okay? I mean, with all the…” He pauses. “Death? Jesus. That sounds grim.”
I make myself nod, quick and sure. “Yeah. Of course. You know me. Waterworks. It’s sad, that’s all.” Despite my best efforts, my eyes fill back up. “Sorry. God, I’m ridiculous.” I wipe at my face.
“Rose,” Tate says, pulling my hand down. “A bunch of people just died. Dawa and Mingma lost their cousin. It’s not ridiculous to cry when you hear that these poor bastards, who are paid fuck-all to do the hardest and most dangerous job on the mountain, lost their lives so we can have an adventure.”
It feels like he slapped me. Heat floods my face, and I pull back. “Is that…Do you think we’re selfish? Like we have no right to be here? Because my mom spent a ton of time making sure she found a Nepali-owned expedition, one that pays fair wages and offers women equal opportun—”
Tate puts his hands up. “Stop! Rose, I’m sorry. You’re not selfish. And Maya’s probably the best person I know. I didn’t mean that. It’s really fucking sad, that’s all.”
I sigh, long and deep, and lean against him. “Yeah. It is.”
He bends down toward me. “Here. You’ve got a big smudge of dirt. Right…here.” He reaches forward and presses his fingers against my cheekbone. His hand is gentle and cool on my hot cheek.
Why is he still touching my face?
And why am I blushing?
“I should take some photos of the airstrip. For my mom,” I say, but I don’t move.
“Tate! Rose!” Jordan calls from the doorway. “Come on back. We’re going to head out to a lodge around ten minutes down the trail. We’ll stay there tonight and figure out the rest of the delay from there.” He turns and walks back in.
Tate drops his hand like he’s been burned, but he doesn’t move away.
I close my eyes, then open them again. He’s still right there. “Well. We’d better…I mean, risk is part of the mountains, you know? This is part of the deal.”
Tate blinks and nods. “Sure. That’s the price of climbing big peaks. People die. Though I don’t know, Rose. I don’t know. Like, that sounds simple, I guess, but did the sisters and kids and parents of those poor fuckers agree to that price?”
Before I can say anything, he shakes his head a little and holds out his arm, like he’s going to escort me back in. “Never mind. I’m being…whatever. You ready?”
I stare at him for a second, trying to see if he’s okay. If I’m okay.
But, finally, I take his arm. “I was born ready,” I say, and he laughs, just as I planned.
“You screw that up every time, Keller. You got to say it with more growl in your voice: ‘I was born ready!’ Go on, try it again.”
I hip-bump him, and he shoves me as we walk inside, and we both pretend to forget what happened high above us in the mountains.
Chapter Eight:
Tate
(Four Months Earlier) January 6
Gibraltar Rock, Mount Rainier
12,660 feet above sea level
FearFastFallingFUCKFUCKFUCK
SILENCE.
Then Rose, screaming. “TATE? TATE, ANSWER ME, DAMMIT! TATE, PLEASE ANSWER!” But it’s faint, so faint-and-faraway.
I answer. I swear I do. But she keeps screaming. So maybe I don’t.
I try again.
And again.
somuchpainowowowowowowowow
I work sososohard to make words. To keep Rose from screaming like she’s in pain. Rose can’t hurt like that. So…words. I push my head against the ice, and the cold brings me back to myself, just enough for the horror to wrap around my throat.
Panic.
Words for Rose.
“Rosie, I fell. I, uh.” More ice on my face. Wake up, Tate. “I think I broke my arm. Arms?”
She hears me, and her voice is closebutnotcloseenough.
“GOD! Okay, that’s okay. But…Do you know why the rope’s slack?”
I want to close my eyes, but Rose asked a question. Rose needs an answer. I try. Like school. ConcentrateTate!Focus!
“My ice axes. On my belt. They both caught on the edges of the crevasse, and I’m…kind of…hanging here.”
Rose gasps, and she’s soclosesoclose that I can picture her face except that she’s not close, not really. She says, “Wow! That’s…that’s lucky.”
I’m not moving, I don’t think, but maybe I am, because her voice is farther now, and I know I can’t reach her. “Funny, I don’t feel that lucky…” I let my eyes close, which is goodsogood.