The Ascent(16)

“Thank you. And, yes, I am.”

“Would it be …?” He paused, swinging out to grasp an overhanging finger of stone. He pulled himself up, his toned legs following. “Would it be too much of a cliché if I were to threaten you with her well-being? You know, the jaded male friend locking horns with the new guy?”

“It would be a cliché,” I said, “but I appreciate the sentiment. I love Hannah very much.”

“I would hope so.” He climbed faster now, his arms working like machinery, the tendons in his ankles popping with each pivot of the joints.

Something flashed within me, sending a jolt of adrenaline coursing through my system like a fire through an old warehouse. I kicked it into high gear and matched Andrew inch for inch. Together we pulled the cliff down into the earth and brought the summit closer to our fingertips.

“You’ve got … a lot of willpower,” Andrew breathed.

Beside him, I said, “What’s the matter? Can’t you keep up?”

“I’m keeping up … just fine …”

Gritting my teeth, my fingers growing numb, I advanced up the face of the cliff but could not outdistance him. Goddamn it.

“Takes … a man … to make it to the top,” Andrew said.

“I know what it takes,” I growled. My arms quivered; my muscles ached. Still, I climbed. “Would it be too much of a cliché … to have me beat you to … the top?”

“Never … happen,” Andrew wheezed. Amazingly, he began to climb harder and faster, leaving me in his wake. It was almost preternatural. He clambered up the side of the cliff, issuing grunts and groans as his muscles surrendered under the strain.

I refused to surrender. I pushed myself, feeling the burn throughout my body, that great warehouse conflagration no longer a detriment but rather a source of energy—use the pain. I could see nothing but the top of the cliff just a few feet above: my goal.

“Shit,” Andrew groaned.

We both climbed over the cliff at exactly the same time. My heart like a jackhammer in my chest, I didn’t pause to collect my breath. I scrambled quickly to my feet and, like lightning arching toward the earth from a bank of clouds, tore out across the grassy plateau toward the opposite end of the cliff.

Andrew was right beside me, his bare feet smashing potholes in the dirt. He let loose his linen shirt, which was lifted by the wind and carried out across the bay. I peeled off my T-shirt and tossed it into oblivion, still running. Our finish line was the opposite end of the plateau; the winner would be the first to sail over the abyss. I pushed harder, passing him. The bastard might be able to beat me in climbing, but he wasn’t going to outrun me. Not by a long shot—

“Coming up on you, Overleigh!” He suddenly appeared beside me, a locomotive of white, ghostly flesh, his legs pumping like pistons through the reeds.

I could feel the sweat freezing on my skin, could feel the icy pull of tears trailing across my temples. The edge of the cliff rushed to meet me. With one final strain—a grunt, a childlike cry—I leapt over the edge just milliseconds before Andrew. Arms flailing, legs cycling through the air, I gulped down fresh oxygen and held it in as the frigid waters rushed up at breakneck speed to swallow me whole.

An hour before daylight, I climbed into bed beside Hannah.

“Hmm,” she moaned softly.

“He’s a strange guy,” I said.

“Are you talking to me?” Her voice was groggy with sleep. “Are you some stranger in my bed talking to me?”

I rolled over and kissed up and down her ribs, her neck. Hannah told me I smelled like the ocean, and I promised her that I’d already showered.

“Just how friendly were you two in college, anyway?” I asked after a while.

“Who? Andrew?”

“Who else?”

“In other words, you’re asking if we slept together?”

“I would consider that pretty friendly, yes.”

“I thought you were stronger than that.”

“What does that mean?”

She groaned. “Why do men always insist on dredging up the past?”

That was answer enough.





Chapter 4


1



SHAKING. TEARFUL. I AWOKE ON A MATTRESS

sodden with sweat. The weight of my body, coupled with my perspiration, had cultivated a sinking Tim-shaped pit at the center of my mattress. The tiny bedroom seemed to close in all around me, making it difficult to breathe. For a split second, just before my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I swore I could see Hannah floating on the ceiling, her white cotton gown—the type of gown I’d imagined since childhood all the angels of heaven to wear—rippling along the ceiling like the sails of a ship.

2



“I’D LIKE YOU TO SEE SOMEONE.” SAID MARTA.

A marimba band performed on the beach, and in the early spring evening, the sound carried all the way up to my apartment. I walked out onto the balcony, a Dewar’s and water in my hand, and watched them. Despite the mild temperature, I was sweating through my work clothes, which were powdered with dust. The April breeze did very little to cool me off.

Marta appeared in the doorway, arms folded. “Are you even listening to me?”

“You’re exaggerating.”