The Holiday Switch(61)

“Now that is interesting.” Imagining Teddy with Holiday by the Lake is as enticing as a hot cocoa bomb. But then I think of something better. “How about a buddy read? Like a book club with the two of us.”

He groans, but he says, “For this climb, okay. Fine. What’s your shoe size?”

I tell him. And while he jogs off to grab them, I look across to the wall, to these jugs, painted red. They are, admittedly, large. My fingers could easily grasp them, and I can envision my toes slipping into them to help prop me up.

My brothers climbed a similar wall the other day.

He returns, and while I change out of my shoes, I say, “I…I’m scared.”

“Of heights?”

“No. It’s just that I’ve never done this.” I stand and move toward him.

“Okay, we can work with that.”

“Why do we have to work with that? Why not just leave it??” I think about all the change I’ve endured in the past month. That, and knowing there’s more up ahead, as soon as this winter break ends. What happens when Teddy goes back to school? What will I decide if I’m offered that internship? What if my financial aid package is much less than I’m hoping for?

    He shrugs. “I dunno, maybe it’s to show yourself that you can do something scary. And maybe taking one small step toward something scary can lead to other things?”

“Like getting hurt?”

My words seem to halt him.

Because trying something new sometimes leads to pain. Doing something hard and scary doesn’t always lead to triumph. It happened to my dad and to our family, respectively. And it could happen to us, whenever this is over.

I don’t need to learn lessons twice—it’s my superpower.

I know I’ve taken him aback. But he doesn’t get angry. Instead, he sets both of his hands on my hips.

“Yeah, sometimes it means you do get hurt. Sometimes it means falling. But sometimes it’s grabbing that extra bit of air and then catching yourself. What I love about climbing is that there’s a little bit of faith on that wall—faith in whatever you might believe in, in stuff that’s unexplained, even in the magic of the holidays. But I’m also counting on myself. On my own hands, on my own feet, on my own brain.”

I blurt out the question that’s been swirling in my mind. “What happens when you leave for school? I know it was just a kiss. It’s probably nothing.”

His gaze drops. “I don’t know.”

My mouth quirks. “At least you’re honest.”

He squeezes my hips gently. “Hey. ‘I don’t know’ means just that. But you didn’t let me finish. I want to find out what happens. A kiss isn’t just nothing.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’m not afraid of taking a leap.” His eyes gleam. “But how about you? Are you willing to step up?”

    I think about how much my dad worked to rebuild his business, about how much Teddy practices at climbing so that he doesn’t fall again. At Ms. Velasco, who charged on with the Bookworm Inn after Lola Mae passed away. My mother, who kept our family afloat. I nod.

He leads me to the wall and tells me to touch it. As I do, he gives me instructions—grab and step for all the red holds—and reminds me that he’s right there. I listen to him intently. He assists me into my harness, pulls on my straps.

“I’ve got you,” he reminds me. “And, yeah, so much relies on your muscle to get you up there, but in the beginning, especially when you’re learning, you’ve got to lean on the belay too. Trust that someone else will make up for the moments you miss.”

He backs up to his position and leaves me alone with the wall. I grab the red jug just above me and press my foot into the bottom one.

Then I hike my left leg so my left toe connects with a red jug and swing my right hand up to grab the nearest one. Fear jolts through me; I’m no longer on the ground. My heart ratchets up to my throat, but as I focus the weight of my fear into my legs and hands, into my fingers and toes, the truth becomes clear.

I’m holding myself up.

I look back down, to Teddy, who smiles up at me. “You’re doing great.”

I trust him; I’m ready for more. This time, I hike my right leg up, and then my left hand. My heart soars. I do it again. And again.

“All right, Lila, come back down,” Teddy yells from below.

“I’m only halfway up.”

“I know. But since this is your first time, let’s see how you do climbing back down.”

    “But—” I object; my competitive spirit has kicked in. Now that I’m so close to that bell, I can surely reach it.

“Lila,” he calls out sweetly.

I look down, and the realization of how high I am catches up to me. Sweat races down my back.

“One jug at a time, Lila.”

I even out my breathing, slowly but surely, and with shaking limbs, climb down the wall. By the time my feet hit the mat, I’m overcome with both relief and joy. When Teddy approaches, I launch myself at him and throw my arms around his neck. “I did it.”

“You did,” he says into my hair when he sets me down. “You took the leap. You’re the bravest person I know.”

But later, as I watch Teddy navigate a boulder from the sidelines with adrenaline still running through me and a copy of Holiday by the Lake on my lap, an email rings in from BookGalley.