Take Me Higher by Pamela Clare
Chapter 11
Megs stopped recordingand closed the journal, uncertain she wanted Mitch to listen to that particular memory over and over again. She would find something happier. “It’s time for some stretches.”
She stood, went to the foot of the bed, and flexed his right ankle, his eyes open now. “Do you know how lucky I was to meet you? That night was the night I began to heal. Your reaction and your reassurance meant more to me than you could know. I stopped feeling guilty—mostly.”
She looked into his eyes. “Most guys your age would probably have taken advantage of the situation to get laid, but you truly cared about me. I’ve never really understood why. You could have had any woman—one with a college education who wanted children or who didn’t cuss as much—but you chose me.”
She’d learned so much from him and from those books, reading them all cover to cover more than once, discussing them with him at night.
Our Bodies, Ourselveshad changed the way she’d thought about herself and what Wayne and her mother had done. It had given her language to describe what had happened to her, ways of expressing her emotions and sexual feelings. It had given her confidence that she’d lacked, strength that was based on something more than her determination not to break.
Walt Whitman’s poetry had opened her eyes to the beauty of language and the ability of words to describe the wonder she felt in the natural world. That book had been the start of a tradition for Megs and Mitch. They’d taken poetry on every climbing expedition since and read it together in their tent at night.
As for the book of sexual fantasies…
She’d turned the tables on Mitch with that one.
Megs moved to Mitch’s left leg, repeated the stretch, her thoughts drifting to that terrible night, to the memory of rage on her mother’s face.
It had been fifty-one years since her mother had thrown her out, and the woman hadn’t gotten in touch with her or offered an apology, not even when Megs made the covers of magazines for summitting Everest and winning the world championships in sports climbing. As for Wayne…
Well, karma had come for him. He’d gone to prison, where the other inmates had beaten him to death. Child molesters weren’t popular behind bars.
Fabiola entered the room, a look of concern on her face. “Radiology is coming to get another chest X-ray. Mitch’s fever has spiked, and the doctor is concerned he might have pneumonia from the vent.”
“Pneumonia.” Megs knew that pneumonia was a common complication of being on a ventilator. “Isn’t he still on antibiotics?”
“Yes, but some bugs have become resistant.”
It was the start of a day of complications.
The X-rays showed pneumonia. Not long after, his subclavian line stopped working and had to be replaced. Then his oxygen levels began to dip, probably from pneumonia. Then word came back that the bacteria in his vent was, indeed, resistant to the antibiotics they’d been giving him.
Megs sat in his room or stood at his bedside, holding his hand, explaining what was going on as if he were conscious. But she couldn’t forget what Dr. Schwartz had told her, his words on repeat in her mind.
With this kind of severe injury, he’s got about a forty-percent chance of a favorable outcome. It’s not just the injury. There are also potential complications.
This could not be the point when the odds kicked in and everything went south. Mitch had been making progress. He didn’t need setbacks.
Keep fighting, love. Keep fighting.
The hours ticked by, Megs holding tightly onto any bit of positive news that came her way. His fever was responding to medication. They had the right antibiotic now. The new subclavian line was working. His eyes were open. Best of all, that big, beautiful heart of his—the heart that had carried him to the summits of all fourteen of the world’s highest mountains and had loved her so well—was still beating inside his chest.
It was close to suppertime when Kurt came to see Mitch.
Megs gave him a quick update. “He’s had a rough day.”
Kurt looked at her through eyes so like his father’s. “And for you, I’d say. Come with me down to the cafeteria. Have a cup of coffee. Take a break.”
They rode down together in the elevator.
“I noticed that the boy in the room next to Mitch’s is gone. Did he get better—or are you allowed to say?”
Kurt pressed his lips together, shook his head. “He didn’t make it.”
Megs’ heart sank. She’d been better off not knowing. “How can you do this job—so much human suffering, so much grief, so much anguish.”
He touched a finger to the white of his clerical collar. “It has something to do with this. It’s faith.”
“Huh.” She didn’t know what to think about that.
They found a table in the cafeteria away from others.
Megs started to tell him about the journal entry where Mitch and Dean had gone to San Francisco and had dinner with his aunt and uncle—leaving out the sex books, of course—but Kurt stopped her.
“I’d love to hear about it some other time. I’m here because I’m concerned about you. This is some hard stuff you’re going through, and today was a tough day.”
The sincerity of his words and the compassion in his eyes made it impossible for Megs to pretend or to offer some trademark smart-ass reply.
She drew a breath, tried to find the words. “Mitch is the only man I’ve ever loved. He’s been the best part of my life since I was sixteen. This is going to sound pathetic, I know, but I … I don’t know how to live without him.”
Kurt took her hand. “That doesn’t sound pathetic at all. That’s how it is when we love someone with our whole being. The price of deep love is, unfortunately, deep pain.”
By the following day,Mitch’s condition had improved somewhat. His oxygen levels were normal again, and his fever wasn’t as high. His gaze moved over the room, though it remained unfocused.
“Good morning, love.” Megs took his hand, rubbed his knuckles with her thumb. “How are you doing? I had a pretty good night. No erotic dreams, though.”
His gaze drifted in her direction, his eyes still unfocused.
Was he responding to her?
She moved to the other side of the bed to test this theory. “Rain is coming down this morning. The Gazette ran a story about you in today’s edition, and she’s bringing me some copies.”
His gaze slowly drifted her way once again, his head turning as much as it could in the collar. Still, he didn’t look directly at her.
She went on. “I hadn’t planned on doing an interview, but I had a run-in the other night with a reporter from a webzine and decided I needed to give the press something. It looks like Riana from PT is here.”
“Good morning! It’s time for more stretches.”
By the time the staff had completed all of Mitch’s routine care, it was almost noon. Megs picked up the journal and scanned the next few entries, laughing as she settled in with the recorder.
“Knock, knock!” Rain peeked her head inside.
“Look, Mitch, Rain is here.” Megs set the journal aside.
“Hey, Mitch. We’re all praying for you.” Rain held out several copies of the Gazette. “Here you go. You’re on the front page, Mitch. I brought extras in case you wanted to share them with the nursing staff or his doctors.”
Then Rain held up a paper bag. “I also brought lunch—pesto-crusted salmon salad, your favorite.”
“You are a saint!”
“Oh, hardly. But you’re welcome.”
Megs took the newspapers and the paper bag. “You’re saving me from that stuff they call salad down in the cafeteria.”
Rain laughed. “Thank Rico. When he heard I was coming to see you, he quickly put this together.”
Rico was the head cook at Knockers, a former felon who’d learned to use knives for cooking instead of violence while in prison and had made a good life for himself in Scarlet. But that was Joe. He was a staunch believer in second chances.
“Thank Rico for me.”
While Megs ate her salad, Rain shared the news.
“Conrad seems to be managing the Team well. They got toned out twice yesterday—once to rescue a woman who twisted and broke her ankle on Longs Peak and once to evacuate a kid who fell thirty feet while free soloing on some rock formation in the Indian Peaks Wilderness. From what I overheard, it went pretty smoothly.”
“They had a busy day.” It felt strange not to be a part of it. “You’re pretty good with the lingo for someone who doesn’t climb.”
“Hey, I’ve been waiting on Team members since the early days. You’d be surprised what you overhear when you’re the one bringing the beer.”
“I can only imagine.”
Rain reached for a copy of the Gazette. “When I read the article this morning, I was blown away by everything you and Mitch have done together. All of the world’s highest mountains. Climbing in Patagonia. Winning world championships. The lives you’ve both saved. What a life you two have made together! I don’t know if that brings you comfort or if that makes this harder.”
Megs remembered what Kurt had said yesterday evening about great love and great pain. “I don’t know. Probably both.”
Rain seemed to consider this, her gaze warm with sympathy. “Oh! I almost forgot. The Scarlet Springs Fire Department is doing a shirtless calendar to raise money for Mitch’s fund. It was Vicki’s idea.”
“A shirtless calendar? Like a beefcake calendar?” Megs’ expression must have been comical because Rain laughed. “Did you hear that, Mitch? Scarlet FD is getting naked for you—or half-naked anyway. I might have to buy one of those.”
“They’ve already got a half-dozen orders from the women on Knockers’ staff—Marcia, Cheyenne, Sam, and the rest.” Rain stood. “Speaking of Knockers, I should go. I need to get back to help with afternoon prep.”
Megs hugged her. “Thanks for coming. We appreciate the company—and the food. Tell everyone hello for us.”
After Rain had gone, Megs settled down next to Mitch with the journal and the recorder, laughing to herself about the calendar. “When you told me you wanted to settle in your small, close-knit hometown, I had nightmares of something like Mayberry—or my awful hometown. But Scarlet Springs is too damned crazy to be either of those.”
Now, she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
She skimmed through Mitch’s journal, searching for another entry to record and found herself smiling at his growing sexual frustration. “It was your fault. You were the one determined to wait until I turned eighteen.”
But now that she was older and at least somewhat wiser, Megs understood what he’d done for her. He’d put her need to grow up ahead of his need to get laid.
But, oh, she hadn’t made it easy for him.
Mitch woketo the unmistakable scent of sizzling bacon, crawled out of his tent wearing only a pair of gym shorts, and found Megs in a tank top and cutoffs making breakfast on her little camp stove. “Good morning. God, that smells good. You always have the best food.”
She lifted her gaze to meet his, her hair braided. “That’s because I have a job.”
Though Mitch refused to sleep in the same tent—a man could only endure so much temptation—he had moved his tent next to hers. It had become part of their routine to eat breakfast together and talk about what they wanted to climb that day. For Mitch, the first meal of the day was always a package of instant oatmeal with instant coffee, while Megs tortured him by making real food—eggs, bacon, pancakes, sausage, hash browns.
“It just so happens I’m making this for you.” Her gaze was back on the cookstove, but that smile was still on her lips. “It’s my way of saying thank you.”
Was there something different about her this morning?
He must be imagining things. “Thank you?”
“Yes.” She divided the eggs and bacon between two plastic camping plates and handed one to him, leaning in close and speaking in a whisper. “I did it.”
Distracted by the food, he picked up a piece of bacon with his fingers, took a bite, tried not to moan. “Did what?”
She looked into his eyes, color in her cheeks. “I made myself come.”
Mitch forgot the bacon and eggs. “You made yourself … Oh!”
Blood rushed to his groin, his brain going blank.
She sat back on her heels, plate in her hand, her face glowing. “It was … incredible. It’s taken me a couple of weeks. I’ve been trying every night. It’s kind of hard for me to relax enough, but last night I finally did it.”
“Right on!” Mitch’s mind filled with images that shouldn’t be there, images of Megs alone in her tent, experimenting with her body—and the ache in his groin grew sharp. “That’s … great news.”
Damn!
A part of him wanted to laugh. No one would think anything of a man making himself come. But he knew from his human sexuality and psychology classes that it wasn’t as easy for women to come—especially not those who’d been sexually abused.
Her smile faded, newborn sexual confidence melting into vulnerability. “I thought you’d be happy for me. Do you think I’m … a slut or something?”
“God, no! I don’t think anything like that.” He reached out, ran his thumb over the curve of her cheek, touched that she’d trusted him with something so private. “It’s your body. You need to understand how your body works. I was just surprised. That’s all. That’s not what I was expecting you to say first thing this morning.”
She gave a little laugh. “I suppose not.”
He looked down at his plate. “And you thank me by sharing your food. I wasn’t even there.”
Those sweet lips curved into a knowing smile. “Oh, yes, you were. I always fantasize about you.”
That’swhat was different. Megs was no longer an inexperienced, uninformed girl. She had crossed a threshold. She had knowledge now.
And Mitch had a full-on boner.
“Isn’t it incredible?” She poured herself a cup of coffee. “It feels so good, like heaven packed into just a few seconds.”
Had he done the right thing? He was certain much of society would think it wrong of him to give her those books, to encourage her to learn about her sexuality. For lots of people, masturbation was still taboo, especially when it came to women.
He thrust his doubts aside. These were new times. Megs had to learn somehow. Besides, he hadn’t touched her beyond an occasional kiss since the moment he’d found out she was sixteen. More than that, she had no one else. Alone in this world, she’d built a wall around herself to keep herself safe, and for some reason, she’d let him in.
She stared at him, suddenly serious. “Does it feel the same for a man?”
He laughed. “I’ve only ever been a man, so I can’t compare.”
“I want to hike up the slabs to Half Dome.”
And just like that, they were back to climbing.
“That’s a tough hike.”
The slabs were so steep that there were fixed ropes to keep climbers from falling before they reached the rockface.
“I want to free climb the Regular Northwest Face. I think we can do it.”
Mitch almost choked on his coffee. “You want to free climb Half Dome?”
The route had first been climbed over a stretch of five days in the late 1950s with the help of aid equipment, but no one had yet done a free ascent.
“I thought we could try out some of the lower pitches, get a feel for the rock, and see what we think.”
“Right on.” Mitch tossed back the last of his coffee, inspired by Megs’ ambition. Who else thought up projects like this? Why not Mt. Everest? “Let’s do it.”