Take Me Higher by Pamela Clare
Chapter 21
Mitch strappedinto the harness for the treadmill, then waited for Rodrigo to double-check it. His walking ability and balance had improved enough that he could probably do this without the harness. But then he’d climbed with a helmet since the 1990s and had only needed it once.
Rodrigo did a safety check. “You’re going to be doing all the work this time—no support. Okay, you’re good to go.”
Rodrigo started the treadmill, increasing the speed gradually until Mitch was walking at a fast clip. “Now I know how you got to the top of Mt. Everest, man. You are one determined dude.”
Then Rodrigo tapped a button, and the theme song from Rocky came over the room’s sound system, Rodrigo singing along. “That’s you, Mitch! Guts and glory.”
Mitch couldn’t help but smile despite a sense of embarrassment. A few months ago, walking on a treadmill without support wouldn’t have meant anything to him. Now, it meant everything. His care team had decided last week that he could be discharged tomorrow and finish his rehab on an outpatient basis.
He’d worked hard these past couple of weeks, buoyed by Megs’ love and her faith in him. He didn’t know where he’d be right now without her—her smile, her support, her strength beside him. Every day, he reminded himself what she’d said about his rehab being a kind of climb. Step by step, day by day, he was healing.
Knowing he could still make love to Megs had made him feel whole again. They’d always had an incredible sex life, and losing that part of himself, that part of who they were together, would have been hard for him to face. He couldn’t wait to sleep in his own bed with her beside him, though, honestly, it had added a little spice lately to wonder whether one of the medical staff was going to catch them screwing in his room.
Megs was in Denver this afternoon, filming her part of the public service announcement that she and the dirtbags were making together. That was Megs—always fighting to turn tragedy into a chance for good. If it saved a single life, then perhaps everything they’d gone through would serve some purpose.
When the session was over, he helped Rodrigo remove the harness and stepped down from the treadmill.
Rodrigo gave Mitch a fist bump. “Congratulations on your last PT session with me. It was a real pleasure getting to meet you. It’s not often we have celebrities here.”
“Thank you, Rod…reego. I am … grateful.”
“Before you leave, can I come by and get your autograph?”
Mitch nodded. “Come … visit … us in … Scar… Scarlet.”
“I might take you up on that.”
Mitch went from there to his speech therapy session, which was as frustrating as ever. Yes, he was putting more words together, but it was still a struggle to communicate. While Megs seemed to read his mind—she’d always been far more sensitive than most people knew—that wasn’t true of the rest of the world. Going home meant facing his disability in a way he hadn’t so far.
Wilma Atcitty, his speech pathologist, was more upbeat. “I know you don’t think you’re improving, but you’ve come so far in such a short time. You’re going to love your new therapist. I’ve worked with Angela before. And now for your favorite part of the day—singing.”
God, no more children’s songs.
“No Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.” He sang that last part.
“Okay, Mr. Picky, what do you want to sing?”
Strangely, it was much easier for Mitch to formulate words when he was singing than when he was trying to speak. He’d thought that it was just the fact that he already knew the lyrics. But Wilma said studies showed that it was the rhythm that helped in cases of non-fluent aphasia like his.
He handed her his phone, the music app open and Simon and Garfunkel’s Sound of Silence queued up. “This.”
Wilma raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got a strange sense of humor, but I like it.”
Though he messed up the lyrics a few times, he was able to sing along much better than he would have been able to recite the words. They were on the last verse when Wilma smiled at someone and Megs’ sweet soprano joined in, her hand coming to rest on Mitch’s shoulder as they finished the last words.
Wilma applauded. “Well done.”
When the session was over, Wilma took Mitch’s hand. “I know that what you’re going through is hard. It’s normal to grieve when we lose a part of ourselves. But from my perspective as a professional, you’re doing well. You’ve got a chance at regaining normal speech. If you don’t, life will be different, but it can also be good. As my Navajo grandma liked to say, ‘Don’t let the tears in your eyes keep you from seeing the future.’”
“Your grandma sounds like a wise woman,” Megs said.
Wilma nodded. “She was.”
On the walk back to Mitch’s room, Megs shared the news. “Lexi finally had that baby boy. Nine pounds, five ounces. They named him Kit after an ancestor of Austin’s who was sheriff of Scarlet back in the day. Kit Michael Taylor.”
Mitch liked that name. “Nice.”
“Also, the dirtbags are coming to see you—if that’s okay. I told Gridwall you might not be up for that, but he wants to see you. I think your accident shook him up.”
Mitch wasn’t sure he was ready for the full-on insanity of a dirtbag reunion. He’d be the only one who couldn’t climb, who couldn’t belay, who couldn’t even share his thoughts or feelings without difficulty. Then again, it had been so long.
“Br-ring it… on.”
Megs droveup the canyon to Scarlet Springs, Mitch in the passenger seat, the two of them holding hands. “How does it feel to be going home?”
“Good.”
When they’d left Scarlet for their two-week climbing vacation, the aspens had been golden, and the air had been warm. Now, it was November, and the aspens were bare, a dusting of snow on the ground, the high peaks solid white. But for Mitch, this journey involved so much more than time and space.
She could tell that he was a little nervous, no doubt worried about how people would react to his speech challenges. “I let Rain and a few others know that you’re going to need peace and quiet to finish healing. I expect that will hold folks at bay for a whole ten minutes or so.”
Mitch chuckled. “It’s oh… kay.”
She hadn’t warned him he’d be getting a hero’s welcome. She’d texted Sasha and Rain to let them know they were on their way up the canyon. Word had gotten around. Ten minutes ago, Rain had sent back a photo of people lining the streets or standing in their driveways, waiting to welcome Mitch home. The sight had put an honest-to-God lump in Megs’ throat.
“I’ve called a Team meeting for tomorrow evening. You don’t have to be there if you don’t want to be. I just want to go over the past couple of months and decide how we’re going to handle things moving forward.”
She wouldn’t be able to be on call around the clock like she’d been before the accident. Mitch couldn’t drive for six months to a year, and he had speech pathology and physical therapy appointments. Given that he was also at risk of seizures and stroke, she didn’t want to leave him alone for long stretches. Though she could carry out her administrative functions, Conrad or someone else would need to fill in for her when it came to managing rescues for the next several months.
They were close now, the canyon narrowing, the turns growing tighter. They came around the last curve and passed the sign for Scarlet Springs, the reservoir to their left, the Indian Peaks rising above the town.
Scarlet Springs Town Limit
Population: 1,492 Elevation: 8,936
Home of the Rocky Mountain Search & Rescue Team
Megs slowed the vehicle. “They repainted the sign. Do you see that?”
Rain hadn’t told Megs about this.
Mitch squeezed her hand. “Nice.”
A tribute to the Team mattered more to Megs than any personal recognition. She and Mitch had poured everything they had into the organization, growing it from a few volunteers into a world-class rescue operation. By acknowledging the Team, the town was acknowledging their combined life’s work.
Then it began.
Townsfolk stood at the end of their driveways, shouting words of welcome and waving as Megs and Mitch passed. It hit Megs square in the chest, made her throat tight. She couldn’t imagine how Mitch felt. This was his hometown.
She slowed down, giving Mitch time to see everyone, hear their greetings, and wave back. It wasn’t easy for him to turn his head wearing that collar.“You’ve had so many people praying for you.”
They headed downhill and through the roundabout into the center of town to find the sidewalks on either side of the street lined with people.
“Sweet baby Jesus.” Megs glanced over at Mitch, met his gaze, saw the emotion in his eyes. “This town loves you.”
“You, too.”
Normally, she would have turned off at the roundabout to head up the mountain to their home. But if she did that, most of the people who’d come out in the cold to greet Mitch wouldn’t get a chance to see him.
“What do you say, love? Is it time for a victory lap?”
“Yeah.”
She went around the roundabout, where Bear stood, waving, a big smile on his bearded face, and headed into town proper, driving slowly. “What’s Hawke doing with the big fire engine?”
Parked on a side street, it was just sitting there. Had there been some kind of emergency, a car accident?
As they drew near, the lights came on, and, with a squawk of the siren, Hawke pulled out into the street ahead of them, followed by Deputy US Marshal Jason Chiago in his service vehicle, his overheads flashing, too.
Megs swallowed—hard. “I think you’re getting an escort.”
Mitch looked this way and that, clearly overwhelmed by the response, his eyes suspiciously bright. “Wow.”
Everyone had turned out. Joe and Rain with Lark and little Angel. Rico. Cheyenne, Marcia, Libby, and Sam from Knockers. Rose. Bob and Kendra Jewell, and beside them Lexi with tiny Kit, all bundled up. The staff of Food Mart. Naomi, Winona, and Old Man Belcourt. Esri, the Team’s trauma therapist. Jesse and Ellie Moretti with their twins Daniel and Daisy and toddler Dylan. Vicki standing with her two little ones and her mother-in-law, Robin. Wendy from the newspaper with her camera. The guy with the bushy beard who owned the marijuana dispensary. Last of all, outside the front door of The Cave—the Team’s headquarters—stood the Team members, applauding.
At the edge of town, Megs followed Hawke and Chiago, turning around in the firehouse parking lot and heading back for a second pass, Mitch waving to friends and neighbors he’d known his entire life.
When they reached the roundabout this time, Megs turned her SUV homeward, honking a farewell to their escort. She turned into their driveway, parked close to the house, then leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Welcome home.”
God,it felt good to be home. The comfort of familiar spaces. A fire crackling in the woodstove. The stillness.
While Megs ordered dinner from Knockers and put together a grocery list, Mitch did his best to settle in. He put away his clothes, opened his mail, downloaded almost two months’ worth of emails, and visited their social media for the first time. Then, overwhelmed by the thousands of supportive posts from followers from around the world, he wrote his first post since September.
I am home at last. My heart is full of gratitude for all the support, prayers, and good wishes you’ve sent my way. I will forever be grateful to the Black Canyon rangers, the Rocky Mountain Search & Rescue Team, and my doctors, nurses, and therapists for all they did to save my life. Most of all, I’m grateful to my beautiful partner, Megs Hill, for her unfailing love and strength.
Where would he be without her?
He’d been thinking about their life together a lot these past weeks. He supposed that was natural after a person came face-to-face with death. He’d thumbed through his journal, reading random entries. It hadn’t been hard to see the impact that Megs had had on his life these past forty-eight years. With her passion for life and adventure, she had lifted him up, bringing out the best in him, enabling him to become far more than he’d have been without her.
It had made him think about their future. At best, they had maybe thirty years left. That might seem like a long time, but he knew how quickly the years passed. It seemed to him that it was just yesterday when they’d been in the prime of life and hanging in Camp 4. He wanted whatever time they had left together to be special. Most of all, he wanted Megs to know how precious she was to him, how much he loved her.
Megs poked her head into his office. “Dinner just arrived. You hungry?”
“Yeah.” He shut down his computer, his head aching from the screen time.
They talked over the day while they ate, Mitch savoring Megs’ company and his first good meal in what seemed like ages. Words came slowly for him, but Megs was patient. She was also perceptive.
“Are you feeling okay?”
“My h-head … ay… ay.. aches.” He set down his fork, unable to finish.
“You’ve had a busy and exciting day. You should rest.”
Megs cleaned up while Mitch took pain meds, then she helped him get settled, propping up the pillows to support his neck and head. “Do you want me to turn out the light and let you sleep?”
“No. I … wan… want you… to… r-read.” He pointed to his journal.
“Okay.” She changed into her pajamas, made them each a cup of herbal tea, and sat down beside him with the journal. “You bookmarked a spot. Is that what you want me to read?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not sick of the sound of my voice?”
He chuckled at that ridiculous idea. “N-never.”
She opened the journal. “Oh, wow. Right. Okay.”
The entry he’d marked was the day she’d shattered gender stereotypes and enshrined herself as one of the greatest climbers of all time by becoming the first person to free climb The Nose on El Capitan. For a moment, the world had stood in awe of her. From that day forward, the woman he loved had ceased being just another celebrity rock climber and had become a legend.
She began to read.