Take Me Higher by Pamela Clare
Chapter 6
Mitch was standingon top of Columbine Boulder, pumped up on the adrenaline of having finally climbed White Lightning, when he spotted a familiar blue Chevy van heading their way. He pointed. “Hey, Calder’s here.”
“Dean?” The excitement on Megs’ face made her look like a little girl—and left Mitch feeling strangely jealous.
Dean parked, climbed out, and headed in their direction. He was probably the best climber among them—excluding Megs, of course. He’d taken to climbing after getting back from a tour of duty in Vietnam and now lived out of his vehicle, traveling the country, always in search of new routes.
Megs waved to him, and Dean headed in their direction.
Mitch stayed where he was. It was his rock-solid proof that he’d climbed the route Dean had declared unclimbable.
Oh, yeah. This was going to be sweet.
Dean spotted him, grinned. “How the hell did you get up there—a ladder?”
“You wish! The unclimbable has been climbed.” Mitch felt a moment of satisfaction at the astonishment on Dean’s face, but it was quickly replaced by guilt. He hadn’t been the first to get here. “Megs showed us how to do it.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Dean walked over to Megs and hugged her. “How’s it going, kiddo? Are you putting these boys to shame?”
Mitch downclimbed and stood back while Megs demonstrated for Dean how she’d proven him wrong. Having climbed the boulder numerous times since her first ascent, she now had the route down, moving quickly and gracefully up the rock. Mitch could have watched her climb all day. He’d never seen anyone move the way she did, both athletic and graceful.
It went beyond skill. It was genius. It was … art.
When she topped out, Dean applauded. “Far out! Why didn’t I think of that?”
“You guys climb using physical strength.” Megs made her way back to the ground. “I have to use my brain, too.”
Mitch couldn’t help but laugh. She wasn’t wrong.
They spent the rest of the afternoon at the boulder, until each of them had successfully climbed the route. Afterward, Megs pulled Dean aside, leaned close, said something that made Dean shake his head and rest his hand on her shoulder. When she walked to her tent to change for work, she looked pleased.
Mitch found himself watching her as she came out of her tent in her cafeteria uniform and climbed into her car. Did she and Dean have something going on? And why the hell did he care?
Dean walked up beside him. “You like her.”
Mitch couldn’t deny it. “She’s one hell of a climber.”
Dean chuckled. “No, I mean you like her.”
“Yeah. There’s something about her…”
“Tell me about it.”
Mitch turned to look at his friend, needing to know. “Are the two of you…?”
“Lovers?” Dean laughed. “Oh, hell, no. I’m too old for her.”
“Too old? You’re only twenty-eight, man.”
Dean laughed, shook his head. “Want to get away from camp and go for a hike?”
“Yeah.” Mitch grabbed his daypack with its first aid kit, filled his water bottle, and met Dean near his vehicle.
“The Upper Falls?” Dean shoved a bag of trail mix into his backpack.
“Sounds good.”
They walked in amicable silence to the Valley Loop Trail, following it until it intersected with the Falls trail, switchbacks passing through oak forest, their progress slowed by red-faced tourists who huffed and puffed their way uphill.
“Good grief.” Dean apparently got sick of the human traffic jam because he picked up speed and began to thread his way through them, passing them quickly.
Mitch was right behind him. It felt good to get some motion, his heart thrumming in his chest, fresh air in his lungs. As they neared Columbia Point, the trail became sandy. Dean didn’t stop to look at the view of Yosemite Valley but pressed on, pushing himself.
They passed Oh My Gosh Point with its incredible view of Half Dome, their progress slowed by tourists with cameras. They were roughly halfway to the top now, a pleasant burn in Mitch’s quadriceps. More switchbacks led to chaparral and then manzanita scrub.
When they reached the top, Dean didn’t take the stone steps to the overlook but instead headed over to the water—not the safest place to be. He knelt, splashed water on his face, then scrambled up a boulder, and sat looking out over the valley.
Mitch climbed up to sit beside him, pulled out his water bottle, and took a deep drink. Below them, Yosemite Valley stretched out like a climber’s dream, Half Dome rising above the green forest. But Mitch’s thoughts drifted to Megs.
When didn’t he think about her?
Over these past few weeks, she’d become an obsession. He loved the sound of her laugh, loved her sharp tongue and her quick wit. And those gray eyes…
The sun was beginning to set, its rays turning the top of Half Dome a flaming shade of red-gold, turkey vultures soaring on the last of the thermals, jays squawking in the nearby trees.
Dean broke the silence. “Thanks for coming with me. There are days when I want to jump. If I did, I’d do it here at night when the tourists were gone. Long, fast drop, rock-hard stop. But don’t worry. With you here, I wouldn’t do that.”
Mitch stared at him. He’d known that Dean carried memories of the war, but he hadn’t realized the weight of those memories was so heavy. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
Dean laughed, a harsh sound. “It’s the most fucked-up bullshit ever to kill some scared kid your own age just because your two governments decided to have a war. I can still see the shock in his eyes, the fear. He hesitated—and I pulled the trigger.”
“I don’t see what choice you had. It was kill or be killed.”
Dean nodded. “That’s what I tell myself, but his finger wasn’t on the trigger. Maybe he would have just let me pass by.”
“Maybe—or maybe he’d have gotten over his surprise and killed you.”
Dean said nothing, and Mitch realized he was shaking, his face screwed up in anguish, tears on his cheeks. Mitch wanted to tell him that it would be okay, but how could he say that? He hadn’t fought in Vietnam. He didn’t know how it felt to kill.
“Thanks for trusting me with that.” He put his arm around Dean’s shoulder. “I can’t begin to know what you’re going through, but I’m here. I won’t leave you.”
Megs waiteduntil the lump in her throat loosened enough to let her speak. “Mitch is so good about keeping people’s confidences. I knew that Vietnam haunted your father, but I never knew he’d thought of ending his life. Mitch never told me.”
Kurt wiped his eyes. “My mother said he’d found peace before he died.”
The sharp edge of regret pressed in on Megs, Dean’s death a tragedy she’d never put behind her. “That’s true. He found peace with your mom, with climbing, with you and your little sister. He talked about you often. He told us he thought you were a good little hiker and might climb one day, too.”
Kurt smiled. “I’m sorry to say he was wrong about that. I love the mountains. I hike and camp, but climbing…”
His words trailed off, but he didn’t have to finish. Why would any child take up the sport that had killed their father?
“I guess I understand now why he didn’t hold a grudge against Gridwall.”
Kurt nodded. “My mother told me that he never judged draft dodgers. He believed Vietnam was a mistake and understood why a man might choose self-preservation over country. He never spoke of the war in front of us kids, but killing that young soldier stayed with him for the rest of his life.”
“Is all of this why you became a minister?” Megs had learned a few things from Mitch about reading people. “Is it your calling to help people cope with their pain?”
Kurt seemed to consider this. “That could be. I believe God suffers with us, shares in our grief and pain. Losing my father was the worst thing that has happened to me. Easing the pain of others, giving them solace, isn’t a poor way to spend one’s life.”
“No, it certainly isn’t.” Megs was about to find another entry that featured Dean when Kurt’s phone beeped.
He slipped it out of his pocket. “I have to go. There’s been a serious accident, and there are folks in the ER who are getting bad news.”
Megs’ stomach knotted at the thought. “Damn, you’re strong—just like Dean.”
“Before I go, I’d like to say a prayer for Mitch—if that’s okay.”
“I’d appreciate that. Thank you.”
He took her hand, his fingers warm. “Gracious God in Heaven, I ask you to pour out your Holy Spirit on your servant Mitch Ahearn. Bless and guide the doctors and nurses who are working tirelessly to save his life, and grant him the miracle of complete recovery. Be with his partner, Megs, and strengthen her for these challenging days ahead. I ask all this in the name of the one who suffered for us.”
He paused, then went on. “And, Dad, if you see Mitch, please tell him it’s not his time, and send him back. Amen.”
Megs barely managed to croak out an “Amen.”
“I’ll check on you tomorrow, if that’s okay.”
“That would mean a lot to me—and to Mitch, I’m certain.”
“Thanks for sharing the journal entry.” Kurt glanced at Mitch one more time. “I’ll see you later, Mitch.”
Then he walked out of the room.
Megs moved closer to the head of the bed, took Mitch’s hand. “Do you know who that was? That was Dean’s son—Kurt. I had no idea he worked here. Hell, I still thought of him as a little boy.”
A knock.
Jackie checked Mitch’s IV fluids and went through the oral care routine. Then the lab tech stepped in to draw blood. A respiratory therapist came in a few minutes later to check the ventilator machine itself.
It was getting late, time for Megs to head back to the hotel for her first full night’s sleep since the accident. She put fresh batteries into the recorder, then kissed Mitch’s cheek. “I’m going to the hotel now, but I’ll be back in the morning. In the meantime, you can listen to me drone on. Keep fighting.”
She put the earbuds on him, hit play, then reluctantly left his room. She made sure Jackie had her room number at the hotel, then took the elevator to the ground floor and searched for her vehicle. The air was chilly, the wind blowing away the antiseptic odors of the hospital and reviving her.
She’d wandered around in front of the hospital for about five minutes when she remembered they’d parked her SUV near the ER entrance. She made her way around to that side of the building to find two ambulances parked outside the doors. A man and woman jumped out of a car and ran toward the building, panic on their faces.
She’d spoken with lots of grief-stricken families during her years with the Team, but this was different, the couple’s distress hitting her in the chest, empathy for them swamping her, filling her with impotent rage. If God suffered with humanity, then why the hell didn’t God do something about the situation down here?
She found her vehicle, unlocked it with her fob, and climbed into the driver’s seat, slamming the door. “Damn it!”
She sat there for a moment, pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes to keep herself from crying. When she was in control once more, she turned on the engine and drove down the street to the hotel. She showered, checked her email, then crawled into bed. The last thought in her mind before exhaustion caught up with her was of Mitch with his arm around Dean’s shoulder.
Megs arrivedin the ICU to find the place busier than usual. Then she remembered. Last night’s accident.
She made her way to Mitch’s room, passing a room where the couple she’d seen last night hovered over the bed of a teenage boy, their faces twisted with fear.
God almighty.
Empathy washed through her, followed by a rush of gratitude. Unlike the poor child in that bed, Mitch had lived a full life. He’d known a level of success and fame in his field that few men could claim. He’d stood on the summit of Mt. Everest, climbed in Patagonia, traveled the world. They’d had forty-eight wonderful years together and made a difference in the lives of others. If this was the end…
It better fucking not be the end.
She wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
Debby, the daytime RN, was in Mitch’s room, hooking up a small bag of meds to his subclavian line. She looked up when Megs entered. “Did you get some sleep?”
Megs nodded. “How is he?”
“He started running a fever late last night.”
Megs’ stomach knotted. “Shit.”
“It’s not unusual for patients to run a fever post-op, but we’re doing a full range of tests to make sure he’s not developing an infection or sepsis. We’re continuing antibiotics. I wouldn’t worry too much. Dr. Schwartz wanted to talk to you, so I’ll page him and let him know you’re here.”
Megs walked to Mitch’s bedside, touched her hand to his cheek, and found his skin hot. She stopped the recorder, removed his earbuds. “Good morning. What’s going on with this fever? I wish you could open your eyes and tell me. I bet you’ve got one hell of a headache.”
Could he feel pain? She had no idea.
During the half-hour it took Dr. Schwartz to appear, Megs had all but convinced herself that the news could only be bad. But when he walked into the room, he had a smile on his face.
“Good morning.” He shook her hand.
“Is there bad news?”
“You already know the bad news. He’s not out of the woods yet. He could still die. He could have significant impairments. We can’t be certain he’ll ever climb again or walk or talk, for that matter. But I’m here to share some good news.”
Megs’ spirits sank to hear him describe Mitch’s situation in such stark terms. “I’m listening.”
“We’ve been monitoring his intracranial pressure constantly, and the indications are that the swelling in his brain is beginning to go down.” Dr. Schwartz smiled. “Why is this good news? Often, as the swelling goes down, we see patients begin to progress through different stages of recovery. It generally takes six to twenty weeks for the swelling to go down completely, but this is the start of recovery.”
“Are you saying he might wake up soon?” Megs couldn’t even bring herself to hope, not when so much still hung in the balance.
Dr. Schwartz shook his head. “With an injury as severe as this, we typically see patients move from a coma to a vegetative state and then into a minimally conscious state and then a confusional state before regaining full consciousness. The faster they move through these stages, the fewer impairments they typically have, though there are no guarantees. It’s all in the brochures I gave you.”
“Oh, right.” What had Megs done with those? “I guess I haven’t felt like reading.”
“Did Debby tell you about the fever?”
“Yes. She said you’re running tests.”
“So far, there’s no sign of infection. We’ll keep up antibiotic therapy, but at this point, I’m pretty certain this is just part of the healing process. It’s not unusual for a patient to have a fever in the first forty-eight hours or so after surgery.”
She realized with a start that it hadn’t yet been forty-eight hours since Mitch’s surgery. How could that be when it felt like half a century?
Dr. Schwartz touched a hand to her shoulder. “Hang in there. You’re at the beginning of a tough journey. Debby tells me you’re still reading to him. Keep it up. Take good care of yourself, too. He’s going to need you.”
Megs thanked him and watched him walk away. She took Mitch’s hand, allowed thoughts she’d been holding at bay to enter her mind.
Was she selfish to want so desperately for Mitch to wake up? Would the life he had after this justify his suffering? He’d been so clear that he’d rather die than spend his life helpless or with severe impairments. But maybe that was all just ableist bullshit from an elite athlete who couldn’t imagine living a happy life in any other way.
She took his hand, steeled herself. “I don’t know if you can really hear me. I don’t know if anything I say matters one way or another.”
She hesitated, tried to find the right words. She wanted to tell him that she would be okay if he needed to move on, that he shouldn’t cling to life if he was so badly hurt that his life wouldn’t be worth living. But that’s not what came out of her mouth.
“Don’t die on me, you son of a bitch. I don’t know how to let you go.”
She retrieved the journal and the recorder and searched for a new passage to read.