Take Me Higher by Pamela Clare

Chapter 9

Megs tuckedthe receipt into place and closed the journal, moved by this private side of the man she loved—his thoughts about her, his reflections, his deep, dark secrets. “You borrowed more books than you were allowed—and you turned them in late? You bad, bad man.”

God, what a rough night that had been. She’d gone to the Village early to do laundry at the employee lodge, take a shower, and shave her legs in hopes of finally having sex that night. Then she’d had a lousy evening at work because some jerk had grabbed her butt, and the manager had refused to do a damned thing about it.

“When I got back to camp, it was quiet. I should have known something was wrong, but all I could think about was you.” Megs stroked his arm, his muscles firm beneath her palm. “I’d never felt closer to anyone in my life. I’d never felt as safe with anyone as I did with you.”

She’d certainly never felt as horny. After that day at the lake, she’d lain awake fantasizing about Mitch every night, filling in the sexual blanks with nonsense. It seemed to her that she was on top of the world. Her life was finally coming together. All the pieces had seemed to fit—Mitch, climbing, escaping her past.

That night it had all come crashing down—at least for a time.

She had put her duffel bag of clean laundry in her tent, changed into shorts and a T-shirt, and had gone looking for Mitch. “I saw Gridwall with his split lip. I thought he was acting stranger than usual, but it was hard to tell. You know him. He’s odd on a good day. He told me he’d fallen and hit his mouth on a rock, and I believed him.”

Then Mitch had crawled out of his tent, and she’d known the moment she’d seen his face that something was wrong.

“You took my hand and told me we needed to talk. All I could think was that I’d done something to make you angry.”

The truth had been much darker.

“You tried so hard to break the news gently.” Megs hadn’t taken it well. “I felt violated, completely humiliated, exposed, ashamed. Not only had they gotten into my tent, but everyone knew the truth about my age—and why I’d had to leave home.”

Of course, no one had known precisely what her stepfather had done, but the sordid details didn’t matter. The case number was on the court document alongside the phrase “sexual assault on a minor by a person in a position of trust.”

Then Mitch had given her even worse news.

“When you told me we couldn’t have sex until I turned eighteen, I couldn’t believe it. I thought you didn’t want me any longer and were making excuses. You had to explain statutory rape laws and ‘age of consent.’”

God, she’d been naïve, ignorant—a child.

“When I reminded you that I was an emancipated minor and free to make my own decisions, you told me that didn’t change anything, at least not when it came to California’s consent laws.”

Megs had tried to tell him that it didn’t matter, that she wouldn’t report him. But Mitch wouldn’t hear it. “You told me that it didn’t matter if no one found out. If the state deemed it a crime for you to have sex with someone under eighteen, you felt honor-bound to respect that.”

Megs had been so hurt and enraged that she’d crawled out of his tent, broken down her tent, shoved everything into her frame pack, and hiked away from Camp 4, the flashlight in her hand her only source of light.

Mitch had come after her, tried to stop her. She could still hear his voice.

Megs, honey, it’s not safe out there after dark! There are mountain lions!

But something about that night had stolen her sense of safety and the new self-image she’d wrapped around herself like a shield. She’d felt naked, betrayed, and utterly alone. Except that she hadn’t been alone.

“You packed up your gear and followed me. You kept your distance, but you followed me. After I set up my tent, you said my name and stepped out from behind the trees, pack on your back. I was too damned tired to hike any longer. You walked over, took me into your arms, and held me while I lost it.”

It was the first time she’d cried in front of anyone since she was little.

“That’s when I saw your bloody knuckles. You told me you’d punched Gridwall.” Megs raised Mitch’s hand to her lips, kissed those knuckles. “That might be why I fell in love with you. No one had ever stood up for me like that.”

He’d been her hero that night—and every night from then on. What he’d gotten out of their relationship was still a mystery to her.

“You thought I was an adult woman, but I was still a kid. You thought I was hot, but I was just a hot mess. Most guys would have walked away, but you stayed and waited until…”

Megs stopped, studied Mitch. It took a moment for what she was seeing to sink in, and when it did, adrenaline hit her bloodstream in a rush. “Oh, God!”

His eyes were open.

“Mitch? Can you hear me? His eyes are open!” Megs ran out of his room, her gaze seeking Debby, her heart thudding. “Mitch opened his eyes!”

Megs stood in the hallway,hands shaking, while Mitch’s medical team examined him. She fished her phone out of her pocket and texted Rain to let her know that Mitch had opened his eyes.

I don’t know if he’s out of the coma, but I will keep you posted.

Rain replied immediately.

That’s great news! Please let us know.

After what seemed an eternity, Dr. Schwartz walked over to her, his expression giving nothing away. He gestured toward the private room at the end of the hall.

When the door was shut, he smiled. “Mitch has moved into a vegetative state.”

Adrenaline made her head buzz. “He’s a … vegetable?”

“It’s all in the brochures I gave you.” Dr. Schwartz explained. “Generally, as a person with TBI begins to regain consciousness, they move from a coma into a vegetative state. It doesn’t mean he’s a ‘vegetable’ in the colloquial sense. It’s a good sign. The majority of people in a vegetative state within a month of a brain injury regain consciousness within a year. Mitch got there in forty-eight hours. That doesn’t mean he’ll keep progressing at this rate. He could still face complications. He could still die. But I’d say this gives us another reason to hope.”

Megs inhaled, refusing to cry. “Thank you.”

“We’re going to start physical therapy, working to keep his muscles from getting tight. We will also start turning him, changing his position every few hours to prevent pressure sores. Depending on how the next few days go, we might also put in a feeding tube and try weaning him off the ventilator.”

“What can I do to help?”

“You can help with his stretching exercises. The most important thing is that you keep talking to him, touching him, letting him know you’re there.”

Megs nodded. “I can do that.”

When Mitch was back from his CT scan, Riana, his physical therapist, arrived and taught Megs how to stretch major muscle groups without aggravating any of Mitch’s injuries or incisions. Then Debby and a few other nurses carefully turned Mitch onto his side, using pillows to ensure that his head and neck remained safely positioned.

When they were gone, Megs moved her chair so that she could see his face. His eyes were still open, and he blinked at regular intervals. Even so, his gaze wasn’t focused on anything.

Still, progress was progress.

She sent an update to Rain, then put her phone away.

“I haven’t seen those brown eyes of yours in what feels like forever.” She caressed his arm. “Thank you, Mitch, for fighting so hard. Please keep fighting.”

She told him what everyone in Scarlet was doing to help. “Can you imagine being a newbie climber and getting lessons from Sasha, a five-time world champion? They have no idea how lucky they are. People love you, Mitch. I’m not the only one.”

Debby left for the day, and Jackie began her shift.

Then Kurt came. He stopped first in the room with the parents whose young son was so badly injured. Then he came to check on Mitch.

Megs shared the good news. “He opened his eyes.”

The smile that came to Kurt’s face was genuine. “That’s great news.”

But no sooner had Kurt arrived than he was paged away. He offered another prayer, this time thanking God for Mitch’s improvement.

“Does it bother you that I don’t believe in your god?” Megs asked afterward.

Kurt shook his head, gave her a warm smile. “The most important thing is that God believes in you.”

His words gave her goosebumps. She had no idea what the hell that even meant, but somehow it touched her.

“I need to go.” He rested a hand on Megs’ shoulder. “I’ll check in again.”

“Thank you, Kurt.”

Afternoon became evening. Vent care. Oral care. X-rays. Changing IV bags. Stretches. Turning Mitch. What had seemed so foreign to Megs two days ago was now the new normal, the daily routine. She decided to eat at the hotel and not risk another meal at the cafeteria. Still, she didn’t want to leave just yet.

“How about one more story?” She scanned through the next few entries, laughed, reached for the recorder. “Oh, yes. The great waiting game.”

Darkness.Pain. Emptiness. Shadows.

But there was also light now.

Mitch drifted, rudderless, his mind empty, some part of him reaching in wordless desperation for the light, for the sound of her voice. It carried him like a warm current, lifted him up, filled the emptiness, chased the darkness away.

Mitch and Megsstayed at their private camping spot for several days. They climbed together, shared meals, and talked. Occasionally, they kissed, but Mitch did his best to ensure it was rated PG and not R.

God, it was hell keeping his hands off her.

When she was ready to face the others, they hiked back to Camp 4.

He did his best to encourage her. “Just remember that you didn’t do anything wrong in any of this.”

She walked into camp, chin up. “I might punch Gridwall, too.”

“Let me know if you want me to hold him.”

That made her smile.

But Gridwall and Accardo were gone, apparently too ashamed of themselves to hang around. The others did their best to act as if nothing had happened. But something had changed. The men had quit making sexual jokes about her or teasing her for being a girl—at least when Mitch was around.

Dean welcomed Megs back with a big hug. “Glad to have you back. Don’t let these knuckleheads get to you, okay?”

Megs had regained her sharp tongue. “I make no promises in that regard.”

Dean held up his keys. “I’m driving to my brother’s place in SF to pick up a new tent I ordered. I’ll see you two when I get back.”

“Mind if I tag along?” Mitch had an idea.

“That would be cool.”

Megs’ expression fell. “I wish I could go, too. But I have to be at work at five-thirty, and there’s no way you’ll be back by then.”

Mitch hugged her. “Don’t worry about these guys. Just do your own thing. I’ll be here when you get back from work—and I’ll have a present for you.”

Her face lit up. “A present?”

“You’ll see.” He kissed her cheek and walked with Dean to his van.

“Drive safe!” she called after them.

Dean popped in an eight-track. “This is Peter Frampton. The album just came out toward the end of last year. He’s pretty good.”

“I want to thank you.”

“For what?”

“For keeping your promise to Megs. For not telling me when I asked about her. I hate that I found out the truth the way I did. She was hurt enough as it was, but it would have been much worse if that betrayal had come from you.”

Dean grinned. “For a college boy, you’re pretty smart.”

Music blasting, they left Yosemite behind, heading almost due west. Three and a half hours later, they pulled up in front of Dean’s brother’s house. Three small children burst out of the front door and ran toward them.

“Uncle Dean!”

Dean climbed out of the van, scooped up his niece and nephews, and gave them hugs. “How are my favorite rug rats?”

He introduced Mitch to his brother, Chris, and his sister-in-law, Renee, then disappeared in the back with his brother to retrieve the tent.

“I hope the two of you will stay for dinner,” Renee said when Dean returned, large box in hand. “I’m roasting a chicken.”

“We probably ought to get back.”

Mitch was about to object, his mind on that roast chicken, but Chris beat him to it.

“Are the rocks going to turn into pumpkins if you’re not back before midnight?” Chris asked. “Take some time for family. The kids are happy to see you.”

Dean caved. “Okay. You’re right. Thanks. We’d love to stay.”

Mitch reminded Dean that he had his own mission. “I need to buy something for Megs. Is there a cool bookstore nearby—someplace hip?”

Dean chuckled. “Hey, man, you’re in San Francisco.”

With promises to return with a bottle of Chardonnay, Mitch and Dean left to find a bookstore, ending up at a collective on 17^th and Sanchez.

Dean dropped Mitch off. “I probably shouldn’t go in. See you here in thirty.”

Inside, Mitch found a hippie haven. The walls were covered with images of Che Guevara, Angela Davis, and Karl Marx on its walls amid peace signs, posters with anti-war slogans, and blacklight posters.

He looked around, tried to orient himself.

“Hey, baby killer!”

He didn’t realize the man was talking to him until someone walked up behind him and repeated the slur. “Hey, baby killer! What are you doing in our store?”

Baby killer?

His short hair. The guy thought he was military.

Mitch turned around to find a skinny guy with long, dark hair in a Kerouac T-shirt and faded bellbottom jeans. There was a faint whiff of grass around him—and a look of intense dislike on his face.

Now Mitch understood why Dean hadn’t come inside.

Mitch could have told the guy that he’d never been in the military, that his short hair was just his preference because he lived in a tent all summer, but that would feel like a betrayal of the men, like Dean, who had served. “I’m here to buy books—something by Walt Whitman and that new book for women out of Boston. I think it’s called ‘Our Bodies, Ourselves.’”

A dark eyebrow rose.

Apparently, Mitch’s literary choices had passed muster, even if his haircut hadn’t.

The man pointed. “Poetry is over there. The women’s section is in the back.”

Mitch grabbed a used copy of Leaves of Grass and a brand new copy of Our Bodies, Ourselves. He’d learned about the book from one of his friends at school. She’d let him borrow it for a night, and he’d learned a lot from it.

Then he noticed a new release titled My Secret Garden, a collection of women’s sexual fantasies. Hell, he might want to read this one. He grabbed it, too.

Mitch paid, thanked the man, and walked outside, just as Dean pulled up in front. Mitch opened the passenger side door and climbed in.

“Did anyone hassle you?”

“No.” Mitch didn’t repeat what the asshole had called him. He knew it would hurt his friend. “I got what I came for.”

“Good. I’m dying for that roast chicken.”

Dinner aside, Mitch couldn’t wait to get back to camp. It was time that Megs got the education about her body that every girl deserved.