“I remember you wanted to die. On the plane.”
“Yes, I told you that. But it’s not true anymore.”
“I don’t want to die,” he whispers.
“I won’t let you. Besides, we have to climb this little mountain.”
But we don’t go back to climbing right away. He puts his head down in my lap and closes his eyes. Sleep comes quickly and I hold him, trying to be soothing and to provide whatever warmth I can. There’s a light snow falling, and the wind has picked up. It’s very cold without the trees to protect us. I tell myself I’ll let him have fifteen minutes, maybe twenty, but then I’ll wake him. We can’t get caught here on this mountain if a storm comes.
When I wake, I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep. My heart jumps, and I shake Paul. He’s dead asleep, but I’m able to wake him quickly. He startles and then just stares at me, locking on my eyes in the way only he can.
“Did you think I was gone?”
“No,” I say quickly, but I look down. I don’t want to reveal my fears to him.
“I’ve got something for you,” he says. He opens his bag and pulls out a piece of the candy bar I had handed him the day before. “I saved it in case we needed something extra.” He breaks it in half and hands me a piece.
“I can’t.”
“You can. Open up,” he says.
I smile and then kneel down next to him and he slides the piece of chocolate between his teeth. I lean in and kiss him, and bite off half the candy bar.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
I shake my head no and smile. I can taste every atom of the chocolate. The salt, sugar, and milk all taste like the very ultimate version of themselves in my mouth.
“We’ll have this again, you know,” he says.
“Yes. I know we will, but much more.”
He stands with a new energy that surprises me.
We begin the ascent and it is clean and purposeful. Paul takes the lead this time, his strength returning like a droopy plant that finds its bloom again in the sun after a long cold night.
It feels like I am floating on the snow. I lean into the mountain, like Paul has told me, and I slam my sticks in at forty-five-degree angles so the snow can hold me. My boots are regular old boots, but the ground is hard, so I’m kicking into the snow trying to create leverage. There are rocks and small bushes to grab and hold. We make better time than I could have hoped and when we reach the top and crest, the whole of the valley is behind us.
I look back once at the darkening valley we just climbed out of. From this view I can see that the nooks and crevices, and the cliffs and overhangs, are flattened into a majestic, romantic vista. Its charms are seductive and had I not just climbed my way out, I would only see the beauty.
While I’m looking at where we’ve been, Paul looks ahead to where we need to go, and glances up at the heavy cloud cover above us. The snow falls more quickly and the wind up here is brutal and we are completely exposed to all the elements.
But off into the distance, we can both clearly see a path down and off this mountain. We are a day away from the lowlands and, possibly, help.
We look at each other and he pulls me in and says, “Almost home, Solis.”
Chapter 30
We walk for a short distance on the top of the mountain. There’s a ridge that extends for a while. We find a massive formation of boulders not too far from its edge. They lie in a giant cluster, as if one wave carried them here and dropped them like so many pickup sticks. We walk around until we find a stony lean-to and slide between two of the rocks. It’s a natural cave.
Paul rests while I go out in search of any dry wood, but there’s nothing up here, plus the snow is wet. We have landed on the moon, I think, except it might be colder.
I find my way back in and Paul has laid out our bags. He has our water bottles out and we have enough melted snow for a few big gulps. My body sucks them in. I can feel the cold water wash down and into my chest and disappear. It’s as lovely a taste as anything I’ve ever had, even if it’s cold.
I slide into the bags, but this time Paul faces me. We look into each other’s eyes and there’s nothing said for what seems like an eternity. What is there to say, really? We have no food. We are alone and lying together at the precipice of what will almost surely be our death. But there is still a possibility for rescue and salvation. It could be a moment away, but then again, so could death.
His left hand is flat against the small of my back and he pulls me in tightly and kisses me on the lips. Both our lips are hard and chapped, but somehow, the kiss is softer than anything I’ve ever felt before. I kiss him back, first on the lips, then his cheek and neck.
His hand is cold and I can feel it on my body, moving and caressing along the lines, often touching and pushing beyond what I expect, but toward what I want.
I touch him too, and we explore each other as fully as we can with the cold and his damages. We softly whisper our hesitation and our approval, perfectly attuned to each other. He turns me to my back and presses his full body against mine. He kisses me, and I forget the world. The past. The future. Our pain and suffering. Everything disappears for what seems like forever in a kind of indescribable bliss.
We wake together to the sound of wind howling and flakes drifting into our lean-to: evidence of a storm rolling in.
“Hey,” he says, kissing my lips.
“Hey,” I say.
“Solis?”
“Yes,” I say.
“When the storm blows over, you have to leave me.”
I prop myself on one elbow in surprise.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You have to. I’m dying. If you don’t go, I’ll definitely die here and I’d rather not die here.”
The world giveth and the world taketh away. This is why I hate the world. I close my eyes and see my father putting tinsel on our Christmas tree. My stocking is hung beside his and Mom’s. There are candy canes everywhere. He’s doing a manic dance around the tree, singing, “Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus.” He hands me a gift. “A little something early, darling.” And then he disappears into the kitchen and eventually into the bedroom, where later that night, he will blow his head off. I still have the gift. It was a portrait he did of me in a little white dress with yellow and pink hearts sewn on. My mother made that dress. I’ve kept the portrait, contrary to what I’ve told Old Doctor. And sometimes I pull it out and cry, like I am right now just thinking about it. But I’d be lying if I said the thought of it hasn’t brought me some joy, too.
He takes hold of my hand and moves it down to where his ribs are broken and I feel the swelling and the heat rising off his chest.
“I’m bleeding inside,” he says. “I feel it. My heart feels weak.”
A gasping sob comes from nowhere and I put my head on his chest. And I cry harder and harder, and he holds me, stroking my hair.
I kiss him on the neck a few times, then look into his eyes. Nobody has ever said those words to me before. I don’t know how to speak for a moment, and then a huge lump lodges in my throat.
“What can I do?” I cry.
“Nothing right now. But when the storm stops, leave me.”
There’s a long pause, and I’m trying to process all the emotions I’m feeling. It’s overwhelming, but I decide on a simple idea.
“I’ll find help.”
