It was the second week of October. She had two months to figure it out.
SIXTY
Erin was certain of one thing: she wanted to be a better rock climber. Sunday, they returned to Christchurch too late to climb. Hank would spend the week catching up on work projects, but they’d agreed to climb outside the following weekend.
In preparation, Erin spent every afternoon at The Roxx, where auto-belay machines enabled safe solo climbs. Monday was fine, but Tuesday and Wednesday were rough. She pushed through, and by Saturday she felt sure she wouldn’t embarrass herself climbing outside. Her progress might even impress Hank. She hoped.
Saturday morning, she packed a little bag with sunscreen and a hat. She was on the slip, slop, slap, wrap bandwagon. Mimicking Marama’s prep for Castle Hill, she’d bought six caramel slices from Horton’s Bakery; Hank loved caramel almost as much as she did.
She couldn’t remember what he’d eaten at Castle Hill, except Marama’s chicken salad. She packed bottled water, four sandwiches, and several pieces of fruit. This time, she was pulling her weight.
She tucked her phone into her bag just as he knocked on the door.
“G’day!”
She was growing quite fond of his crooked smile. “Hi!”
“All set, then?”
“I am.” She followed him to the driveway and was stunned to see Gloria already in the car.
Erin climbed into the backseat, her heart sinking.
Hank buckled up and explained where they were headed. Gloria and Hank reminisced about their recent trip, and Erin wanted to shrink into oblivion.
She didn’t vomit during the drive, but she wanted to gag herself. What am I doing here?
In the Port Hills, they hiked to the rock face, which looked like giant bubbles forming out of a huge boulder. Gloria and Hank set out their equipment, using a language Erin still didn’t speak: tapers, trads, bight, jugs, pitch, carabiners.
Carabiners she now knew. All the climbers carried their keys and chalk bags on those metal rings.
While Hank and Gloria continued their private conversation, Erin tried on Hank’s sister’s shoes again. Still so tight.
“It’s going to be a while,” Hank said. “I’d take them off if I were you.”
Gloria started up the rock face with dozens of silver trapezoid things. Every few feet, she stuck a trapezoid into the rock face and threaded her rope through it. If she fell, she’d have a long way down.
That’s what Gloria meant when she said this was a far greater challenge than gym climbing.
Ten minutes later, after Gloria had reached the top of the rock, Hank followed. They disappeared over the top of the wall, leaving Erin alone among quiet trees.
She probably wouldn’t have tried rock climbing if her Wheaton friends had asked. Then again, they would have known not to ask because she was always busy. Were there rock faces in flat Illinois? Mountain biking? She had no idea. When you bury your head in the sand—or the chlorine, as the case may be—you miss a lot.
Hank peeked over the edge and rappelled down the rock.
“What were you two doing up there?”
Hank gave her the side-eye. “Don’t worry. We’re being safe.”
Erin blushed.
Hank got very close to her face. “What do you think we were doing up there?”
Erin bit her lip.
Gloria returned to the ground, and Erin asked, “You two do this often?”
“In summer we do. You want to do the honors?”
Gloria and Hank had attached the top rope to something above. Erin tied a figure-eight knot and roped in as Hank had taught her.
“Let me check them,” Hank said.
Erin scowled.
“Don’t be offended! We all check each other’s knots. It’s not like checking your rugby equipment. This is dangerous stuff.”
They all checked one another’s harnesses and Hank declared Erin’s knots safe. “Go for it.”
Erin approached the rock and grabbed on.
“Erin?”
Hank and Gloria were expectant. It took her a second to remember. “On belay?”
“Belay on.”
“Climbing?”
“Climb on.”
Her little extra climbing sessions had done wonders for her grip strength, but she still couldn’t get a good hold on the tiniest rock fragments.
Erin tried to be grateful as Gloria gave excellent directions for her feet. What else were they doing on top of this rock?
Two-thirds of the way up the rock, Erin’s hands gave out. “Take!”
“Got!”
Erin sat back in her harness and rubbed her fingers. After a minute or two, she grabbed the rock. “Climbing!”
“Maybe take another minute,” Hank said. “You’ve been working hard. Have a break.”
She glared at Hank, who hadn’t been studying her ass.
He said, “Turn ’round. Look out.”
She spun around, and there it was: rolling hills, mountains, and the sea all rolled into one gorgeous and stunning New Zealand view. Had she seen a photo of this, she wouldn’t have believed the colors. The sparkling ocean was too blue. Twenty-nine shades of green stretched toward the distant, majestic mountains. Houses dotted a nearby hill, much like the Queenstown houses on stilts.
Queenstown. When she was desperate to swim and desperate to win and her schedule was full. Not fulfilling, but full. Of lifting and practice and that urge to win. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Why had she spent that entire weekend getting her head in the game? The game was out here.
As Hank and Gloria chatted, Erin was alone, hanging from a rope, looking out at the world.
Like Queenstown, Christchurch was simply awesome. Tears sprang to her eyes. She’d almost missed this. If her head had been in the pool, or her sheet music, or her computer desperately trying to get into Columbia, she would have missed New Zealand.
Erin had been missing out. She whispered, “This is the most beautiful moment of my life.”
She glanced down at Hank and Gloria, who chatted nonchalantly. They were lucky. They lived in the most gorgeous place in the world.
And so did Erin.
There was something more real about how she was living these days. This sublime outdoor playground was real. Amazing. And she felt a part of it. She felt stronger than ever before. She was living.
Erin turned back toward the
