Chapter Eleven Claire
Chapter Eleven
Claire
The lure of flying is the lure of beauty.
—AMELIA EARHART
My feet are stuck to the wooden tie with the tar of dread. I’m afraid Nathan gave up his relationship for this career. After giving up my career, my relationship is the only thing I have left. I can’t lose it too.
Nathan speaks words I don’t want to hear. “They say if you love someone, let them go, and if they return, then they were always yours. What they don’t say is that if you’re the one to go, you might not have anyone to return to.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, but I’m not thinking about him at all. I’m thinking of Wyatt. And panicking.
I need to go back to the hotel. I need to call my boyfriend and make sure we’re okay.
I can’t do that here because there’s no cell service.
Which means I should run down these steep stairs with the risk of falling and breaking my face so that I don’t break my relationship.
I might be able to. Climbing has been easier than expected.
“Time for a water break?” Nathan mistakes my fear for fatigue. Or maybe he just wants a break himself. He swings the backpack off a shoulder and retrieves one of the many water bottles he’s packed.
With shaky fingers, I grip the bottle and squirt cool liquid down my parched throat. It’s not my arms or legs that feel like Jell-O. It’s my heart.
“Better?” he asks.
I wish dehydration was my only issue. The OJ drinker on my plane had it easy.
I face the mountain again. My pulse surges ahead. The sooner we get to the top, the sooner we can take the other trail back down. I wish we’d never been reflowed to here. “Let’s go.”
I lunge up the steps, the same terror that momentarily held me down now driving me forward. Fear is like gravity in a topsy-turvy world.
I can see the summit. Eyes on the prize, right? We catch up with the grandma and grandkids.
A middle school–aged boy jumps from rock to rock along the side of the ties, as if the main trail isn’t challenging enough. Meanwhile, Grandma struggles along hand in hand with an elementary school–aged girl.
The boy points up. “Come on, Grams. I can see the top.”
Two middle-aged ladies limp down steep steps from the direction he points, one clutching her back, the other clutching her side. Only they’re laughing over their obvious pain.
It’s not fear that seems to drive them, but adventure. They’re doing it for the story.
The one wearing a khaki hiking hat catches the grandma’s eye. “I hate to break it to you, but it’s a false summit. There’s still another seven hundred steps to the top.”
Seven hundred? My heart can’t handle that, and not because of my heart rate.
The other woman wipes her forehead underneath her visor and points to a gradual trail off to our left. “Last chance to take a chicken-out trail.”
The term seems fitting since the ladies cackle the ways hens cluck. The rest of us aren’t so cheerful as we contemplate our life choices. Well, everyone else may be contemplating. I want to drop to the ground and kiss the dirt path that’s here to rescue me. If that makes me a chicken, then bok-bok.
The little girl whimpers as if she’s about to cry.
I give her an empathetic smile. “I feel ya.”
Grandma sighs. “Brent.” She waves the boy down from where he’s already started up the next set of stairs. “Your sister isn’t going to make it.”
And this is why my dad didn’t take me with my brothers to hike Half Dome.
“Awww, Grams,” he laments, but he follows her down the path after the middle-aged women.
I would gladly trade places with him.
Nathan joins me under a shade tree but looks up the mountain rather than down the trail. “We’re so close,” he says overconfidently.
“Nathan.” I put all my hesitations into my tone, hoping that I won’t have to speak them aloud and he’ll be the one to suggest we call it a day.
He faces me, thumbs hooked on the side of his backpack straps, strong jaw lifted in exuberance.
I could take a picture of him and sell it to Trails Magazine.
He makes hiking look fun. Not like the torture I’m experiencing.
“If you stop here, you’re not going to get to attain the top-of-the-world feeling. ”
If we were really on top of the world, we’d have great cell service. “It’s not as hard as I thought, but it’s taking too long.”
He slides his aviators off. Whether it’s to study me closer or so I can see the conviction in his eyes, I’m not sure. Either way, his dramatics put Horatio Cane from CSI: Miami to shame. “Didn’t flight attendant training feel long too?”
“Yes. And if I could have gotten out early, I would have.”
“I’m sure some did.” He tilts his head sagely. “But aren’t you glad you made it to graduation?”
I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t passed, so right now I’m kind of wishing I hadn’t. Ironically, this adventure is exactly what I’d been hoping for back when I was stuck at my desk all day. Still, I suppose he’s right. “Yes.”
“One step at a time. It’ll be worth it.”
I shake my head, but mostly at myself. Because he’s right. One step isn’t hard. It’s when you can’t see them all to know where they end that each one becomes overwhelming.
“Come on. I’ll tell you more stories to speed up our climb.”
I resign myself to follow. Partly to make him happy. Partly out of curiosity. No part of me thinks he’s right, but at least the hike will be over.
I hear about how Nathan’s dad remarried right after Nathan’s breakup, and how he’d refused to go back home for the wedding because he’d feared it would make him feel more alone.
Especially with his new stepmom, Sarah, having three boys of her own.
Not only did his dad’s newfound relationship highlight Nathan’s loss, but he also felt replaced as a son.
I’m sympathizing—feeling his pain more than mine.
Then somehow we’re there. And the top-of-the-world view wipes all the fear from my mind.
We’re looking down at the thousands of stairs we climbed and the valley so far into the distance that I could almost be on an airplane. Only it’s better because none of the strangers here are yelling at me about orange juice.
Colors blend together in an earthy palate of seamless beauty.
Mountains, trees, rivers. The mustiness of fallen leaves mixes with the musk of my sweat for a combination better than any perfume.
My lips taste salty from perspiration, but a welcome breeze blows my skin dry and lifts the strands escaping from my braid.
My legs do tremble from exertion, but it’s invigorating, not tiring. The feeling of being alive. The feeling of triumph. The sudden surety that there’s still more for me out here. Getting reflowed to Colorado Springs has turned out to be the best gift I’ve ever received.
Everyone on this mountain shares in my delight with high fives, back slaps, and tales of overcoming. There are no quitters here. Nobody has anything more to prove. We’ve become equals and one another’s biggest fans. I wish all of life could be lived from such a perspective.
We bond over our journey. From the old guy who tells us he once shoveled snow off every one of these steps to the group of athletes who claim they bring up ornaments to hang on their “Christmas tree” all throughout December—even though the parks department has banned them.
Nathan hands me a leftover protein bar I saved from an uneaten first-class breakfast. “Glad I made you finish the climb?”
I rip open the wrapper and tear into my nutty snack.
I don’t want to admit he was right. But at the same time, it’s the reminder I need that my life can’t revolve around Wyatt.
He’s probably not even thinking about me right now.
Had I returned to the hotel and called him earlier, I would have been interrupting him at work.
“Thank you.” I mean it. “This is better than the San Luis Obispo cliffs and San Antonio Riverwalk combined.”
He shakes his head in disbelief, but his grin reaches just as far. “Here I thought people running downhill were the crazies.”
It may sound crazy, but the things we are given aren’t always as rewarding as the things we work for. It’s good to have something to work for again.
I pull my cell from the leg pocket on my yoga pants. “Will you take a crazy picture of me?”
He accepts my phone. “How crazy are we talking?”
I scan for the best background and a flat surface so I don’t roll an ankle or throw myself off a cliff. “I’m going to do a grand jeté.”
“A what?”
I step into position. “The splits in the air.”
“Oh, right. Of course. Why wouldn’t you?”
My smile softens. Nathan is easy to be with. He challenges me to do better while accepting me for who I am. Which is saying a lot, considering how neurotic I’ve been lately.
I’m still going to call Wyatt when I get back to make sure he knows I would choose him over this career. But I’m also going to enjoy the flight attendant experience while I’m living it. Who knows where else it can take me? I’m already on top of the world.
“Where are you?” Wyatt asks.
I lay on the bed in my hotel room, relaxed enough to sleep but too happy to drift off. Now that Wyatt has called, I get to tell him about my amazing moments. About doing a grand jeté on a mountaintop in the photo to which he’s referring.
“It’s near Pike’s Peak, and it’s called Colorado’s Stairway to Heaven. At first I thought that was because it can kill you and you go to heaven, but surviving it felt pretty heavenly too. Nathan kept me going.”
He harrumphs. “About Nathan . . .”
I smile at the ceiling. “About Nathan . . .” I repeat, curious to hear if Wyatt actually looked him up and what he found.
“I looked at his social media account and found his ex-girlfriend. But I also found the picture of him looking at you with the heart sunglasses. And the comments are all congratulating him on moving on.”
I blink, feeling like I’m at the optometrist, taking the vision test where you tell the doctor when the two images align. “That doesn’t mean anything. How did he respond?”
“He hasn’t.”
My pulse revs, and I roll to a seated position. “Let me see.” I drop the phone to the white comforter between my legs and tap on the screen to put our conversation on speaker. I need to scroll the internet and see for myself.
I can’t navigate fast enough. Why is this such a big deal? It won’t change anything. Nathan knows I have a boyfriend. I didn’t do anything inappropriate to lead him on. We’re friends.
Despite this inner argument, my heartbeat races. Finding answers will surely help it settle.
Wyatt chuckles. “It actually encourages me that you’re so shocked.”
Nathan’s image pops up on my phone. He’s dark and clean cut with a kind smile. This shouldn’t hit any differently than it did when I was with him in person an hour ago, except Wyatt is making a big deal out of it.
I click on Nathan’s pictures. I’m in the first pic that pops up.
It’s posted with the caption, “I always love overnights in San Antonio.” Nothing about me, which is a relief.
The commenters look to be mostly flight attendants who make their assumptions based on past airline lore, but as Wyatt said, Nathan hasn’t responded.
It doesn’t seem like he’s on here much. The last photo of him is with Joey herself.
With black hair and blue eyes, she looks like her last name should be Fox. “Whoa mama.”
“You found his ex?”
I blow out a breath. “Okay, now you know you have nothing to worry about with him.” Because if Joey is Nathan’s type, I’m not even in the same league.
I’m simply the crazy flight attendant who dances into elevators, buys silly sunglasses, and pours orange juice on people.
Laughing, I drop back into my pillows. “Hey, I haven’t told you yet about the lady I poured orange juice on. ”
“Please say you’re kidding.”
I tell Wyatt the whole thing, acting as if the bomb he dropped with Nathan had never detonated, but I’m definitely feeling the aftermath.
It’s not until after we hang up that I realize I preferred Nathan’s response to my orange juice story better.
He’d said, “I’m sure she had it coming.” It was a joke, but it makes Wyatt’s response almost sound contemptuous.
I shake my head. I shouldn’t be comparing my boyfriend to others. Especially when it makes him come up lacking.