Page 3 of Entwined Hearts

My body jolts like I touched a live wire. He’s merely talking about tea. Yet, for a frightening instant, I’m transported through time, reliving our march through a desert canyon with a gun aimed at my back.

Abruptly, Jake jerks his head up. He studies me, his eyes narrowing. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“It’s okay,” I rush to assure him because I know he’s impatient for me to be okay again. I am, too. If only it were that easy.

His jovial mood gone, Jake rises, taking the empty plate and cutting board to the sink. His movements are sharp. Frustrated.

Trying to unclench my fists, I inhale and exhale a series of deep breaths. He hadn’t meant to set me off. I don’t even know why a simple word did. It must be stress, though I can’t place the cause.

After washing the dishes, he returns to my side, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “I’m sure you’re exhausted,” he says tightly. “That was a lot of driving.”

“You’re the one who flew across the equator today.” I attempt a smile and stay focused on him. Slowly, the high desert of Morocco fades into the background.

He returns my smile, but his looks strained. After tossing the towel onto the counter, he leans over and kisses the top of my head.

“Let’s get some sleep,” he says, then leads me into the bedroom.

* * *

Itie the figure-eight knot through my harness, then step to the base of the route.

“Climbing,” I call to Jake, my signal he’s now in charge of my safety.

“Climb,” he answers, taking up the slack in the rope.

The first pitch ofHigh and Mightyis an easy 5.12, a left-trending, low-angled crack. Using my hands as wedges, I move steadily upward, placing gear as I go to protect me if I fall, though I won’t. This climb is a piece of cake. The view of the red rock buttress and the valley opens below me, a cool breeze brushing my cheeks.

It’s our first day back on the wall together, and I’m counting that it will bring Jake back to our life. To erase the distance lingering between us. Before leaving the house, I debated about wearing the bracelet. If I wore it, would he remember the reason he gave it to me? But, in the end, I decided my safety was more important.

I’m trying to be patient. Coming off a big wall project is a process. His metabolism is still raging, and he’s lost weight. Plus, he has to get used to a bed again after sleeping on a porta-ledge, which provides mere inches of space. It always takes a few days to readjust to luxuries like pillows while the body’s thermostat regulates to normal temperatures. So I’ve been pampering him a bit—cooking lots of good food and letting him rest. But I’m still not sure how to read him. Why did he bring me this bracelet if he’s only going to keep me at a distance?

I get to the top of the first pitch and clip into the anchor, then settle on the ledge to belay Jake. He sails up the crack, his calm expression filled with concentration. When he arrives, his grin lights up his brown eyes. He pecks me quickly on the lips before continuing. I watch as he effortlessly ascends the right-facing crack that widens into a chimney-sized gap. The climb becomes more complicated here, but it’s still child’s play for us.

Marvik, our sponsor, announced plans to send us to a notorious wall in Norway this summer. It’s not going to be like our usual trips. Instead, they will be filming an on-location documentary. They’ll follow us during our climb, recording the adventure and drama of scaling a remote big wall. It’s not that I think it’s an awful idea, but it adds a certain kind of pressure. Mainly because it’ll be my first big trip since I returned from Morocco.

Just as I’m preparing to follow Jake, a familiar face appears below me.

“I promise we won’t crowd you.” Bill Tucker grins. Below him, his daughter Sage belays from the base of the pitch, her blonde ponytail swirling in the breeze.

“No problem,” I say with a smile.

From above me, Jake yells, “Belay on,” which signifies it’s safe for me to climb. After I unclip from the anchor, I edge over to make room for Bill.

We chat while Bill builds the belay for Sage, clipping and unclipping carabiners while reorganizing the gear on his harness. He asks if I’m doing better—pretty much everyone in the climbing world knows about Morocco.

“Fine. Thank you.” It’s my automatic answer. Generic.

He smirks. “I hear you’re gonna send Dragen’s Tarn this summer,” he says with admiration.

Dragen’s Tarn—Dragon’s Tower in English—is the Norway project, and to “send it,” or complete it without any lead falls would be a dream come true. “We have a pre-trip meeting tomorrow.”

Reaching into the crack above my head, I’m about to tell Bill goodbye when his next comment makes me freeze.

“I heard they added Colby Fox as your third climber.”

Dumbfounded, I stare at the rusty-orange rock in front of me.Colby Fox.A memory of walking through a meadow with Colby at my side, the brilliant pinks and oranges of a sunset casting golden shadows on his face as he cracked jokes just to make me laugh, starts to play on a loop in my brain. “But Colby’s been gone for…” I say, swiveling back toward Bill.

Bill shrugs. “Yeah, it’s been a few years. He’s back now, though.”

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