Page 73 of Entwined Hearts

“Okay, I’ll stop pestering.” Colby sets a pot of water on to boil. “What can I make you?”

I peer up. “You’re making me breakfast?”

“Most important meal of the climb…I mean, the day.” He smiles, and I can see his calm features in the glow from the stove.

I sigh. I’m not sure I can eat much. I’m too caught up in the climb, excited and nervous all at once.

“How about a fried egg sandwich?”

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll try.”

“Do you feel ready?” he asks, setting up his coffee system.

“Yes and no,” I answer, exhaling a knot of nerves from deep in my belly.

It’s a nice gesture to do this for me. Even if he were up just to keep me company, I’d be thankful, but he’s making me coffee. Just like he did in the Buttermilks. Just like at my place. Does he always put others first like this? Then I remember his story about Emmaline and what it did to his friendship with Jake.

I shake my head to clear these thoughts. I can’t let stuff like that bother me today.

“You guys are going to do great,” Colby says.

I hope he’s right because I’ve been up half the night worrying I’ll fail.

After my feeble attempt at eating and half a cup of coffee, it’s time to go. I hug Colby one last time.

“I’ll be watching you all day,” he says, squeezing me tightly.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have told me that.”

“C’mon,” he says gently. “How is it any different than if I was climbing with you? How is it any different than how it’ll be in Norway? Plus, there, you’ll be on film.”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

“You’re going to do great,” he says, but I can feel the effort he’s put into it. I know he means well, and I appreciate it, but I’m sure he’d rather I not do this climb. I have to fight the rub of frustration grating at my insides.

I step back, trying to smile. “Wish me luck.”

“No way.” He smiles. “Anya Templeton doesn’t need luck.”

At the trailhead, I sit in my car and take one last sip of my coffee, then step outside. The rush of the river sounds in the distance, the night air moist on my cheek. I savor it, knowing it will be a dry, hot day soon enough. Jake’s van pulls in just as I open the back hatch to grab my gear and backpack.

Moments later, he’s waiting for me at the beginning of the trail. I shut my hatch, lock it, hide the key, and then join him.

His face looks the way it always does before a climb—like the granite face we’re about to scale—hard and smooth. Without a sound, he leads the way up the trail.

The movement loosens my tight muscles and warms me. I use the short trek to empty my mind of everything but the project ahead. During the night, I visualized each pitch, over and over, reviewing the sequences I had practiced. I tried to not see myself falling, but the crux move that tripped me up time and time again wouldn’t leave me alone.

We break out of the trees to a full view of the wall, its hulking black dome cutting out a chunk of the brilliantly starry sky.

I drop my pack at the base of the climb. Under the power of my headlamp, I change layers, shoes, cinch my harness, and set up the belay. Jake takes his end of the rope and ties in, his fingers moving efficiently in the darkness.

“Colby’s here, huh?” he asks.

I wonder if he guessed this, or if he has spies somewhere in the camp. “Yeah.”

His jaw tightens.

I fix the rope through my belay device, then double-check everything: my harness waist belt and leg loops, the rope flaked out to my right, our gear. Jake does the same with his setup, then we do our final safety check of each other.

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