Mount Good Take, Page 2

leaving him behind, and bewildered.

  Derek wasn’t a handsome man. He knew this. His work with wood had built his chest muscles and his constant treks up the mountain enhanced those in his legs, so he looked athletic. But he was rather plain in the face and his dirt-brown hair fell straight, nothing that would attract attention. His wife was also a rather plain woman, in good shape and well-dressed, but not what anyone would call a beauty. Derek never had a moment’s thought that a beauty would find any attraction in him, so had never bothered to seek out those who caught his attention. His wife was a family friend. They fell together like raindrops landing in the same puddle, as everyone expected.

  Maybe he had misread the girl’s look. Maybe it was his own perversion that made him wish she could be attracted to him.

  Regardless, he told himself that would be the last time he would speak to her alone.

  The following day found them at the summit, but Derek found no joy this time in watching their faces, in listening to their expressions of accomplishment. Instead, he watched the girl. She sat, simply looking out over the world below, saying nothing.

  When he announced it was time to head back down, to find their camp again before nightfall, Derek ignored the protests that always came. They were always reluctant to give up their trophy, standing at the top of the world, as it felt to them. And he always “gave in” and gave them a few more moments, having included it in his schedule. The woman asked for a group photo. She had been constantly snapping pictures all the way up the mountain and Derek was amazed she had film left for another. He tried to volunteer to take the photo, avoiding the other side of the camera, but she had a timer and wanted their “brave leader” in the shot.

  He gave in, again. Then he announced it was time to leave.

  The group gathered around, ready for the return trek, except for the girl. She sat, still quietly looking out at the world.

  Derek called her name. She didn’t respond.

  The couple went over to try to “gather her” but came back saying she wasn’t ready to leave.

  He didn’t have time for this. They moved slowly, with the older couple not in shape as well as the others, and he wanted to be at the campsite before dusk. After dusk, it would get more dangerous, even with the flashlights he’d required them to bring.

  Approaching the girl, he stood directly in front of where she was staring. “We have to go.”

  Her eyes raised to his. They were moist, but she said nothing.

  Wonderful, he thought. I’m stuck up here with an emotional little girl. Taking a deep breath, he crouched, forcing his leadership qualities to go to work. “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head.

  “Good. Then we need to go. It’s a long journey down.”

  Her eyes touched his, a few teardrops falling on her cheeks, but she remained silent.

  He stood again, offering his hand to help her up. To his relief, she took it, and rejoined the group.

  She refused to answer the couple about what was bothering her. And she ignored the twins joking with her, flirting, anything to get her to say something to anyone. To no avail.

  He could make her talk. Derek knew he could, but he wouldn’t. It was too dangerous.

  Camping that night, he didn’t sleep. His thoughts were of her; her eyes reaching out to him, the fatigue showing in her body during the descent. He’d slowed the trek for her, even slower than he had for the couple. She wasn’t as fit as she looked. It was draining her. The color that had been in her cheeks on the way up the mountain had remained there at the top. So had the spirit in her eyes.

  He was failing.

  This trek was about him helping to enhance the lives of the people who joined him. It was all he had to feel like he was a real part of the world, that he was making a difference. And the girl’s mood had taken that from them all. Even the butcher watched her, his own arrogance dissolving with her tears.

  He wouldn’t fail, not at this. Not for some emotional kid who should have stayed home with her parents.

  Rising again, he grabbed his flashlight, treading over to her tent – the tent that weighed her down too much as they walked, though it was barely large enough for one sleeping bag. He’d thought about taking it for her, but the rules were clear. They had to carry their own gear. If he changed it for her, word would get out and every girl who came would expect the same treatment. He wasn’t about to do it. This world was about pulling your own weight, not expecting others to bail you out when you put yourself in positions you shouldn’t. She should have stayed home.

  She turned her head at his unannounced entry. His flashlight reflected damp cheeks.

  He sighed. Not again.

  Looking away to gather his thoughts, he heard her move and looked back again. She was sitting, the sleeping bag gathered up around her like a cocoon. “Did I wake you?”

  “No.” A sniffle accompanied the sleepy voice.

  “Good.” He shifted, crouching outside her tent, holding the flap open. He wouldn’t go inside, in case anyone else was also awake to notice, which he doubted. “Look, people come up here to be exhilarated. They pay me to guide them through their personal quests to accomplish something they never have. And they did that today.” He ignored another sniffle. “But you’re bringing everyone down.”

  “I’m sorry. I…”

  “I’m not asking. I’m not a therapist, just a guy who likes to climb mountains. I’ve done this before and I will again, but the rest of these people won’t. Apologize to them if you wish, but then hold it together until you get home. I’m sure you have someone there to talk to.” With that, he returned to his own tent.

  Still, he couldn’t sleep. Derek had still failed. He’d turned against one of his climbers.

  During the remainder of the journey back toward their lives, he withdrew further. His talk had worked, though. The girl returned to her state before they’d reached the summit. She played with the little dog who stayed at her feet and returned chatter with the twins. There was no evidence of whatever had been bothering her the previous day.

  Still, Derek was morose. It was wrong, and he knew it was wrong. He could give her money back, he supposed. Except that would look like an admission of guilt. Mistakes were not admitted. They were corrected, if possible, but they weren’t discussed. Nothing important….

  He stopped walking, letting the others go by him. She was dragging, burdened by the weight of her gear. The twins had asked more than once to take it from her. She had refused, quoting the rules. The rules Derek had made.

  He sighed. His wife had told him on several occasions that he was too rigid, that he couldn’t make people be what he thought they should be. He hadn’t been willing to discuss it.

  She was right, maybe about so many things he hadn’t been willing to discuss.

  Catching up to the girl, he pulled the gear from her back, propping it awkwardly over his shoulder. She stared. He said nothing.

  He also said nothing when she said thank you, her eyes attempting to reach him deeper than he would allow, before she climbed into a dirt-speckled Chevy decorated with bits of rust. The driver leaned over to give her a long hug, although he had done it already when he met her to take her gear. Derek imagined they talked to each other all the way home.

  Kicking his feet beneath the sturdy table he had built to match the style of his cabin, enjoying the quiet of his edge of the mountain, Derek almost felt guilty about insisting on spending the weekend there instead of in town with his wife. Almost. It wasn’t his fault she had scheduled an appointment she couldn’t break. Setting his steaming coffee on a sanded sliver of wood, he rattled the newspaper dated two days earlier, skimming the front page and finding nothing to keep his interest. Flipping through to the section featuring local events, an article caught his eye.

  The girl. Her photo was there, smiling at him. A memorial.

  He read quickly, stunned. She had succumbed the day before the paper was printed, after being fatigued from a weekend
“camping trip” her parents had urged her not to take. The long-term fight with her illness could have been prolonged otherwise, but she wanted to see the top of the mountain. Another photo showed the group, smiling together, except for the girl whose eyes were turned toward their leader.

  Derek dropped his head, allowing hot tears to fall onto the paper.

  He attended the service. And he stayed behind, staring at the small mound of fresh dirt after all others had gone. Talking. For the first time, actually talking, to no one.

  ----

  First published in Wanderings Magazine, Spring 2007

  https://www.LKHunsaker.com