“Don’t call me at home.”
After that, whenever a message or a phone call came in at the bank for him, David leapt at it like a pouncing cat. “Hello?
Yes. Oh, yes.” And every time, when it wasn’t Susan, a pendulum swung in his chest, knocking the air out of him with disappointment
and frustration and fear.
When a knock came on his office door just after noon, David rose to meet it, his arm outstretched, adrenaline stinging his
skin. But it was only Nelson Hull, David’s best friend and pastor of the church, with auburn hair ragged around the edges
and, no matter how he tried to tame it, poking in every direction from his head. Everywhere he went, Nelson always looked
a bit electrified.
“I’m in the mood for mountain climbing,” Nelson said after they’d shaken hands. “How about partnering with me. Let’s have
a go at the Grand this afternoon.”
David opened one drawer, then another, looking for his Palm Pilot. “I’ll have to check my schedule. I don’t know if I can
get away.”
“What are you looking for?”
“My PDA.”
“It’s right there,” Nelson said, pointing. “Lying on your desk in front of you.”
“Oh.” They both stared at it for a moment before David asked, “Isn’t it too late to start up? There’s no way we’d make it
to the top.”
“Come on, buddy. Save me. The copy machine’s gone out and they can’t finish the bulletin for Sunday. There’s the mission’s
conference next week and the elders meeting tomorrow morning and Theresa March can’t find enough toilet paper rolls to build
the walls of Jericho for children’s church. It is nuts over there.”
David was warming to the idea. “I guess we don’t have to go all the way, if we don’t want to.”
“Maybe only to Upper Saddle. Let’s go far enough to use the ropes, if we can.” Nelson grinned. “I snuck into your garage on
the way over. I grabbed your stuff, too.”
During their five years of friendship, David had learned that Nelson didn’t often have time for casual relationships. They
were both forty and busy, and they’d grown accustomed to grabbing time together whenever they could. A chance to make their
old climb together seemed too big an adventure to turn down—a retaliation against a day of waiting for Susan Roche and a phone
call that hadn’t come. “Okay. You’ve convinced me. I’m in.”
And so they were off. They drove into the national park and, after changing into sturdy climbing boots and loading two bags
of climbing gear with cams and rope, abandoned the car at the Lupine Meadow parking lot. They chatted about unimportant things
while Nelson Hull led the way along the distinct footpath, their feet dislodging pebbles and razor-sharp chunks of stone.
“Sarah’s having a garage sale next Saturday and she wants to sell my flannel shirts. She says I never wear them anymore and
they’re taking up room in the closet. How about that? I’ve had those since before we got married. They’re my camp shirts.”
“Garage sales are bad. All that great stuff a guy manages to hoard, gone in a day.”
They entered a fragrant tunnel of pine, stringing out along an eastern slope, breathing hard, taking long switchbacks around
shaded fronds of fern and pale strands of bearberry.
Chickadees flew in scallops from bough to bough. Above them, in shades of gray and shadow, spires of schist, granite, and
Precambrian gneiss jutted into the sky.
For the first time in weeks, the landscape surrounding David loomed larger than the impenetrable self-reproach he carried.
“It’s
extraordinary
here. I had forgotten.”
Nelson stopped to catch his breath. “No one should ever stay away so long that he forgets.”
“I didn’t mean to do that. It’s been years since I’ve done this. Time just… gets away.”
“You ought not to let that happen.”
A prominent rib of granite divided the gully they climbed and the first stone tower loomed above them.
After that, whenever a message or a phone call came in at the bank for him, David leapt at it like a pouncing cat. “Hello?
Yes. Oh, yes.” And every time, when it wasn’t Susan, a pendulum swung in his chest, knocking the air out of him with disappointment
and frustration and fear.
When a knock came on his office door just after noon, David rose to meet it, his arm outstretched, adrenaline stinging his
skin. But it was only Nelson Hull, David’s best friend and pastor of the church, with auburn hair ragged around the edges
and, no matter how he tried to tame it, poking in every direction from his head. Everywhere he went, Nelson always looked
a bit electrified.
“I’m in the mood for mountain climbing,” Nelson said after they’d shaken hands. “How about partnering with me. Let’s have
a go at the Grand this afternoon.”
David opened one drawer, then another, looking for his Palm Pilot. “I’ll have to check my schedule. I don’t know if I can
get away.”
“What are you looking for?”
“My PDA.”
“It’s right there,” Nelson said, pointing. “Lying on your desk in front of you.”
“Oh.” They both stared at it for a moment before David asked, “Isn’t it too late to start up? There’s no way we’d make it
to the top.”
“Come on, buddy. Save me. The copy machine’s gone out and they can’t finish the bulletin for Sunday. There’s the mission’s
conference next week and the elders meeting tomorrow morning and Theresa March can’t find enough toilet paper rolls to build
the walls of Jericho for children’s church. It is nuts over there.”
David was warming to the idea. “I guess we don’t have to go all the way, if we don’t want to.”
“Maybe only to Upper Saddle. Let’s go far enough to use the ropes, if we can.” Nelson grinned. “I snuck into your garage on
the way over. I grabbed your stuff, too.”
During their five years of friendship, David had learned that Nelson didn’t often have time for casual relationships. They
were both forty and busy, and they’d grown accustomed to grabbing time together whenever they could. A chance to make their
old climb together seemed too big an adventure to turn down—a retaliation against a day of waiting for Susan Roche and a phone
call that hadn’t come. “Okay. You’ve convinced me. I’m in.”
And so they were off. They drove into the national park and, after changing into sturdy climbing boots and loading two bags
of climbing gear with cams and rope, abandoned the car at the Lupine Meadow parking lot. They chatted about unimportant things
while Nelson Hull led the way along the distinct footpath, their feet dislodging pebbles and razor-sharp chunks of stone.
“Sarah’s having a garage sale next Saturday and she wants to sell my flannel shirts. She says I never wear them anymore and
they’re taking up room in the closet. How about that? I’ve had those since before we got married. They’re my camp shirts.”
“Garage sales are bad. All that great stuff a guy manages to hoard, gone in a day.”
They entered a fragrant tunnel of pine, stringing out along an eastern slope, breathing hard, taking long switchbacks around
shaded fronds of fern and pale strands of bearberry.
Chickadees flew in scallops from bough to bough. Above them, in shades of gray and shadow, spires of schist, granite, and
Precambrian gneiss jutted into the sky.
For the first time in weeks, the landscape surrounding David loomed larger than the impenetrable self-reproach he carried.
“It’s
extraordinary
here. I had forgotten.”
Nelson stopped to catch his breath. “No one should ever stay away so long that he forgets.”
“I didn’t mean to do that. It’s been years since I’ve done this. Time just… gets away.”
“You ought not to let that happen.”
A prominent rib of granite divided the gully they climbed and the first stone tower loomed above them.
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