What's His Passion 2 - Climbing the Savage Mountain (12 page)

“What? Did I miss a deadline or something?” Toby scrambled through the papers on his desk, trying to shake the sleep out of his head.

“Have you been home in the past twenty-four hours?” Simpson stood, glaring at him with his hands propped on his hips.

Rubbing his eyes, Toby thought. “I think so. I must have, because I wasn’t wearing this shirt yesterday,” he muttered.

“Christ! Toby, you look like shit. Aren’t you sleeping?” Simpson held up his finger to keep Toby from saying anything. “I’ll be right back. Don’t fall asleep.”

Toby braced his elbow on the desk then rested his chin in his hand as he studied the graphs on his screen. He was pretty sure he should know what they all meant, but at that very moment, he couldn’t make sense of anything except that he missed Jensen.

“God, you are pathetic,” he muttered as he shoved his hand through his hair. “It’s not like he died or anything. He’s just on the other side of the world climbing a big fucking mountain that could kill him at any time.”

“Quit fucking obsessing about it,” Simpson growled at him as he stomped back into the office. This time he held a large mug that held steaming coffee—or at least Toby hoped it did. “Here. I doctored it up for you. Five sugar and a shit-ton of that god-awful French vanilla creamer you like.” Simpson shuddered.

Toby took a sip then moaned as the warm liquid hit his tongue. He couldn’t wait until the sugar and caffeine hit his blood stream. He watched as his friend took his usual seat. Before Simpson could start in on him, he said, “I didn’t get much sleep last night. I guess I got thinking about everything that could happen to Jensen and I checked the weather and there was a storm on Everest yesterday.”

“Would Jensen have been on the mountain when it hit?”

He appreciated the fact that Simpson didn’t tell him not to worry about it. He’d heard enough platitudes from his parents when he talked to them throughout the week while Jensen was trekking up to Base Camp. He shrugged.

“I’m not sure. He would’ve made it to Base Camp at some point the day before yesterday and he’d said they were going to rest for two days to acclimatize before starting.”

Simpson leaned back in the chair and frowned. “How do they do that? Aren’t they already used to breathing thin air from the walk they took to get there?”

Toby chuckled. “Well, they get used to it at the different altitudes they’re at, but as they get farther up the mountain, the air gets thinner and there’s less oxygen. That’s why Jensen thinks it’ll take them between thirty-five and forty days all together to get to the summit and down again.”

“Holy fuck,” Simpson swore. “I guess I figured once they got there, they’d just dash up, plant a flag at the summit then race down to be back home in a couple of weeks. Almost two months to climb a freaking mountain? That’s crazy.”

“If they aren’t careful, they can get altitude sickness.”

“Which is what exactly?” Simpson shot him a look as though he were speaking a foreign language.

And in a way Toby was. He was speaking ‘mountaineering’ to a man who had never even known a sport like it existed until Jensen showed up again.

“It’s when your body gets sick because it’s not getting enough oxygen and you’re dehydrating from ascending too quickly. Have you ever heard of the bends?”

Simpson nodded. “Sure. It’s what divers get when they come back to the surface too fast.”

“Right. Well, think of altitude sickness as the bends for mountain climbers. They ascend above six thousand five hundred feet too quickly and they can get sick. From what Jensen said, most people had recovered from it as they had grown accustomed to whatever altitude they’re at. But for some, it had led to pulmonary edema or cerebral edema, which can be fatal.” Toby fidgeted with his mug. “That’s why it takes them two months to climb the freaking mountain.”

“Okay. I get it then, but man, you have to get some sleep or you’re going to end up getting sick or something. Is it worry for Jensen climbing that’s doing it? Or are you back to thinking he might not return?” Simpson shook his head. “I don’t mean he’ll end up dead on that stupid mountain or anything drastic like that. Are you worried that he’ll fall more in love with climbing than he is with you?”

Toby stared into his coffee, wishing he could see the future in the swirling light brown liquid. “It would be stupid to freak out about that. We’re married, for Christ’s sake. If I thought he’d ever love someone—or something—more than me, I would’ve never agreed to go through with it.”

“Of course, it’s stupid, but you know what? Emotions are rarely intelligent. You know he loves you, Toby, but it was climbing that got him sober and clean. A guy doesn’t let that get away from him.”

Glaring at his best friend, Toby took a deep breath. “This is bullshit. I have got to let it all go. Jensen and I are married. He’ll be coming back in June. In August, we’re going to have a huge party to celebrate. And for Christmas, I’m taking him to Australia to soak up the sun for two weeks before he leaves to climb another snow-covered peak.”

Simpson pursed his lips as though he wanted to say something else, but Toby shook his head.

“I don’t want to hear any more about Jensen not coming back, Simpson. If you really are my best friend, you’ll be happy for me and support me through the next two months.”

He dropped his gaze to the framed photo on his desk. It had been taken the day before Toby had flown back home in February. Cat had snapped it without them knowing about it. It was the most perfect picture of love Toby had ever seen. They were staring into each other’s eyes, oblivious to whatever was going on around them. Love shone on every inch of their faces.

“It wasn’t this hard when I knew he was in Wyoming,” he mumbled.

A snort made him lift his head to see Simpson grinning at him. “It wasn’t because you could charter a plane and be out there in a matter of hours. Now that he’s in Nepal, it’ll take you an entire day to get to him, if not longer.”

“Thank you so much for that reminder,” he quipped, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“Always glad to help.” Simpson pushed to his feet. “All right. Now that you’re caffeinated and hopped up on sugar, you should be good to go for a couple hours. I’ll come and get you for lunch, which you’ll be buying. Then tonight I’ll come out and spend the night. We can drive in together tomorrow. Maybe having someone else in the house with you will help.”

Toby wanted to protest. He wasn’t a child who needed reassurance from his parents or anything like that. It wasn’t like he hadn’t learned how to be alone while Jensen was gone, but for some reason, it just seemed harder this time. He touched his ring, vowing he’d get through this.

When Jensen returned, he’d find Toby doing fine and not having a nervous breakdown.
Only one more trip like this then Jensen won’t go anywhere without you.

“Thanks, Simpson. I’ll owe you.”

“Oh, you will owe me and I plan on collecting at some point.” Simpson winked before he left.

Chapter Eleven

If you cannot understand that there is something in man which responds to the challenge of this mountain and goes out to meet it, that the struggle is the struggle of life itself upward and forever upward, then you won’t see why we go.

—Sir George Mallory

“All right. Everyone have crampons on?”

High checked to make sure they all had put on them on. Jensen had ‘step-in’ crampons that fit to his plastic climbing boots like ski bindings. They were going to need them to climb up the Icefall and through most of the way to their destination.

Once he was sure everyone was set, High said, “We’ve all gone up to Camp Two and come down again. Today, we’re on our way up to Camp Three. We’ll spend a few hours up there then come down.” High met each person’s gaze. “I’ll let you all go at your own speed. The guides will move among you, checking in. If at any time you feel like you can’t continue, you flag one of us down and let us know. I don’t want you pushing it and getting sick. You can return to Base Camp and try again tomorrow.”

Jensen looked over at Jigger and Cat. They’d been fretting the last several days about having to climb at the pace of the others in the group.
They’re happy to hear this, I bet.
Jensen was as well, though to be honest, he’d kind of liked the slower pace early on. It helped to get him used to the air and the atmosphere. He’d discovered he needed to drink a lot of water or he would start to get headaches.

He tugged on his hat then slipped on his sunglasses. After getting his gloves on, he wiggled his shoulders to make sure his backpack was in the right place so he wouldn’t end up with any sores. He was going to have aching muscles. It didn’t matter how fit he’d thought he was, whenever he tried to climb a mountain, he’d had the almost immediate realization that there was no one in the world fit enough to do it and not suffer aches and pains. Unless that person was Legolas and an elf who could walk on top of the snow instead of slogging through it.

Taking a deep breath, he grimaced at the scent filling his nostrils. It wasn’t the clear fragrance of untouched nature. No, the air at this spot on Everest smelled like a sewer. Unfortunately, a glacier that had been around for millions of years picked up so many smells that mingled together. It had been bad enough to gag him the first time he’d inhaled. Jensen was finally getting used to it, but still there were times when he got a jolt from it.

“Let’s head out, people. Remember, slow and easy. Don’t push yourself too much. There’s still a lot of mountain out there.” High motioned for Rodney to take off. The Australian guide and one of the Sherpas carried ladders that were to be used to cross the crevasses and fissures that hide in the Icefall.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had to use ladders to navigate chasms, but the few seconds before he took his first step out on to one of the steel rungs, he said a prayer. Walking across something that looked almost like a ladder he could pick up at the hardware store had taken a lot of fearlessness on his part, especially since there were times when he couldn’t see the bottom of the opening he crossed over. Jensen had taken a picture of a crevasse where the Sherpas had attached the ladders. He wasn’t sure he would show Toby because he didn’t want his husband worrying even more about his climbing.

One other Sherpa went with them along with Cat, Jigger and a couple of other people who’d been chomping at the bit to take off. Jensen waited until the next group with their other secondary guide walked away. He was in the last team to stride out along with High, two more Sherpas and three other climbers.

High fell in beside him as the trail they took was easy at the moment. As they climbed farther up the Khumbu Icefall, they would string out into one long line, as though they were ants working their way up the leg of a picnic table to the feast at the top.

“Why aren’t you up there with your friends?” High asked, though he kept his gaze on his other clients.

The three Jensen was with were the weakest climbers among them. Baylor, a heart surgeon from Atlanta, Georgia, Evans, an accountant from someplace in France and Hubert, a lorry driver from Manchester, England. Climbing Everest was their dream, pushing them through sickness and exhaustion to do it. It was only the second week they were at Base Camp and Jensen was pretty sure the surgeon wasn’t going to make it to the top. Of the three, he was placing his bet on the lorry driver. The man was built like an ox, but more than that, he seemed to take to the snow and ice of Everest as though he’d been a Sherpa in a former life and was finally coming home.

Shrugging, Jensen grabbed a hold of the accountant, helping him keep his balance before he slipped and took out the others behind them. “I’m in no hurry to get to Camp Three. I’ll get there and do my three hours before coming back down. When we get to the day we’re going to try for the summit, I’ll be out front.”

“Determined to be the first of the group to get there,” High said, as though he knew exactly what Jensen was thinking.

“Not really. I kind of hope we’re the first group to try that day. I’d love to see it without footprints. Pristine, like it was before the first man stood at the top of the world.” He laughed. “Call me a romantic, but it would be nice to have that moment before the others get there and ruin it.”

He almost fell over when High clapped him on the shoulder.

“I’ll do my best to give you that chance, man. I knew you had the soul of a mountaineer.” High’s voice held approval. Jensen’s chest puffed up in pride.

Some might’ve considered it silly to be proud of being called a mountaineer, but that title had been bestowed on other men that Jensen admired a great deal. Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay, the first men to summit Everest in nineteen-fifty-three. Sir George Mallory who died while attempting to be the first in 1924. Reinhold Messner, who became the first man to climb all fourteen eight thousand meter peaks in the world. Those four men and so many others who discovered a passion for pitting themselves against nature and sometimes coming out on top.

There was still a controversy as to whether or not Mallory had made it to the summit before he’d died. Jensen didn’t care. All that mattered to him was that Mallory and his partner, Andrew Irvine, had tried. Yes, getting to the summit was an amazing feat, but sometimes the more gratifying accomplishment was simply trying.

“Thank you. That’s a compliment I’ll cherish,” he told High. “I’m glad we chose your company to go through when we decided to do this. There’s no one I’d trust more to get us to the top—or to know when to call it quits and get us down safe.”

High tilted his head in acknowledgement, but didn’t reply as they got to the end of one of the anchored ropes. As the different guides, climbers and Sherpas went up and down the South Col route, they’d set up the ropes to get people through the Khumbu Icefall and the different camps as they moved farther up the mountain. The ladders up the Hillary Step were in place and were maintained by the Sherpas.