Neverest by T.L. Bodine

Author:T.L. Bodine
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ghost Orchid Press
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The broad hollow that cradles Camp I is known, officially, as the Western Cwm—a Welsh word, pronounced inexplicably like ‘coom,’ a holdover from Mallory’s time. If the Sherpas have their own name for it, Carrie doesn’t know. She doesn’t think to ask.

It’s strange being on this mountain, part of a group but feeling so apart from it. She does not belong here. Not on this mountain, and not with these people. Not with the other climbing expeditions, with their excitement for reaching the summit. And not with her own small crew, this assemblage of strangers—and Tom, who had always been Sean’s friend first, who is linked to her now primarily by the thread of grief and a past she has come to lay to rest.

Other climbers can tell at a glance that she’s green, and they seem to avoid her. Not that there’s much socializing at this altitude—expeditions seem more likely to keep to themselves, only conversing to discuss matters of safety and logistics, everyone keyed up and anxious to get further up the slope now they’ve reached this first crucial milestone. She catches a rare smile or dip of the head in greeting as she moves around camp, but no one lingers long to chat. They can see her newness, her inexperience, in the stiff brightness of her freshly bought gear. In the raw pinkness of her wind-chapped skin, which has never endured such lasting exposure to the elements.

Maybe they think she is a liability. They don’t want to get close so they don’t have to feel compelled to rescue her when she gets herself into trouble.

Or maybe they are turned away by the pervasive miasma of sadness that clings to her, repellent in its misery.

As a lawyer, she’s well-acquainted with impostor syndrome. She’s approached every day at the firm with a quiet, buzzing background worry that she’s actually a fraud, underqualified and overconfident, that someone will find her out and expose her. But now that worry is thrown into harsh perspective.

She is a good lawyer, whatever her self-doubt tells her. She is experienced and educated and skilled.

But she does not belong on this mountain.

In that she is, truly, a fraud.

“Why do you climb?” Maya asks her one day as Carrie sits and tries to stretch her tight, sore muscles after returning from the first acclimatization trip. Up the slope, down the slope, a day of rest—repeated once or twice, until Tom is certain she’s ready. The dance that makes the mountain climb excruciatingly long, and which is skipped under penalty of altitude sickness, psychosis, death.

A miserable, exhausting and necessary evil.

“You know why I’m here,” Carrie replies irritably. She’s out of breath and aching down to her bones, and she does not like the way Maya’s beetle-black eyes crawl over her, probing and insightful with their unspoken judgments. “I’m looking for my husband.”

Maya shakes her head. “If you only wanted a body, you would pay others. Sherpa would climb for you. Find a body, cut it from ice, haul down the mountain for you.

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