“Climb on.”
I glanced down. My brother, Aaron, stared up at me, his jaw working as he chewed on a piece of Doublemint while holding my rope secure in case I slipped or lost my grip and fell.
“Tension or ready to lower?” he hollered up with a smirk.
Rock climbing translation: Do you need to rest by hanging on to the rope, or are you done climbing and want to return to the ground? Sibling translation: Are you so weak—both in body and mind—that you can’t make it to the top and need to quit now in utter shame? Oh, and I’ll rub it in your face for the foreseeable future if you do.
My fingers dug into the grip. “Climbing,” I called down into his smug face.
He adjusted his hold on the rope, and I felt a small tug at the harness crossing my waist and upper thighs. “Climb on.”
Sweat prickled my forehead. The last time I’d run this course I’d been able to climb to the top in about thirty minutes. I hadn’t checked my wristwatch, but I wouldn’t be surprised if twice that amount of time had lapsed.
The muscles in my arms and shoulders bulged as I gripped the edge of the summit. A bead of sweat trickled down my forehead and splashed onto my eyelashes, stinging my eye. I was half blinded as I pulled myself up onto the top of the wall with one eye closed like some kind of pirate. I just needed a cutlass between my teeth to make the picture complete. Instead, I lifted the hem of my shirt and mopped my face as I gulped in lungfuls of air-conditioned oxygen. Climbing could be a punishing mistress if you neglected her for too long.
My phone vibrated in my back pocket. I usually kept the device in my duffle bag when I climbed, but I must have forgotten to take it out of my pocket before strapping on my harness. Since I was at the gym, I didn’t have a chalk bag or extra belays, ropes, or carabiners to work around to dig my phone out, but I was still winded, so when I tapped to accept a call from an unfamiliar number, my hello came out all breathy.
“Umm…is this Asher North?” a female voice asked.
Seventh Street Sounds woman. I’d recognize her voice anywhere. I hadn’t been able to get the quality of her tones out of my head since hearing her for the first time.
I tried to slow my breathing, but my lungs filled and emptied like they were bellows being worked by a brawny blacksmith. My heart knocking against the back of my ribs like a preschooler playing the xylophone for the first time didn’t help things either.
I leaned over and rested my free hand on my knees. “This is Asher.”
“I’m sorry to bother you so early in the morning. You sound like you’re—”
There was a long, pointed pause.
“Oh. Oh!” Her words came fast and tight. “I amsosorry. I didn’t think—” She cut herself off, but the sarcasm was thicker than a slice of Chicago deep dish pizza. “I didn’t mean to interrupt who—I mean, what you were doing.”
“What do you think I’m doing?” Sweat dribbled down my temple, and I wiped it away. Her insinuation hadn’t exactly been made in a secret spy code that needed a cipher to be understood. I knew precisely what she didn’t even bother to hint at. But considering how wildly presumptuous and judgmental her accusation, I thought it only fitting to make her squirm a bit. Maybe then she’d think twice before jumping to conclusions.
“Who or what you do is none of my business.” Even with the sharp edge, her voice was still music. Too bad she wanted to cut me with her words.
“What’s your name?”
“Excuse me?”
She seemed taken aback, and I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my face. “I have a right to know the name of my accuser, don’t I?”
“I’m not—”
She stopped herself. Seemed she had a habit of doing that.
“Betsy Vargas. I’m the audio engineer you left your card with yesterday.”
“Yes, I remember your voice.”It’s imbedded itself into my brain. Had taken over the majority of my thoughts. Had even done some interior decorating in there, so I doubted it would be going anywhere anytime soon. Which was fine by me. I had no plans to seek an eviction.
“This is a mistake,” she said so quietly she must have been talking to herself.
She was going to hang up. I could feel it in all the squishy places most people tried to ignore or protect but that I went to when inspiration took hold of me.
“I’m rock climbing,” I blurted out. “That’s why I was out of breath when I answered. Not…well, not because of the reason you thought.”
“Oh.”
That was it. All she said. I waited in case more would come.
