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“Do you want money?”
“No. I just want to talk to your grandmother. I think she knows a friend who really wants to reunite with her. So, I wanted to ask her a few questions.” She’d play along if the granddaughter bouncer would get her to Lorrainne/Emily.
There was an extended pause, but no click—was the caller still there?
“What questions?” she asked eventually, and Gia heard a gulping sound, as if she were drinking something.
“I’m sorry, what’s your name?” If she were going to get an inquisition, she’d at least like to know who it was coming from.
“Emily.”
Lorrainne Mitchell’s granddaughter was named Emily. Holy. Shit.
“Thanks, Emily. I just wanted to ask her a few questions to see if she knows my friend, Jennifer Edelman. She might have known her as Jennifer Wilkins, I’m not sure. They may have worked together a long time ago. Jennifer speaks so fondly of someone I think may be your grandmother, and—” Gia thought about fibbing. A little white lie to instill urgency. OG would’ve gone there in a minute. “She’s dying,” sounded more dramatic than, “she’s longed for her all these years.” She wouldn’t go there, not anymore. New Gia held her recovery promise to remain honest. “—I’d really love to help them reunite.”
Another long pause.
“I don’t think my grandmother is your person.”
“Is she Emily Lorraine Mitchell?”
“Yes, but there are plenty of people with her name. I’m sure you can find who you’re looking for on Google.”
Little did this woman know just how much Googling Gia had done. Google wasn’t the answer. She needed a carrot to keep Emily engaged. Something compelling. Non-threatening. Something guaranteed to get her past the gatekeeper. Gia sat straighter, leaned against the headboard, and closed her eyes. She could do this.
“Maybe you’re right, but if there’s even a chance they could be the same person, I’d so appreciate the opportunity to find out. Jennifer’s like a grandmother to me. She doesn’t know I’m doing this—I wanted to surprise her. She’s so wonderful—I really want to find her long-lost dear friend. It’ll only take a few minutes. You have my word.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Emily said with a big, theatrical sigh. “But no guarantees.”
“Thank you so much. I’m actually in Newport Beach for a few days—maybe I could find my way up to Pasadena so you could see I’m not a scam?”
“I’ll get back to you.”
The line went dead, but Gia’s hopes were alive. There was no way Lorrainne Mitchell wasn’t Emily. Why she was using her maiden name and had a granddaughter was a mystery. Had she never married, but had a child? Had she married, divorced, and reclaimed her name? Whatever the reason, Gia was thankful because it was a breadcrumb trail to Jennifer’s long-lost love. There was no question. The only question was how she was going to climb all day and pretend to focus amongst the intense sisters, intense coach, and intense route—when all she wanted to do was call Derrick, write in her journal, and think about telling Jennifer she’d found Emily.
???
“Let’s go, G!” Courtney yelled from below. Gia was three holds from the top of a 5.11 route and three seconds faster than the woman against whom she was competing. But she didn’t know it. When she was in the zone, she only saw the next grip. “Remember the swing! Use your momentum. You got this!” Courtney didn’t stop. Whatever moment they’d had about her husband’s—departure—had come and gone. This was all business, no nonsense.
“Go,chica! Almost there! Push!”
It couldn’t be.
She wouldn’t look.
Three holds and her day was done. Three holds and she could call Derrick, give him the download, and slouch into a bubble bath in the hotel’s mediocre tub, which was nicer than her own mediocre tub.
“Let’s go, G! Get it!” The sisters yelled in unison. They were easy to identify because they did everything in stereo.
When she touched the top, Gia exhaled and looked to her right. She’d beaten her competitor, but just barely. An OK signal brought her down, and in a fraction of the time it took to ascend, she was on the ground, still catching her breath. Around her, women climbed and chatted and swigged coffee from paper cups with little cardboard sleeves. The chatter of competition was constant—cheering, grunting, an announcer calling people for their starts.
Amongst it all, Roxi stood in front of a concrete wall in the back of the host climbing gym with her arms crossed. She’d pulled her hair up into a high ponytail and returned to the concert T/running tights look. She looked like—Roxi. Not some made-for-TV version of her.
“Hi.” Gia came to rest on the wall and dabbed her forehead with a hand towel, fingers extra white with chalk. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“I like surprises.” Roxi smiled her crunched little smile, and Gia saw the innocent girl who spoke to her mother in Spanish when she was excited.
“Well, this is a good one. I’d hug you, but I’m so sweaty.”
