“Yeah,” I said faintly, knowing that if Quattro were right here with me, he’d appreciate this view, not for what it could earn him but just for what it was. Where were he and his dad now?
Hang on a second. What was I doing, wrapped around thoughts about Quattro, wishing we’d said good-bye to each other when we hadn’t? I hurried inside the van, frustrated with myself. If there was one thing I wasn’t going to do, it was waste my vacation obsessing about a boy, particularly one who had all but fled from me this morning. Been there, done that for the better part of a year. No matter what I told myself, though, it was hard to ignore the empty space in the back row where Quattro had sat with me just yesterday.
At last, Hank finished his photo shoot, beaming when he clambered into his seat. He crowed to no one in particular, “Halo is going to look so old school.”
“See?” said Stesha once Ernesto had pulled back onto the road. “Nothing is wasted.”
Chapter Nine
Using holes dug into the ground and enclosed by concrete stalls, I’ll admit, was a bit of a shock to this suburban girl. (Apparently, years of backcountry camping in the Cascades did nothing to break my dependence on indoor plumbing.) But watching my sure-footed father stumble over a rock he didn’t see at the start of the trek? That was heartbreak, plain and simple.
“Gregor!” Mom cried from where she and I stood with the rest of the women for a female-power photograph at the humble wood signpost: WELCOME TO INKA TRAIL. We sprinted to where Dad had tumbled just ahead of us on the path.
“I’m fine,” he said shortly, ignoring Mom’s outstretched hand. He dusted himself off as he sprang to his feet. “Go on. Really. Go on.”
Mom reared back from his harsh tone, one step, then two. Her lips tightened as she tried but failed to stem her hurt and humiliation. Automatically, she glanced at the other women who were busy cooing over a small herd of llamas. Her cheeks flamed red when the Gamers shot meaningful looks at each other as they passed us. I could almost hear them revising their wedding vows: We’ll never be like them. But my parents had never been one of Those Couples either—that’s what I wanted to scream at Hank, Helen, Grace, and most especially, Stesha, who was watching not my parents but me.
Without a word, Dad hoisted his backpack higher on his shoulders, then strode forward purposefully. I’d never been afraid to talk to my father about anything, but this wounded-lion routine made me wary around him. Fortunately, Grace provided me with a ready-made excuse to stay far from Dad today; she lagged way behind everyone else. Mom hung back with us, muttering regrets and second guesses: “This was a mistake. Maybe we should turn around now and just go home.”
Grace smiled gently. “Then you don’t know men. He’s got to do this.”
“But he couldn’t even see that rock. The entire trail is rocks and cliffs,” Mom fretted.
“He’ll manage,” said Grace.
“But—”
“He’s losing his sight, Mom, not his legs,” I told her.
Both Mom’s and Grace’s mouths curved into shocked Os at my flat statement, but I wouldn’t want Mom to be hovering over me any more than I knew Dad did. All further conversation was cut off when Stesha introduced us to the team assembled near the warden’s hut.
“Okay, everyone, I want you to meet Ruben,” Stesha said with an arm around our barrel-chested guide, whose black vest was embroidered with his name and well-worn pants were frayed at the bottom of each leg. Then she gestured at the six men lined in a row. “And these are our porters.”
Wiry and muscular, the men had been hired to haul our food and tents along the Inca Trail while we carried our own backpacks filled with clothes and supplies. Their legs were so corded with muscles, they looked more than capable of sprinting up and down the trail, regardless of the number of bags they were already lugging on their backs. One was wearing flip-flops, most of them in shorts, which made me feel like a wimpy, overdressed tourist in my sturdy hiking boots and new trekking pants. I could only imagine how Hank felt in his Indiana Jones getup, the fedora topping his head.
Once each of us had signed in with the guard in the hut, Ruben led us to a rickety bridge that spanned the fast-moving river, much more dangerous and alive than what we’d seen from above in the safety of our van. He stopped in the middle of the bridge, raising his voice to be heard over the wild rush of water: “It’s been raining nonstop for the last week. Today’s the first day we’ve seen the sun.” He joked, “I almost thought we’d need an ark.”