“How about if I take your pack for a little bit?” I asked Grace.
She turned to me then, placed one wrinkled hand firmly on my arm. “Shana, you are a dear. If I need your help, I’ll ask. But I’d rather have your company than your concern. Deal?”
“Deal,” I said, nodding. I could respect her independence. “Tell me more about the Wednesday Walkers.”
Peanut butter slathered on bread or handfuls of trail mix would have been called a gourmet lunch on one of my family’s hikes. But here, our amazing porters had prepared hot quinoa soup by the time Grace and I caught up to everyone. I saw Hank shake his head impatiently: “Finally.” Embarrassed, I cast a quick glance at Grace, who looked chastened until Ruben threw his arm around her shoulders.
“Good job,” he boomed loudly, then gestured to me. “Shana, can you take our picture? My mom needs to see what she’s missing.”
I could have hugged Ruben right then, and was only too happy to take a series of other shots: Ruben helping Grace with her backpack, Ruben leading her to a chair-shaped boulder, Ruben calling it a throne. Perfect timing, too. Grace’s body drooped in desperate need of a rest. She gratefully accepted a cup of soup from me and absently rubbed her knee.
Mom was sitting alone, tense, her usual expression these days. When I settled next to her, she cast an annoyed glance at my father, who sat by himself at a distance. Neither of them had spoken more than a few words to each other this morning, and neither appeared grateful that we were on this once-in-a-lifetime family trip now—the word “family” felt like a joke. Grace looked happier than they did, hands wrapped around her cup for warmth.
“He’s going to kill himself on this trail,” Mom said, her words sharp.
“Mom, he can still see.” Sort of.
“It’s not even that. He’s intent on proving to Hank that he can keep up the pace. No, not even keep up. Set the pace. I just don’t understand him.”
I averted my gaze from Mom’s tight frown and focused on my soup. But then I heard a snippet of Spanish, the voice familiar. My head shot up to find Quattro crouching down to chat with the porters. Our porters. How had I missed him, wearing that unfortunate orange Polarfleece jacket? Another few phrases of Spanish wound their way to me, and even though I couldn’t understand Quattro’s words, I knew the tone: teasing. The porters burst into laughter.
“What’s Quattro doing here?” I hissed at Mom, nodding over at him. The last thing I wanted was another encounter with him. First, the guy sprinted from me. Then, there was the parental factor. Who knew what Dad might do or say within Quattro’s earshot? And you could never be too sure whether Mom might spring some kind of sine qua non lecture on him.
“Oh, he’s still here?” She winked at me. “Take a guess.”
“Mom.”
“His group was already here when we arrived. Hank wasn’t kidding. All the guys on that Andean Trek looked like Navy SEALs.” She fanned herself. “Oh, boy, I think I’m giving myself a hot flash.”
“Mom, I know this is going to be a shock for you, but there are some things mothers should never share with their kids.”
“What? All I’m saying is that if I were a romance novelist, I would be on that trek.”
“Mom.”
“For research purposes. Anyway, looks like they pushed on ahead.”
“Don’t sound so disappointed,” I told her as I spooned another mouthful of quinoa soup.
“Well, I better go see about your dad,” Mom said, straightening like she was venturing into the lion’s den.
As I cleaned off my cup, I caught Grace sneaking onto the trail, as if to get a head start or make a break for freedom. Either way, I grabbed my backpack and started after her, telling myself that my leaving had nothing to do with dodging Quattro. Nope, this had everything to do with my job. What I hadn’t counted on was Grace asking for privacy when I caught up to her.
“But—” I started to protest.
She raised a finger. “Remember what we talked about?”
So I fell back, giving her enough space for alone time but still remaining in view in case anything happened. One by one, the rest of the Dreamwalkers passed me, Dad nodding at me with a “Great job, kiddo,” and Mom grinning at me. Even more humbling, our porters sprinted around first me, then Grace, on the steps despite being weighed down with so many bundles that only their legs were visible from behind.
“Talk about in shape,” a familiar voice called up to me. “Those guys are humbling, huh?”