“Mom, you don’t know that.” Even as I said it, I wondered where Hank had been, why no one had seen him, and why he was half-dressed.
“No, but I do know this: It takes a crisis for you to know a person’s true character,” said Mom firmly. “And trust me, you want to be with a man who’ll wear himself out looking for you.” Her eyes sought out my father, who was wading knee-deep in muck with Quattro, his dad, our porters, all of them splattered with mud, all of them still helping where help was needed.
Chapter Thirteen
Two hours later, all the trekking groups at the campsite had accounted for their parties. Luckily, not one person had been buried under the mud or been badly injured. We were just bruised and scared. At the sight of Quattro’s group, now inching down the mountain with all their gear, the tenor of our morning grew even more somber as we tallied our loss: every tent, every sleeping bag, most of the backpacks except for three: Ruben’s, Hank’s, and Grace’s. That meant almost all our supplies were gone.
“Where are we going to sleep?” I overheard Mom ask Dad. My instincts pricked, and I maneuvered for a better angle. If ever I hoped for a decisive moment to shoot, this was it. I could feel it. I waited.
“We’ll figure it out,” Dad assured her. For the first time in days, he pulled Mom close and tucked her head under his chin. Through the lens, I could see the tension releasing from Mom’s body as she sank into Dad in homecoming. Their eyes closed. And there it was, the moment I so wanted, even more than as a photographer: the first glimmer of hope that my parents would actually survive Dad’s blindness.
Another bunch of tired trekkers spilled into our ruined campsite, telling everyone that they had come from a kilometer away. Worse, their guide and porters had abandoned them. I snapped a quick photo of Quattro, who was standing with his dad and trekking group, listening attentively to their guide.
Whatever Stesha and Ruben were talking about, it couldn’t have been good, judging from their grim expressions. Nervous, I focused my camera on Grace and Dad providing medical attention to every trekker who needed bandaging with the supplies from Christopher’s small but well-stocked first aid kit. As I continued to shoot the scenes unfolding around us, Mom stuck close to me, worried that I’d be swept away by a second wave of mud. I was glad for her company; I kept glancing uphill, suspicious of the mountain. That unease disrupted the usual Zen I found while photographing. Correction: that, plus the fact that Quattro met my eyes but turned away to help his dad dig out a backpack covered in muck. He hadn’t even acknowledged me, as if he didn’t want to talk to me.
My cheeks flamed. More than hurt, I was confused. Part of me wanted to crawl behind a boulder to hide, rescue myself, no different from Hank. What was wrong with Quattro anyway? I could not possibly have misjudged another guy again, could I? But there was no way I could have misread that earlier tenderness. I knew I hadn’t imagined our almost-kiss.
Whatever was going on with him, I forced myself to focus on my work. I crouched down to frame the mud-buried tents. As I did, Hank’s voice carried over to me as he spoke with Helen: “If you see an extra pair of socks, let me know. I’m starting to get a blister.”
“Wait, where are yours?” she asked, frowning as if only now taking into account Hank’s pristine fedora, his clean backpack, which he had somehow miraculously rescued, his undershirt, his bare feet in tied-up hiking boots.
“I… I—” he stammered.
“Hank, why aren’t you wearing socks?” Then her own flood of disbelief unleashed on him. “Where were you this morning? Didn’t you hear me calling from the tent? I thought I was going to die. And I looked for you.” Finally, the damning question: “Did you leave me?”
The flush on Hank’s face was the one emotion I never thought I’d see him wear: shame.
“I’m sorry! I wasn’t thinking, but it doesn’t mean anything.” He reached for her, but Helen shook her head, first slowly, then furiously. “I came back to look for you.”
“Don’t touch me!” she cried, backing away so suddenly she stumbled but regained her balance. Her face crumpled, and she wound her arms around herself. Grace hastened to Helen, and I followed to flank Helen on her other side, the way my friends would have if I had only told them about Dom. Change the environment, replace the guy, and that could have been me, alone at a restaurant table, set for two.