“But what if it’s already full? We don’t have tents,” Hank persisted. “What about the porters and Ruben? What’s our contract with them?”
“I’m staying with Stesha,” said Ruben, and he added a question in Quechua to the porters, who all nodded. Addressing our entire group, he said, “None of us are leaving you.”
So the decision was made: push on toward the hostel together. At that, Stesha and Ruben went to invite the other groups to join forces with us. Not getting the answer he wanted from our group, Hank stalked over to Christopher. I trudged behind, camera in hand. I could tell myself I was fulfilling my duty as the trip photojournalist, but I knew the truth: I wanted a chance to talk to Quattro.
The sonic boom of Hank’s voice could have unleashed another mudslide as he confronted Christopher: “Your group’s going all the way to Machu Picchu today, right?”
“Not all of the group,” Christopher corrected, pointing his thumb at their porters, who were unloading their backpacks, reallocating the supplies. “David and Jorje have little kids at home, and Salvador’s mom is sick. So our porters are going straight back to Cusco.”
I gripped the camera in my hand, feeling guilty. I hadn’t exchanged many words with our porters except for a dozen graciases, por favors, and smiles, lots of wordless smiles.
“But you need them,” Hank said.
“We’ll be fine without them,” Christopher said confidently, chin raised as he stared Hank down. Without hesitating, I took my shot, knowing that I was seeing the real Christopher, the man he had been before Quattro’s mom died. There was no muting him now.
“Hey.”
Quattro. At his voice, I felt an impossible spurt of happiness. Our campsite and plans were in disarray, but here it was. Joy. He had come looking for me after all, just as he’d promised. But then I read his shuttered face.
“How’re you holding up?” he asked, sounding more clinical than concerned.
I sighed, shrugged, shook my head. How could I explain how I was feeling? Still reeling that we’d survived a mudslide. Whiplashed by his behavior. The whisperings of boyfriends past filled my head. How many guys had called me out on my flirt-and-run habit? Now that I was experiencing it firsthand, I had to say: I felt more unwanted than a speck of dust.
“Are you avoiding me?” I asked him point-blank.
He flushed. “I’ve been helping out.…” When his shoulders slumped tiredly, I softened. There was no question about it: He’d been pushing himself hard.
“We were lucky that you and your dad came when you did.”
“Hardly.”
“A minute more, and Helen might not be here.” My eyes welled up with tears at the close call. The mudslide had scraped me raw; my emotions were bouncing all over the place. “If we had stayed in our tent for another couple of minutes… If Dad didn’t pull us out…”
He closed his eyes tight, balled his fists. “I just can’t.”
“Quattro.”
At once, he averted his face, but not before I saw his expression ruined with more than grief, but anguish.
“I have to go,” he said, as if he had made a fatal mistake by caring for me.
“Quattro! Wait!”
He was gone.
According to relationship roulette, I was the last person to comfort Helen. I mean, who was I to give advice when I had fallen for Dom, who had existed in a haze of romance that had been all in my head? I didn’t even want to begin to think about Quattro, who was as love damaged and afraid as I was. But Helen was still sitting on the rock while everybody was making final preparations to leave—not that there was much to do, since most of our belongings were under sludge.
“Helen,” I said, and paused, then continued clumsily, “you know, my mom thinks that everybody has a sine qua non.”
“A what?” She may not have understood Latin, but her cheeks flushed as though she knew I was suggesting that Hank wasn’t good enough for her.
I blushed, too. Why would she listen to me any more than I’d listened to my brother Max, who had tried to warn me off Dom? Besides, what did I know? I’d wasted almost a year, boycotting Max’s every effort to repair our relationship when I owed him thanks.
“Oh, nothing, I’m just rambling, but you should ask her,” I said hastily. “So do you want to walk with Grace and me?”
I mistakenly thought we were alone, but Hank had been hovering close behind us, back to being Mr. Caring. “I’ll walk with Helen,” he declared. But at his offer, she shoved away from the rock and marched over to Grace.
I could hear Grace’s every lilting word: “Mind? Helen, I’ve been waiting to walk with you!”
Grace tucked her hand in the crook of Helen’s arm and led her to the others, who were inventorying the three backpacks left between us. The last I heard before they started for the trail was Grace asking, “Have I told you about the Wednesday Walkers?”
Chapter Fourteen