There, standing before us as proud as any perfectly proportioned Aphrodite fresh on the clamshell, was Grace, glorious in her hiking boots that sheathed one foot… and one prosthetic leg attached at her knee.
Glancing around the table at one shocked person after another, Grace’s eyes finally rested on my father. She said, “I promised the Wednesday Walkers that I would complete the Inca Trail sooner or later. And a promise is a promise.” She considered Dad hard before her gaze bore into Helen. “My husband was there for me during my first bout with cancer. We never imagined that the second would lop off my leg.”
Dad was still dumbstruck in his front-row seat before this miracle. Grace smiled kindly at him and said, “You look like you need another round.”
“You walked the entire Inca Trail,” Dad said, slow to comprehend.
“Every step of the way.” She beamed at me. “I had good company.”
“You’re sexy to the end!” I called, raising my bottle of water. That seemed like the only appropriate toast.
We all cheered. At that moment, Quattro strode into the restaurant with his dad, both of them looking bleak and angry until they did a double take at Grace, half-naked on the table. The sight of their shock made us all laugh again.
“Now you may take a photo,” Grace told me after hiking up her pants and buttoning them. She posed on the table, hands in the air, an impish grin lighting her face.
After Grace’s big reveal, everyone demanded to know how she’d managed the trek. Casting a glance around to make sure no one was eavesdropping, I asked Quattro my own burning question: “Did you go…?” But he shook his head, lips thinning as he glowered at his dad, then ate his ramen noodles in stoic silence. The conversation turned to the clear skies and whether they would hold long enough for the helicopters to land. That brought us right up to the four thousand tourists packed into this tiny town, each of them vying for a spot on the helicopters. The dank smell of tension permeated the streets.
Mom joked, “That’s the scent of the unwashed.”
We all knew better. My own sense of uneasiness only increased at the end of lunch, when Helen piped up to say that her dad had worked in a bunch of different emergencies, and that there was a tipping point when fear and desperation led to riots and worse. As we all accompanied Grace to the helipad, I could feel the entire town teetering on that sharp tipping point.
A crowd of gray-haired senior citizens was already waiting, most clinging to their luggage even though the orders had been to leave behind all nonessential items to maximize the number of people who could be squeezed onto the helicopter. One push on the flimsy gate that separated the impatient crowd from the path to the helipad, and the barrier would topple. And then all these elderly people who the Peruvian government wanted to protect would be trampled.
“You should grab the first helicopter that you can tomorrow morning,” Grace urged us. I shot a quick glance at Quattro. The days were dwindling, if he wanted to honor his mother.
Now an armed Peruvian soldier, menacing in his military fatigues, pointed at Grace. As though we were planning on sneaking aboard the helicopter, he snapped, “Only her.”
I lifted the camera to capture this farewell and framed Dad enfolding Grace in his arms, telling her in a tear-clogged voice, “I’m so sorry.”
No one, least of all Grace, had to ask him what he was apologizing for.
“It feels like this place is going to implode.” Grace’s frown deepened. “You should go back to the casita now.”
Mom smiled patiently at her. “We’re your groupies, haven’t you figured that out yet?”
“Yeah, and we’re demanding an encore performance,” I said, giving Grace a last hug.
“Don’t tempt her!” Dad said; his old teasing tone was back. A glimmer of a smile danced on his lips before he handed Grace over to the soldier. On the basis of that expression alone, I felt like my family had already been airlifted to safety. But when I saw the forlorn look on Quattro’s face, I made up my mind: I was going with him to Machu Picchu.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Other girls sneak out late at night to party or fool around with their boyfriends. But I was preparing to sneak out before dawn to hike to ancient ruins with a friend who was on a mission.
From the thick rug where I lay swaddled in comforters, I could trace the barest hint of pink lightening the sky through the window slats. Only a few clouds blocked the stars. If Quattro didn’t attempt to break into Machu Picchu this morning, he might never get another chance.
Just as I was debating about whether to wake him, the door to the walk-in closet where he had been sleeping opened slowly. Quattro padded out to the living room in socks, holding his hiking boots. He must have slept with them so his dad couldn’t hide them again. Last night, I had noticed that he’d stashed his backpack and rain gear behind the couch. He collected them now, as I rose from my nest of comforters and tiptoed after him.