Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN

June 2017, Geneva, Switzerland

When Sophie had first arrived in Switzerland, she had been a shell of herself. Or rather, the essence of herself had been compacted into something hard and small, buried deep within the center, while her body slowly withered away until she felt paper-thin—pale, her muscles weak, dark bags beneath her eyes. She couldn’t stand to feel the sun on her skin.

When Zoe spotted her at the airport, she drew a sharp breath and said, “My god.”

Sophie blinked at her. “What?”

“Nothing,” Zoe said quickly. “You just look different. Tired. Here, let me help you with your bag.”

Sophie didn’t protest. She handed her suitcase to Zoe, but Zoe didn’t take it; instead, she pulled Sophie into a hug.

“I missed you,” she mumbled into Sophie’s hair.

“I missed you too,” Sophie replied, because it was the polite thing to do. Truthfully, she hadn’t missed anyone for the last year except herself, her former personality and her former life, which now seemed fuzzy and intangible. She couldn’t remember how she used to get up each morning and worry about things like a grocery list and what gear was needed for the day’s climb. Even mountaineering no longer felt like a passion. Instead, she remembered her summit days as if she had been told the stories by an old friend—vividly, but with a sense of removal. She had not strapped crampons to her boots and sipped lukewarm broth at 3:00 a.m. in a tiny tent two years ago, on the slopes of K2, her sister’s body pressed up against hers for warmth as a storm raged outside. They had feared for their lives that night, sharing furtive glances, afraid to speak the truth: we could die on this mountain . Of course they both knew that. There was no way to escape death on a mountain; years ago, they had walked past the frozen, eerily preserved bodies on Everest, which reminded them that with each second, they flirted with death. The unspoken thing between them: they both loved it, exerting control in such unfathomably dangerous situations, reaching the top of a mountain when all odds were stacked against them.

But those days belonged to a different life. Sophie could hardly get out of bed most days now, let alone spend weeks on a mountainside, acclimating and pushing and retreating and huddling in a tent, trying to convince herself that it would all be worth it. She pushed the memories aside. She had made it to Switzerland, and that was enough for now.

She let go of Zoe and stepped back, glancing at the other passengers streaming past on both sides. “I’m here now. Let’s go.”

Zoe lived in a stately old apartment building overlooking Lake Geneva, part of the Rh?ne, which was fed by glaciers. Sophie thought it was the most beautiful city she had ever seen, but maybe it was just because for the last year, her surroundings had consisted of her childhood bedroom. Zoe indulged her and took her for a tour of the neighborhood that evening, pointing out historic buildings and the best cafés. Sophie stayed quiet, taking it all in, until she stopped walking so abruptly that Zoe bumped into her. Sophie turned to her friend, her eyes wide, an unsettling expression on a person already so thin and weary.

“Do you think this was a mistake? Was I crazy to come here?”

Zoe blinked, and then her demeanor softened. “Oh, Sophie, no. You did the right thing. I’m so happy to have you here. I can’t imagine...what you’ve been going through. There’s no way I would have been able to stay.”

Sophie felt Zoe’s hand rest on her shoulder. The sun had begun to set, and the sky above was a gentle blue, the wisps of clouds slowly turning pink. She was in Switzerland, for an indefinite amount of time, had only bought a one-way ticket to allow her future self to decide when to return. She’d never spent a long period of time in another country where she wasn’t on an expedition—sure, she had spent almost three months in Nepal, but save for the start and end of the trip, she lived on Everest, waking each morning to snow and rock and her sister’s face. She hadn’t traveled for pleasure, to see the world except for from the summit of a mountain. She stepped away from Zoe, letting Zoe’s hand slip off her shoulder, looking down at the calm water that reflected the changing sky.

“You’re right,” she replied. “I was always meant to end up here.” She felt silly, saying it out loud, but lately she’d been trying to convince herself that it was true—that her life, careening wildly off its formerly straightforward train tracks, was a matter of divine providence, some greater force guiding her into a deeply troubled time to teach her a lesson. She just hadn’t figured out what the lesson was yet. And though it had been easy, as a kid, to believe that everything happened for a reason, she was finding it harder to believe now that other people were involved.

Zoe’s apartment was inspired by her college years in Sweden, white walls and streamlined decor. “Only the essentials,” Zoe said, hanging her tote bag on a single peg, perfectly placed on the wall near the door. Sophie’s blue suitcase stuck out like a sore thumb, even pressed up against the wall. There was only one bedroom, but Zoe had offered her the couch, for as long as she needed it. It went unspoken that Sophie would never be able to afford an apartment on her own—her bank account had all but run dry, and she didn’t have a visa, which would make finding work more difficult. She was overwhelmed by Zoe’s generosity. The plan was to look for work as a climbing guide, but those jobs were scarce, and as the weeks passed, Sophie found that she still didn’t miss climbing; not even the Alps drew her attention.

Somewhere in those days Sophie checked her email for the first time since arriving in Switzerland. She scrolled through the various coupons and newsletters, looking for what, she wasn’t sure. At the bottom of her inbox sat a chain of emails from one of her sponsors, Black Diamond—sent by one of their marketing specialists, asking if she had any plans to climb this year. Sophie had responded a few months ago to say that she was taking some time off. Now another summer would pass without any summits.

She scrolled back to the top of her inbox. An email with no subject caught her attention. She opened it and read: Sophie, Switzerland? What the hell? Call me.

From Miles. He’d sent it from his professional email, GreeneArt, and the signature at the bottom of the message contrasted sharply with the tone of his words. Sophie closed the email app and set her phone aside, hot anger rising in her chest. She knew why he was upset—her fleeing to Switzerland meant another lengthy delay on their divorce—but who had told him? She could only suspect that he had heard from Evelyn.

Too bad. Calling him was the last thing in the world Sophie was going to do.

In the evenings, she took long walks through Geneva, exploring the busy streets and the shaded parks. She had yet to have a single interaction with a person that wasn’t in a store, with Zoe, or one of Zoe’s friends. But she liked that—the solitude, the lack of care or responsibility. She was free to drift and pay Zoe a meager sum of rent each month, and already she had begun to feel more like herself again. She knew it was a privilege—to escape from her life, to run away to a European country and pretend that her problems didn’t exist—but it also felt like a gift, the other side of misfortune.

Her cell phone rang when she reached Parc La Grange. She paused beneath one of the large cedar trees, using the shade to look at the screen. Her mother. They hadn’t spoken in weeks, giving each other space since Sophie’s unceremonious exit from the States. She drew a breath, steeling herself, and answered.

“Mom?”

“Sophie! It’s good to hear your voice.”

A bell rang and Sophie stepped off the path as a bike whizzed by. She wandered down into an open field, feeling the soft give of the grass beneath her shoes. She could see a narrow strip of Lake Geneva in the distance.

“Yours too,” she replied, the truth. She missed her more than she cared to admit. Her mother had spent the last year doting on Sophie, bringing her food and tidying up her room while Sophie cried in bed. At the time, it had felt almost demeaning, how readily she accepted Sophie’s inability to care for herself. Now, she wondered if she would ever experience love as plainly and efficiently again.

“I was worried about you when you left so...abruptly. But I thought I should give you space. Then I thought, what if she thinks I’m upset at her?” She laughed, her voice clear and bright through the phone. “Anyway, Sophie, I just called to tell you how much I miss you. And that I can send you a check in the mail.”

“I miss you too,” Sophie said, surprised by how much the words caught in her throat. She didn’t want to cry here, in broad daylight, surrounded by children playing in the grass and couples picnicking. She walked to the edge of the field, plopped down in the cool shade beneath a tree. “You don’t need to give me any money. I’m managing. Switzerland has been great. It’s amazing to see Zoe again, like no time passed at all. I mean, she’s so generous. I feel bad for cluttering up her living room. But if it bothers her, she’s great at hiding it.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t mind. You two were so funny as kids. It’s hard to picture you both grown up, in another country.” She seemed to permanently view Sophie as a twelve-year-old, strong-willed and preternaturally excited about life. Even if that wasn’t true for Sophie anymore, she had good reason to remember Zoe that way. They had met at ski camp, Zoe visiting American relatives in Colorado for the summer. They had kept in touch as pen pals over the years, until cell phones made the task easier, and considerably less special. “Have you visited the Alps yet?”

“No, not yet. Zoe doesn’t climb. And I haven’t made any friends here yet.” She paused. “I’ve been meaning to look into a guiding service. Book a couple of trips. It would be fun to see more of the scenery.” A white lie. She had been thinking of renting a car or getting a train ticket to see more of the country but climbing wasn’t on her list. Still, she wasn’t ready for the questions if she admitted that.

“You’ll have to send me some pictures.”

“Sure.”

A silence passed between them. Sophie tilted her head back and watched the tree branches sway in the breeze, creating little patterns of sunlight and shadow across her face. The air felt light and warm, rich with the sweetness of midsummer.

Her mother cleared her throat, anchoring her back to reality. Sophie tensed, expectant. “I...well, I spoke to Evelyn the other day.”

Sophie resisted the urge to throw her phone as far as she could. Of course she had called with an agenda. Never just to “say hi.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. No point in snapping, although she had never wanted to more.

“I don’t want to hear about Evelyn.”

She exhaled, and Sophie could hear the weight of the sadness in that breath. “Right. I know. I just thought you might want to know how she’s doing.”

“She’s fucking my husband. I’m sure she’s doing wonderful.” As soon as she said it, she regretted it. She never cursed in front of, or to, her mother. That was always Evelyn, the older child, bolder. Sophie usually demurred and kept her strong emotions to herself. But the sheer audacity to call, to reach her thousands of miles away on a beautiful afternoon and remind her that Evelyn existed, was too much.

“She’s—Sophie, really.” She sighed. “She’s actually not doing well. She called me crying the other day and said how much she wants to talk to you.”

“Maybe she could have thought about the consequences before she ruined my life.”

Silence. Then, “Okay, sweetheart, I can tell that now isn’t the right time. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” A pause, as if she was waiting for Sophie to tell her that it was okay, that it didn’t really matter. “Honey, I’m glad you’re having a good time in Geneva. We’ll talk soon, okay? And not about...Evelyn. Or what happened. I just want you to be happy. Okay? I love you. Send me pictures.”

“I love you too,” Sophie replied, and hung up. She really did want her daughters to make up and be friends again. Sophie couldn’t fathom that she thought it would be that simple, that she could call Evelyn up and say No, really, it’s fine, all forgiven and forgotten. Let’s be best friends again and climb mountains and when we grow old, we’ll buy two houses, side by side with a view of the ocean. At that moment, she would be happy to never see Evelyn again in her life.

Sophie found the job at the coffee shop about a month after she arrived in Geneva. She’d explored many of the local shops but kept coming back to Mistral, which was situated on a corner three blocks from Zoe’s apartment. The interior was painted forest green and decorated with simple wooden furniture, and she spent hours drinking kaffe-crème and browsing job listings on Zoe’s laptop. She suspected Zoe only let her borrow it for the exact purpose of job hunting—Sophie had her cell phone, but it was difficult to format a résumé on the tiny screen. She felt guilty whenever she realized she’d been browsing mountaineering forums for nearly two hours, trying to stay abreast of the news, instead of scrolling through the job boards. But she’d applied to what felt like a million jobs without so much as a single email telling her they were thinking it over. To most employers, she was completely undesirable—an American who only spoke English and had not lived in the country nearly long enough for a permit. She hid that fact, when she could, but many of the jobs asked the same question: Do you now or in the future require sponsorship to continue working in Switzerland?

So it was with relief that she spotted, one day, the Help Wanted sign on Mistral’s door. The manager, Mila, played it cool throughout the interview, her face expressionless as Sophie answered her questions, but broke into a smile as she set aside Sophie’s application.

“I’d like to offer you the job. I’m glad you applied. I need someone else above the age of eighteen around here.”

Sophie fell into an easy routine, thankful to have a real excuse to leave Zoe’s apartment—no more aimless wandering around Geneva, at least in the mornings. But besides her friendly-but-professional relationship with Mila, she didn’t make much headway with the rest of her coworkers or the legions of customers. The Swiss were, as Zoe had told her many times, reserved. Occasionally a tourist wandered in and was happy to chat with Sophie for a few minutes after she delivered their coffee, but often, her only interaction with customers was a few words and a curt nod.

So, that was why she was startled when one day, as she handed a cup of kaffe-crème across the counter, the man on the other side said, “I like your tattoo. Is that—by chance—is that K2?”

Sophie looked up in surprise. No one outside of the climbing community had ever recognized the mountain tattooed on her body. To the uninitiated, it looked like any mountain, but K2’s pyramidal shape was something of a symbol among mountaineers. She often forgot it was there, the black-and-white picture nestled on her right forearm. She tried not to think of the identical tattoo on Evelyn’s left arm. She appraised the man for a moment. She had seen him in the shop a few times before—brown hair and blue eyes, lean, like a runner—but couldn’t remember anything specific about him, if he always visited at the same time or always ordered the same drink.

“It is,” she said. She wanted to say, I climbed it two years ago with my sister and it was the most beautiful and terrifying experience of my life , but she held her tongue, wary of monopolizing his time.

But he lingered. “I’ve done a lot of climbing,” he said. “But never anything like K2. Wow.”

She couldn’t help smiling. “You’re assuming that I’ve climbed it?”

He flushed, embarrassed. “No, well, I—I guess I did. Have you?”

Sophie nodded, shrugged, also feeling embarrassed to admit to the greatest physical feat of her life while standing in a coffee shop, wearing an ugly apron and acutely aware of the growing line of customers. “Yes. Two years ago.”

“Modest,” he replied, and laughed, and Sophie thought that she could listen to that laugh many more times and not get sick of it.

Someone said her name, and she glanced over her shoulder, at one of the cashiers motioning frantically to the growing list of receipts tacked to the ticket holder. She looked back at him apologetically. “I should go.”

“Yeah, of course.” He regarded her a moment longer, unabashedly studying her face. “Listen, I—I’d like to talk to you more, about climbing K2. I haven’t met many people who have done that. I’ll be...” He gestured vaguely around at the open tables. “I’m going to drink this here.”

She understood his clumsy proposal. “I’m off in half an hour. I’ll find you.”

He smiled and turned away. Sophie went back to work at a furious pace, trying to stay on top of the unusual rush of early-afternoon customers. She realized that she didn’t even know his name and chided herself for falling back into the same habits—getting momentarily seduced by a handsome stranger and agreeing to something she didn’t necessarily want to do. She spied him through the crowd—sitting at a back table, typing at a laptop. At least he wasn’t just staring at her. He seemed nice. And she desperately needed a Swiss friend who wasn’t already one of Zoe’s. Throughout the rest of her shift, she convinced herself that this was the smart thing to do—put herself out there, make friends. By the time she took off her apron and approached his table, she was feeling something close to confident.

“Hi again,” she said, sliding into the seat across from him. “I realized I don’t even know your name.”

“Nor I yours,” he replied, looking up from his laptop. “Damn, and you’re not wearing the name tag anymore. I was going to cheat.”

“So you looked at the name tag, but not at the name?”

He tilted his head, admonished. “No. Lack of foresight. Can I take a guess?” He paused, waiting for her to nod. “Is it something stereotypically American? Jessica? Sarah?”

She shook her head, laughing.

“Okay. I give up.”

“Sophie,” she said, “and I won’t even make you suffer the indignity of asking if you’re called Michael or Justin. What’s your name?”

“Justin,” he said flatly, but his eyes betrayed the joke. “It’s Levi. Rouanet.”

“Wright. My last name.” Funny, that the first time she’d lied to him had been so early on. But she still felt like a Wright, at heart, tied more closely to her family than to Miles. She contemplated, briefly, if it would be worth changing her last name to something entirely different, whenever she went back to the States, to forge her own path as the sole member of a new family. She set the idea aside, to ponder later whether it would be too cruel to her mother.

“Ah. So, you’re always right? I’m sure you’ve heard that one before.”

“About a billion times.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t want to talk about your name, anyway. But I recognize it. And now I really do believe that you’ve climbed K2. Among others.”

She flushed. “I suppose I make the news sometimes.”

He raised an eyebrow and began typing on his laptop. She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the idea of him searching for her name, seeing the pictures of her on mountaintops. It felt oddly intimate, even if he was also a climber. She was a different person in those photos, though it was hard to tell beneath all the layers of clothing—thinner, strung out on pure adrenaline, living on a kind of desperate, instinctual energy that she felt nowhere else. She had once heard an old mountaineer call it “being close to the marrow of life,” which of course implied the breaking of bones to get there.

“‘Evelyn Wright,’” Levi said, “‘and her sister, Sophie Greene, formerly Wright, summited K2 at 10:36 a.m. on July 2.’” He glanced up at her, plain curiosity on his face. “ Formerly Wright?”

“I was married. Am. Technically.”

He pushed the laptop aside, all his focus on her again. She felt his gaze travel over her bare fingers, connecting the dots. “You’re married? Go on.”

“I’d rather not.” She suddenly wished she had brought a coffee or a bottle of water over to the table, something to distract herself with. “It’s complicated. Messy. The reason I’m alone in Switzerland.”

“I get it,” he said. “Not a stranger story.” And Sophie was thankful that he didn’t pry, that he understood the necessity of a private past. “But I have to ask,” he continued, and she tensed again, “did you come here to climb, or work in a coffee shop?”

She let out a breath. “Neither. I came to stay with a very generous friend. I—well—I haven’t climbed in a long time. The last year or so of my life has been a nightmare. Only recently has it started to feel like I’ve begun to wake up.”

Levi regarded her for a moment, serious, before he closed his laptop and leaned back in his chair. She thought he was going to leave, that she’d gone too far, hinted too strongly at how disturbed her mental health had been. Maybe he was no longer interested in spending any time with a married, depressed, former mountaineer. But he simply stretched, and scooted forward again, his attention on her.

“I don’t want to overstep,” he said, “but it seems like a great tragedy that someone like you, and I quote, ‘hasn’t climbed in a long time.’”

“It’s not...” She trailed off, trying to find the words. “It’s not for lack of want. It’s just that everything has felt insurmountable for a while. It’s hard to find the energy to climb a mountain when getting out of bed feels just as daunting.” There. She’d said to him what she had admitted to no one else: that her passion was gone, her drive. And with it had gone the rest of her energy—at times, even her will to live. She looked down at the table in embarrassment. “I’m better now, for the most part. I’ve seen how beautiful the Alps are and pictured myself climbing. I’ve been meaning to look into a tour group.”

He waved a hand, unfazed by her confession. “No need. When are your days off?”

“Tuesdays, Sundays, and afternoons.”

He considered for a moment. “I’m doing some climbing with a couple of friends this weekend. We were going to go on Saturday, but I can see if they can do Sunday instead—if you’d like to come. We’re climbing the Riffelhorn. Have you heard of it?” When she shook her head, he continued. “It’s not big, but it’s fun. My friends, they’re more into rock climbing, most of them, and I figure it’s good practice regardless. Are you in?”

She could think of no reason to say no, besides that he was a stranger. But she liked him already—conversation came easy, and he was undaunted by both her honesty and her secrets. She nodded. “Yes, if you can do Sunday. But don’t change your plans just for me.”

He regarded her for a moment, and she thought she saw the hint of a smile on his face. “Of course, I would never.” He glanced down at his watch and seemed to start. “Sorry, I have to get back to the office. Can I have your number? Or email, if you’re old-fashioned.”

He said it so casually that it was almost reassuring—he was offering nothing more than friendship. She told him her phone number, watched as he typed it in. He handed his phone over for her to check, and she thought how easily they could become strangers once more, lost to each other forever. She could disappear back to America without ever speaking to him again. But part of her knew, already, that their lives would continue to intertwine.

Sophie met Levi and two of his friends in the early-morning hours on Sunday. They introduced themselves but seemed generally uninterested in her presence, which made her wonder if she wasn’t the first woman Levi had invited along on a climb. The thought didn’t bother her. The opportunity to climb shone before her, a bright light blocking out all other distractions.

The streetlights cast a warm glow on the streets of Geneva as Sophie slid into the back seat of the car beside Levi. She tried to stay awake but at some point, she shut her eyes and when she opened them again the sun had risen. The view of the Alps astounded her. The little car inched steadily higher, bringing them closer to the mountains and to the heavens.

“We’re almost to Zermatt,” Levi said, noticing that she was awake. “We’ll take the Gornergrat to the Rotenboden station, and then it’s just a walk to the Riffelhorn.”

She nodded, the words meaningless in her half-awake daze. He had told her, via text, the route they would take to the Riffelhorn, but now that it was happening, she was struck with the wonder of the scenery and how easy it was to do things again, to say yes and be swept off on a new adventure. How had she ever let herself stop living? She didn’t have time to answer before they reached the station.

They departed the train at Rotenboden, Sophie still in awe of the scenery. The fresh air hit her in a cold wave as she stepped off the train, but the sun shone above, promising another mild summer day. She shouldered her backpack and sidestepped a group of hikers, who were stretching in the wide dirt area off to the side. Levi caught up to her and pointed to a peak in the distance.

“The Matterhorn. Isn’t it beautiful?”

She nodded. “I recognize it. Have you climbed it?”

He ducked his head, smiling. “Not yet. I’ve been waiting for the right person to take along.”

“I told you, it’s been a long time,” she said, but he was already turning away.

“That changes today,” he said over his shoulder, pointing to a mass of rock in the near distance. “That’s the Riffelhorn. A bit less exciting, but still a blast.”

He called to his friends and they set off, a short fifteen-minute walk to reach the Riffelhorn and then a somewhat exposed traverse around to the southern face.

“They’re doing the Kante route,” Levi said, nodding at his friends as they donned appropriate shoes. “We’ll keep our boots on and go for Eck. It’s a little less technical.”

Sophie nodded, her gaze drifting to the Matterhorn as Levi readied their equipment. She tried to imagine herself standing on the summit and failed. The sharp pyramid of rock and snow looked like a more dramatic version of K2. She glanced back at Levi as he handed rope to her and reminded herself to focus. Just as her muscles had weakened and turned soft over the last year, so had her mind, her ability to concentrate. She had to enter a certain headspace to climb, almost like meditation, leaving all other thoughts behind. She wasn’t the type who could write her grocery list while attempting a route. But her thoughts ran freely these days, scrambling over each other like a pack of dogs.

“Ready?” Levi asked, after she had clipped onto the ropes.

She squinted up at him, backlit by the bright sun. He wore a smile, his cheeks red from the wind and the cold. He looked ready for anything, and so she nodded, putting her trust in the hands of a stranger.

They reached the top a little over an hour later, steps behind Levi’s friends, who cheered and made a show of clapping everyone’s backs. Sophie stepped away from the ledge, smiling, proud of herself for once. It wasn’t the most technical route, but her muscles ached with a welcome fatigue. The blustering wind did its best to whip her hair free from her ponytail. She shielded her eyes from the sun and turned to Levi.

“Nice work,” he said. She had followed behind him up the rock face and had been impressed with his relaxed way of moving, the casual fluidity with which he moved between footholds. She wanted to climb with him again but couldn’t bring herself to say it, in case he didn’t feel the same. Perhaps she had been too slow, too hesitant. She no longer had the same faith in her abilities.

Back in Geneva, the car pulled to the curb in front of Zoe’s apartment building. Levi got out to take her backpack from the trunk and handed it to her as he stepped up beside her on the sidewalk.

“Thank you,” she said, “a real gentleman.”

He grinned. “I try.”

“Really, though,” she said, glancing back at the car, trying to gauge how long his friends were willing to wait. “Thanks for bringing me along today. I needed this.” She didn’t elaborate on what she meant, confident that Levi would understand.

He nodded, his expression growing more serious. “I’m glad you came along. And,” he said, “if it’s not too much to ask, I’d like to take you out sometime. On a more traditional date.”

“Was this a date?”

“I don’t know if we can call it one with those two along,” he conceded, nodding at the car. “But maybe if dinner goes well, I’ll consider a climbing date.”

“High stakes.”

“I’ll call you,” he said.

She stood on the curb, watching as he retreated to the car, lifting a hand in a wave as the car pulled away onto the road. Normally, at the beginning of a relationship, Sophie wanted to tell the world about that person, call all her friends to discuss her latest love interest in detail. But there was something different about Levi—or maybe it was Sophie who had changed. She didn’t want another soul to know about him, wanted him all to herself, for as long as her time in Switzerland would last. She hadn’t meant to fall for anyone. But her life hadn’t gone to plan for the last year, so what was one more complication?