A Blind Spot for Boys (14 page)

A
few hours of sleep later, Stesha woke our group. Yesterday, we had agreed to salvage the last of our trek. At the very least we were going to see the first rays of sunlight illuminate Machu Picchu. Who cared that it meant we had to get up at three in the morning? Who cared that the chance of a break in the clouds was about one percent? Who cared how many tourist photos had already memorialized one of the most famous sunrise vistas? I planned to take exactly one of those photos myself, cliché or not, Ms. Associate Dean of Admissions at Cornish College. I patted my back pocket to make sure that Quattro’s camera was still there.

Quattro.

I flushed at the memory of last night, squeamish about running into him this morning. Through the rain-speckled windows, I spied him helping his dad dismantle their tent. They
obviously were on the same time line we were. As if he felt me, Quattro glanced my way. I ducked down, face flaming.

“What’re you doing?” Mom asked, yawning widely.

Humiliation à la Quattro. It’s my new specialty.

Dad sat up, grimaced. I could hear his spine crack when he stretched. “Man,” he said, “I’m getting old. That other group might have the right idea.” The leaderless tour group that had joined ours yesterday had made the executive decision last night to sleep in this morning, opting out of our early morning trek. I personally chalked it up to the aftershocks of being abandoned. After all, it didn’t much matter if it was guide, fiancé, or boyfriend (past, present, or imagined) who took off; being the one left behind was exhausting.

As I tugged on my hiking boots, I wondered whether Quattro remembered our silly bet: to be the first at the Sun Gate. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t so much as brush a single fingertip against that portal to Machu Picchu if he happened to reach it before me. Given last night’s conversation, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he sprinted right past it.

The memory of his “it’s not you, it’s me” words made me blush. But once we reached the town of Machu Picchu Pueblo and were safe on the train back to Cusco, I’d never see Quattro again. At least that’s what I told myself, even as a faint and annoying strain of “It’s a Small World” taunted me in my head.

“So,” Mom said casually as we walked out the door together, “late last night, we found out that the rest of your friend’s group decided to take their chances on the trail back to Cusco.”

“My friend?” I asked, even as little warning bells started to
chime in my mind. Alarmed, I stared at her, forgetting all about hiding from a certain boy. “What are you talking about?”

“Quattro and his dad are joining us the rest of the way. Wasn’t it nice of him to give your dad his headlamp?”

“What?” My gaze landed on Quattro hefting his backpack on. Hastily, before we could make awkward eye contact, I whipped back around to Mom. “Why?”

“I just told you. The Andean Trekkers decided to head back to Cusco on the trail. They’d heard rumors that the train tracks have been flooded.”

“When was all this decided?”

“You must have been in the bathroom,” Stesha answered for Mom before I could protest further. She fluffed her hair. Those efforts literally fell flat. The spunk had gone out of her deflated curls. I knew how they felt. “And your boy’s joining us.”

I hissed at Stesha, hoping to shut down this conversation, “He’s not my boy.”

“You mean, not yet.” Although Stesha lowered her voice, her eyes kept darting over to Quattro. Poor spy skills must have run in her family. She was no better at covert operations than Reb. “I think once he’s done working through some big grief, he’ll be begging to be your boy. Give him time. You’re both worth the wait.”

Five minutes later, our group was ready to go. Mom was so busy chatting with Grace about the Wednesday Walkers that she stepped in front of me to keep their conversation going. I didn’t protest until I realized that Quattro had staked out the spot at the very back of our group.

Dude, really?

After being Mr. Fast and Furious of the Inca Trail, now, today, he suddenly decided to plod behind everyone? Really? With Quattro just feet behind me, I felt self-conscious, and not only because I was highly aware that he had an unobstructed view of my rain-gear-clad, shapeless glory. Hadn’t the guy ever heard of giving a girl space after the Talk? Guiltily, I thought about all the Talks I’d delivered by text. How could I have been so blasé about breakups? I really had been the Genghis Khan of boys’ hearts, and the knowledge of my callousness stung.

“Hey, Mom,” I said to her urgently, “I should walk with Grace.” Then I used those three special words that had the power to upend any photo safari with Dad and any family vacation in the past: “It’s my job.”

Fortunately, Mom nodded and traded places with me.

“Watch your footing,” Stesha said up ahead of us, pointing to an especially saturated edge of the cliff. “This could go, too.”

Our group had fallen into a meditative pace. Maybe it had something to do with no one wanting to chance another accident. Maybe the enormity of yesterday’s mudslide was only now sinking in. All I know is that there was no more casual chatter, no more trading of harrowing stories about travel nightmares. No more Ruben telling us about the terrain, the region’s history, the rich biodiversity. No more Stesha infusing us with doses of spirituality: What is your purpose here, today? My eyes remained on Grace’s muddy boots ahead of me. Somehow, I felt better hearing Mom stomping behind me, one heavy footstep after another.

“I wish your dad were here with us.” Mom sighed wearily. Only then did I turn around. I was careful to train my eyes on her
and only her, not dipping anywhere close to Quattro. Her shoulders drooped, exhausted, as she caught her breath on the step.

Dad.

“We’re fine,” I assured Mom. But was Dad? I kept picturing him slipping on the mud, unable to see the trail’s edge before plunging over the cliff. Frankly, Hank as a trekking partner was almost no better than Dad hiking alone. The image of Hank stoically watching Dad fall without moving a muscle to help was so troubling, I had to focus on the rhythm of my footsteps as we continued climbing. The weather worsened, now pelting us with icy rain. My hands were frozen; I could barely move my fingers.

“So how ya doing?” I called back to Mom, who couldn’t have huddled more deeply into her gear.

“Cold, damp, and miserable,” she said.

“Okay.” Pause. “Top three words to describe the Inca Trail?”

Mom smiled wryly at me. “Cold, damp, and miserable.”

That made both of us laugh before we continued up the endless trail.

“How about you? Glad we came?” Grace asked me from up ahead.

“I’ll tell you after we’re home.” My answer reminded me of what Quattro had confided last night about his mother, how she could point out the silver lining in every cloudy condition. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he saw me and my family as the poster children of gloom and doom. Was that the real reason why I didn’t fit the bill as his girlfriend?

Over my shoulder, I asked, “How about you, Mom? Glad we came?”

“I think so.” Then Mom, with her uncanny radar for boy on my brain, said, “I bet I know someone who’s even more glad you came.”

What was with Mom and Stesha and all their precarious conversations about Quattro? It’d be beyond mortifying if he overheard. I wanted to quicken my pace, but I was trapped behind Grace, who was plodding along slower than ever. Honestly, snails on hot asphalt crawled faster.

“All I’m saying,” called Mom so loudly it would have been a miracle if a deaf person couldn’t overhear her, “is that you two seem to share a
sine qua non
.”

My curiosity warred with my embarrassment, and I almost, almost, almost asked,
Oh, really, and what
sine qua non
is that?
But I wasn’t about to have this conversation with Quattro in earshot. There was no time to shush Mom, though, because a frightened yelp shocked me into stopping on the trail. Even worse, I heard the alarming sound of a hiking boot losing traction on gravel. For a terrible moment, I thought we were caught in another mudslide until I watched Grace fall with a hard thud. I flinched at the sickening crack of her head hitting one of the stone steps.

“Grace!” I called out in panic.

But it wasn’t Grace who’d fallen.

It was Reb’s sure-footed and confident grandmother who lay still on the path. Grace, wearing her unmistakable leprechaun-green raincoat, was already crouching at Stesha’s side. Paralyzed on the mud-slick trail, I might as well have stared into the Gorgon’s eye of disaster and been hardened into cold marble. Where was Dad? He always knew what to do in an emergency.

Instead, my nimble soccer-playing mother sprinted up four stairs to Stesha. Meanwhile, I didn’t move. I couldn’t. Quattro had to dart around me on the rock steps.

Mom said, “Stesha! Stesha! You okay?”

No answer.

Stesha remained motionless on the graveled trail. A thousand worries dashed through my head: Was she dead? Had she broken her neck? That could have so easily been my dad…

Finally, I forced myself to close the distance and reached everyone just as Stesha attempted to sit up.

“Slowly,” Mom cautioned, helping her. Quattro knelt to prop Stesha up, cradling her against his chest and knee.

Blood spilled down Stesha’s chin. Mom swallowed hard, looking vaguely green, and glanced away. Grace whipped out a red bandanna, which she pressed to Stesha’s chin. She asked, “Are you hurt anywhere else? Your neck? Your back?”

“I’m fine,” Stesha said weakly as she struggled to stand.

“Hold on. You took a big spill,” said Quattro.

However unsteady Mom felt at the sight of blood, she focused on Stesha and held up three fingers. “How many?”

“I’m fine,” Stesha protested. We all hovered around her as the rain continued to fall.

“How many?” Mom insisted.

“Three,” Stesha said, shaking her head impatiently, then wincing at the movement. “My gosh, you are all such worrywarts. I’m fine.”

Without thinking, I blurted out what was probably the last
thing you’re supposed to say to a victim after an accident: “It’s bleeding more.”

Stesha blinked rapidly, seeking Mom as though she knew my mother would take care of her. “How bad is it?”

“I don’t think it’s bad at all,” Mom said calmly. She placed a reassuring hand on Stesha’s shoulder, but only now did I notice the betraying tremble. The sight of blood made her famously queasy. At home, my brothers and I all knew to find Dad if we cut ourselves. “We’ll check after it’s stopped bleeding. Keep the pressure on it.” She sighed. “I wish we had Band-Aids.”

Quattro removed a small plastic container from his backpack and said, “I not only have Band-Aids but antiseptic wipes
and
Neosporin.”

“Look who’s a Boy Scout,” I teased before I thought better of it, and Quattro’s eyes flashed to me. How could hazel eyes possibly be so caressing? And why did his smile hold so much promise? I could practically hear Reb and Ginny cackling over how hard I’d fallen for him.

After a few minutes of Quattro and me drawing Stesha into a conversation, asking about her favorite places to trek around the world, Grace gently pulled away the bandanna. Because the fabric was red, the bloodstains weren’t obvious, which was a good thing because Mom paled. Stesha’s chin was scored with an inch-long ragged gash. As we watched, a few droplets of blood collected at the torn edges of her skin and fell onto her rain jacket.

“I think we need to find a doctor,” I whispered to Mom.

She nodded.

But where were we going to find a trailside doctor who
could stitch Stesha up? We still had at least an hour’s hard walking to reach Machu Picchu, and then how long would it take to make it to town? However far, we were going to have to hurry.

Stesha forced a crooked smile. “I’m feeling fine. The only thing that’s hurt is my pride.”

“It was my fault,” Grace said. “If I hadn’t been so slow—”

“Nonsense,” Stesha interrupted. “You didn’t do anything. Accidents happen. And besides”—she waved at Mom—“we had ourselves a real hero.”

“We did,” I said, surprised, before eyeing Mom with pride. “Mom, you were awesome!”

Without thinking, I lifted the camera to catch the tail end of Mom’s astonishment: the slight quirk in her lips, the new gleam in her eyes. Next, I bent down to photograph the uneven step, the culprit of Stesha’s accident. No different from any of the hundreds of stones we had climbed over the last few days, this one was also smoothed from generations of footsteps. I framed the shot, included the droplet of blood. Maybe that’s all we’re supposed to do after we’ve taken a spill: brush ourselves off, get back on our feet. No fuss. No blame. Just soldier on.

“Stesha,” I cajoled, raising the camera to her, “give us a picture here.”

With a lift of her chin, patched with a bandage, she unfurled the bloody bandanna like it was a victory banner. As soon as I made my shot, she leaned over and threw up.

Quattro caught her before she tumbled a second time. He shot a swift glance at me as though I were his partner. “We got to get her to a doctor. Now.”

N
othing about the Inca Trail could be described as easy. Beautiful, yes. Arduous, yes. Unexpected, hell yes. But never easy. Even so, I wasn’t prepared for the final flight of near-vertical stairs up to the Sun Gate.

“You have got to be kidding,” I muttered, and glared hate at the stones I had once admired. It was inconceivable that I had actually marveled at these steps, listened in awe to Ruben talk about the tenacity of the Incas who had hauled every last one of these stones up to this oxygen-poor height, carefully placing them on the trail. What had I thought would be waiting for us now? That the final approach to Machu Picchu would be an easy downhill stroll on a plush carpet of green grass, accompanied by the sweet notes of harpsichords? But how could I possibly complain when Quattro was carrying Stesha?

Remembering Stesha, ashen in his arms, was enough to
force my quaking thighs to take the next step, then the next. Every hesitation only delayed getting her medical help, which was why Quattro and I were hustling as fast as we could. We had left Mom and Grace far behind, but even so, I berated myself. I wasn’t moving fast enough. If I was struggling, how on earth was Quattro powering up these same stairs, carrying a hundred extra pounds behind me? The thought was humbling.

As I neared the top, I began yelling, which was more like rasping since my breath was so ragged and shallow: “Help! We need help!”

A more welcome cavalry, I don’t think I’d ever seen: Ruben thundering down the steps toward us, Hank and Dad bringing up the rear. In a matter of moments, Ruben was reaching out to take Stesha from Quattro.

“What happened?” Ruben demanded.

“She fell, then threw up,” I said between pants. “She needs a doctor.”

Ruben nodded. He looked at Quattro, whose legs were trembling from pushing so hard, then at me. “You both did great,” he said. Then he wrenched around and began racing back up the route to the Sun Gate, cradling Stesha tenderly in his arms. Dad and Hank followed close behind while Quattro collapsed on the stairs, hands on his knees, bent over. He tried to catch his breath and wheezed instead.

“You okay?” I asked.

He nodded, unable to get a word out.

“You were amazing. Really amazing.”

It no longer mattered that boundaries had been reasserted
and reinforced the night before. I placed a hand on Quattro’s shoulder and squeezed. The last thing I expected was for Quattro to reach across his chest and place his hand over mine. I shut my eyes; the undertow of emotions so strong. This wasn’t about working hard to win Dom’s respect. Or flirting with countless boys after Dom to prove that I was lovable. It wasn’t sizzling-hot desire, wanting Quattro’s body against mine. His fingers curled around my own. What this was, I was afraid to name, especially when I knew that Quattro didn’t want anything to do with a relationship.

“Did they get her okay?” Grace demanded as soon as she and Mom reached us.

“They did,” I said. I noticed that neither he nor I pulled our hands away from each other. “Thanks to Quattro.”

He shook his head. “I should have been faster.”

Quattro’s father made his way down to us. Only then did Quattro lower his hand.

“You did good, son,” Christopher said, eyes bright with pride.

From what I’d seen over the last few days, Christopher was a man whose few words mattered, but his rare compliment seemed to burn Quattro, who refused to make eye contact.

“I didn’t do anything,” he said in a low voice.

Christopher scratched his scruffy cheek, shifted his weight. As Mom shrugged off the backpack that she was carrying for Quattro, Christopher stretched his hand out to her, saying, “I’ll take that.”

Quattro flinched. “No.”

What was his problem? All his dad was trying to do was lessen his load after Quattro had practically given himself a
heart attack racing up this last mountain. As if he knew he had hurt his dad’s feelings, Quattro softened his tone. “I can carry my own gear, Dad. I’m fine. Really.”

Still, he held his hand out to Mom with such a firm expression that she finally returned the backpack to him. In the exchange, Quattro nearly dropped the heavy pack, his trembling arms pushed past exhaustion. Why did he have to insist on carrying his stupid load? I was so irritated, I could have whacked him on the head.

Grace and Christopher exchanged a meaningful look as Quattro took the lead without a backward glance at us. Sighing deeply, Grace stared up at the final stair climb. “Oh, dear Lord.”

“We got this,” I assured her, even though my legs protested otherwise. My gaze strayed to Quattro, who was making steady upward progress. “Just think about the Wednesday Walkers.”

Calling on her friends was the right move. She rallied, straightened her shoulders, and said, “Okay, girls, up we go.” Then, to me, she said, “And you, my girl, need to go at your own pace. I’m fine with your mom and Christopher. Really, go.”

So I flew up those last stairs, wanting that first sight of Machu Picchu—and yes, wanting to catch up to Quattro. Breathing hard, I finally neared the imposing stone pillars of the Sun Gate, Intipunku. Quattro stood before the gateway. A small sliver of hope sprouted inside me. Had he remembered our bet? Was he waiting for me?

If he had been, he sure wasn’t acting like it. After the first “Hey!” Quattro looked like he regretted the betraying warmth in his voice. He stayed where he was, alone. Hurt, I pretended
to fix the zipper on my jacket, then watched Hank urging Helen to join him on the other side of the Sun Gate: “Come on, Helen. Come on.” He might as well have bent over and patted his thighs the way I called to Auggie:
Come on, girl. Come on!

Hank jerked his head toward the trail leading down to Machu Picchu, and with a heroic puff of his chest, he said, “The other guys already left, but I waited for you.”

“Hank,” Helen said slowly, “they left to get Stesha help. Besides, we started as a group. I think we should finish as one.” Her eyes rested on Christopher, who was walking patiently uphill behind Mom and Grace. “Why don’t you catch up to Ruben and Gregor and see if they need help?”

“This isn’t how the trip was supposed to end,” Hank grumbled. The way his shoulders hunched miserably as he left made me pity him. We all like to think that we’d be heroes in a crisis, but look at me when Stesha fell. Besides, I had plenty of opportunities to tell Dom the truth about my age. But had I taken any of them? No.

Even though I wasn’t looking at Quattro, I was fully aware of where he still stood at the top of the stairs, gazing down at his dad, Grace, and Mom. He hadn’t been waiting for me; he’d been waiting for his father. Feeling stupid, I forced myself to continue making conversation with Helen. I confessed, “I get what Hank was talking about. This isn’t how I imagined finishing the Inca Trail either.”

“What’d you imagine?” she asked.

Sunrays were supposed to dance on the stone ruins, instead of this oppressive curtain of gray rain clouds. Quattro was supposed
to be at my side as we each strained to be the first to touch the pillars. And my heart was supposed to remain safely intact. Unconsciously, I glanced at Quattro. A breeze ruffled his hair, making me jealous of the wind.

In case he could overhear, I answered, “Well, not blood.”

“Or mudslides,” Helen agreed. She peered at me. “What do you think Stesha would say?”

With a wry half smile, I channeled my best Stesha: “I’ve found that once you let go of your expectations, something better usually comes along.”

Helen laughed lightly before she added her own Stesha-ism, complete with a tiny bounce on the balls of her feet: “Doesn’t that always happen?”

Just then, Grace crested the hill with a victorious “Hallelujah!” She didn’t spare the Sun Gate a glance, just focused on the trail beyond. Clasping her hands together, she threw her head up to the sky and yelled, “Blessed, blessed downhill!”

I burst into laughter. Quattro’s brief answering grin almost undid me. We both looked away. Fast. Honestly, I didn’t know whether I should laugh or cry because Stesha was right. Once I had let go of my fantasy of an older, wiser love of my life, someone unbelievably better had come along.

If only Quattro knew it.