The Christmas Sisters

It was also true that your choice of climbing partner could make the difference between life and death. It wasn’t only about choosing someone who could make the summit, it was about how a person would react and cope in an emergency. One weak team member could expose the whole team to danger.

“We do it, too,” she said. “We all want that first ascent. The most difficult route.”

Stewart watched as she laid out her gear for the climb. “I love you. Watch that snowpack. I wish you weren’t climbing Liberty Ridge.”

“It’s the best climb on the mountain.”

“Leave camp early,” he warned, “be careful on the Carbon Glacier, and when you crest the ridge, climb on the west side.”

“I know this, Stewart.”

“You’re climbing steep ice with a heavy pack.”

“I know that, too.” She pushed down her own feeling of unease. The route they’d chosen wasn’t particularly extreme, but Stewart was right that it was steep and exposed and this was a winter climb. “I’ve climbed it many times before. And guided the route.”

“You haven’t climbed it with Rob. You know how many crevasse falls there have been between the cap and the summit.”

She knew. The crevasses on Rainier were big. It was the most glaciated peak in the continental US. “I’m careful, Stewart.”

“I wish the same could be said for your climbing companions.” He cupped her face and kissed her. “If Rob doesn’t listen to you, I’m going to drop him into a crevasse myself. And I won’t be pulling him out.”

“David and Lindsey will be with us, too.”

She didn’t know the other pair well, but she liked what she knew. David was remarkably civilized given that he was a friend of Rob’s.

She eased away from Stewart. “I wish you were coming.” That wasn’t entirely honest. Rob and Stewart didn’t like each other and climbing a technically difficult winter route with someone you didn’t like caused tension. Tension didn’t lead to happy climbing. “Everything is going to be fine.”

Suzanne

thought back to that conversation now as she dug a pit to check the snowpack, ignoring Rob’s exasperated glance.

“If you’re going to stop and do that every five minutes, we’re going to be out here for longer than we need to be, and that’s more dangerous.”

“You know as well as I do that avalanches are most common in the twenty-four hours after a storm.” A heavy snowfall increased the risk. The rapid buildup of snow put pressure on the snowpack and, usually with a little help from a human trigger, that pressure was often all it took to release a deadly avalanche.

“Rob’s right,” Cheryl said. “I know you’re a guide, but you’re not being paid this time. The forecast is good. And we know as much about the mountain as you do, Suz.”

The criticism felt like a slap.

Once, she and Cheryl had agreed on everything. It was the reason they’d made such great climbing partners.

Reminding herself that she was responsible for her own safety as well as that of her companions, Suzanne finished the check she was making and stood up.

This was the last time she would climb with them, and if that decision threatened their friendship, then that was unfortunate.

She’d find other ways to spend time with Cheryl.

Rob had trudged ahead, no doubt to remove himself from the temptation of killing Suzanne, but Cheryl stood watching her, torn between her husband and their friendship. “This trip is supposed to be about having fun. I’m stuck at home with the kids most of the time. You don’t know how desperate I’ve been to get back on the mountain.”

Suzanne knew. She also knew that desperation wasn’t an emotion compatible with safety.

As a mountain guide, Suzanne was paid to make tough decisions, like turning a client round if the weather changed and she considered the conditions approaching dangerous.

The fact that she was climbing with friends added a layer of complication.

Rob was moving strongly, but Suzanne knew that in a short space of time the mountain would have devoured some of that energy. It would feed on them, test them, push them to their limits.

Usually at this stage in a climb she felt exhilarated. There was a certain sense of well-being and peace that only came from being in the mountains.