Lessons In Gravity

by Megan Westfield

  Back in reality, Josh was reliving a magical climb up in Tuolumne high country. Great emotion, vivid detail, fantastic tone of voice. It was the golden footage she hadn’t dared to hope for, but at the moment, she was thinking about the gala. She would have the whole evening to do what she was doing now: examining his beautiful, intense, brown-green eyes and cataloging his other nuances, like the slightly goofy turn of his mouth when he was embarrassed, and how he continued to fidget with the hem of his shorts when he was considering an answer.

  “Let’s talk about the risks,” she said. “How does your family cope with what you do out here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It has to be hard for them, knowing what kind of risks you take every day.” She thought of her dad. “They must worry.”

  He frowned. “It’s not actually that risky.”

  He was still looking in her general direction but not making eye contact. The smiles that she hadn’t realized were passing between them vanished completely.

  “But it is risky,” she said. “It’s dangerous.”

  “How so?”

  He’d done such a good job today. He’d found a way to relax, and he had shared more about himself in this one interview than in five years of accumulated interviews. Was he irritated about how distracted she had been?

  “First of all, not many people do this sport,” she said.

  “It’s not a sport.”

  “Okay, yes, we’ve been over that. Most people don’t rock climb. For a reason. They’re scared—”

  “I’m not.”

  “Well, why?”

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  “You BASE jump. That’s so risky it’s illegal here.”

  “I don’t do it for fun. But I need to practice in case something happens on the Sorcerer and I have to use the parachute.”

  “You wouldn’t call that risky? Not scary in the slightest?”

  “I’m not going to fall.”

  Fear, risk, and danger were key elements of rock climbing and, therefore, the film. She had to keep pressing. “Listen, Josh. I know you say you’re not scared, but anyone else would be. You say it’s not dangerous, but accidents happen. People die. I mean, look at Vic. He was paralyzed for the rest of his life.”

  She waited to continue until his darkened eyes made contact with hers. “How do you process those kinds of risks? Especially when you don’t have a rope. And what makes it worth it for you to face that?”

  Josh picked at a thread on his shorts. It was a long time before he looked at her again, and when he did, his eyes were so hard she wished she had called it a day back when things were going smoothly.

  “It’s different for me than it is for everyone else,” he said.

  Right. The daredevil factor. Missing the fear gene. People who were truly, inexplicably not scared. Her father had been one of them. He’d thrived on risk and danger. He’d craved it. Needed it. Always pushing the limit. Testing the edge.

  But Josh wasn’t at all like her dad, in personality, anyway. Where her dad had been gregarious, Josh was reserved and private until you got to know him. Her dad had lived for fanfare; Josh shirked it.

  She looked at Josh, who was digging a hole in the grass with his sandal.

  “How is it different for you?” she asked.

  A breeze filtered through his hair. Slowly, he looked up from the ground. His face was softer now but deflated.

  “April,” he said, “I don’t mean to be difficult, but this is different. It’s personal. Really personal.”

  Jackpot. Whatever it was, this was the piece Walkabout needed to tell Josh’s whole story. A piece that would make his character complete and genuine in the movie. To tell the story of rock climbing in Yosemite and this climber who represented it all.

  He looked so vulnerable. If she pushed just a little more, she knew she could get exactly what she wanted. But because of his vulnerability, her heart ached for him in the same way it had that first day in the cafeteria.

  Sitting there on the camp stool in the meadow, he wasn’t any of the Joshes she’d previously known: Josh the sponsored athlete, Josh the sullen jerk, or the friendly Josh from Celery Slabs. This was a different man. Perhaps it was the true Josh, the one at the core of it all.

  She wanted to respect his request, but if she let this moment go, she might never get it back. She would be jeopardizing the film, and for what?

  She thought about the lake. That had been different. Special. Their titles and roles had vanished, along with the reason for being there in the first place. They were just two people under wide-open skies, surrounded by unimaginable beauty.

  Just like right now.

  The hardness in his eyes was completely gone, and they were pools of liquid hazel. He could have ended the interview and gone back to his truck a long time ago. But he hadn’t. He was still there, putting his trust in her, and waiting for her response.

  “It’s okay,” she said, stopping the camera. “I understand. I think we’re good for now.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Pay attention, April,” Madigan said. “This is important.”

  She was on her second day of ascending and rappelling lessons. The problem was, she couldn’t stop thinking about Josh. She could still feel the earnestness in his eyes melting her willpower during the interview. What was it he hadn’t wanted to tell her? And would he be edgy around her because of it when she saw him next?

  It wouldn’t be long before she found out. After they were done, she was going to be running sound as Madigan filmed Josh doing something called slacklining out at the search-and-rescue camp.

  Trying to focus on Madigan’s demonstration was as hard as concentrating in school right before summer break. Except that she wasn’t in a classroom: she was standing on two measly loops of nylon with twenty feet of air between her and the ground.

  “We’re reshooting on Flying Sheep the day after the gala,” Madigan said. “You need to get this dialed in before then. After that, we’ll be fixing lines on the Sorcerer.”

  “Okay,” she said. “What should I do next?”

  “I’m going to stay right here. Go ahead and rappel down to the ledge,” he said.

  This would be the first she’d rappelled without him doing it alongside her. She didn’t feel ready. “Can we go through the steps one more time?”

  “You’ve done this twenty times,” he said. “It won’t sink in until you do it yourself. I’ll stop you if you do anything wrong.”

  “You’ll watch me really closely?” she asked.

  His eyes met hers. “I will.”

  He had been so patient with her, not only today but ever since she got here. She trusted him completely, but trusting herself was a different story. She checked each piece of her gear as slowly as she could, giving Madigan plenty of time to catch her mistakes. She paused when she was down to the final step—pulling the lever on the Grigri to start the rappel.

  “Does everything look okay?” she asked.

  “Don’t ask me,” he said.

  “Then I’m going to pull this little lever here…” She looked at him, hoping for a nod or something.

  “That’s up to you,” he said.

  She checked her entire setup one more time, down to the gate locks on every carabiner. She set her fingers loosely on the Grigri and took a breath. “Okay, then, here I go.”

  Putting pressure on the gate, she slid down several inches. After letting the gate snap closed to make sure it was working, she slid down a few inches more. She gradually put more and more force on the lever until she was walking down the wall at a steady speed.

  At the ledge, she released the lever and came to a halt. Five seconds later, Madigan had zipped down his rope and was next to her again, looking proud.

  “Nice job, April. How’d it feel?”

  “Good,” she said. She was proud, too.

  She switched her gear to climb back up the rope with the ascending devices and webbing ladders,
and Madigan told her to go ahead without him. Going up wasn’t nearly as intimidating, mainly because she wasn’t looking at the ground. Weight onto left foot. Slide right hand. Stand up. Weight onto right foot. Slide left hand. Repeat.

  “See how fast you can go,” he yelled up to her. “Have some fun with it.”

  She zipped up the rope, feeling like she was on the NordicTrack climber her dad had when she was a kid.

  She leaned back on the rope and caught her breath while Madigan climbed up to where she was. On the Sorcerer, all she would have to do was rappel down to her filming spot, sit there with the camera, and then climb back to the top when she was done. One complete cycle, which she had essentially just done on her own. She definitely needed practice—to do the whole cycle a hundred more times—but for the first time in two days, the skill felt like it was within reach. She was really going to do this. She was really going film while hanging off the side of a three-thousand-foot cliff.

  …

  The slackline was essentially a tightrope of two-inch nylon webbing stretched between two pine trees, about four feet off the ground. A guy in pastel capris was walking on it, throwing his arms about spastically as he struggled to stay balanced.

  The line was in the middle of the search-and-rescue camp, where a dozen other people were hanging out, lounging on logs, camp chairs, and weather-beaten furniture. April circled the group with filming release forms as Madigan unpacked the camera. Josh strolled into camp from the main road, wearing flip-flops, his chalk bag, and carrying his climbing shoes, which meant he had either been free soloing or bouldering without a crash pad.

  She finished with the forms and then helped Madigan with the camera. He decided not to use a microphone after all, so she wasn’t needed anymore. She found a dilapidated recliner at the far end of the slackline where she’d be out of the way.

  Josh stood next to the center of the slackline. Madigan gave him a thumbs-up, and Josh pushed the webbing down and situated his foot along it. He focused on a spot ahead, and then hopped up and straightened his leg, with his arms going out in a balancing T. Under his weight, the lowest point of line was only two feet off the ground. When the line stopped wobbling beneath him, he placed his other foot carefully on the line and stepped forward, making it look as easy as walking on a balance beam.

  He pivoted at the end of the line, starting in the opposite direction, toward her. His body was relaxed, yet his muscles were firing like lightning, auto-correcting themselves even before his mind knew what was happening.

  At her end, he raised up on his toes to pivot, and as he did, his eyes dropped straight down to her. He lost his balance immediately and had to throw a leg out to the side. As his arms flailed, his shirt lifted up, revealing a thin trail of light brown hair running up his tight, tan stomach. So incredibly sexy. She forced herself to look away. Thank god she was not in the shot.

  When she looked back, she limited herself to watching Josh’s feet. They were much wider than the webbing, and the outsides wrapped over the side like roller-coaster wheels. With each step he’d match the heel of his leading foot to the toe of his trailing foot, and then smear the ball of his foot down on the line.

  Josh reached the middle again, where he stayed in place and bounced on the line like it was a trampoline. Before she knew what was happening, he was back at her end of the line and stepping off.

  His cheeks were pink from the afternoon sun, and his hair was windblown and spiked.

  “How’d I do?” he asked, gazing down at her.

  A flush followed his gaze down her arms and out to her fingertips, making her whole body tingle.

  “Great,” she said. “I think.”

  He rested his elbow on the back of April’s recliner, making it jerk backward. She gasped and grabbed the armrests. They both laughed.

  He was close enough that she could smell his laundry soap, a scent that had lingered in her tent after storing his backpack of shirts there during the last interview.

  “Check out this guy,” he said, nodding toward a short, shirtless guy who was climbing onto the slackline. “He knows how to flip. Maybe with that camera going, he’ll do it.”

  The camera wasn’t going, though. Madigan had put it down and was walking toward them.

  “I’m going to give it a try,” Madigan said.

  “I’ll film you,” April offered.

  “No way.” He laughed. “I haven’t been on a slackline in two years.” He took off his shoes and waited his turn. “Wish me luck,” he said when shirtless guy jumped off.

  It took him several tries to get on the line, and he couldn’t go more than a few steps at a time without the line pitching him off. April watched him faithfully, but her awareness was fully occupied by the buzz that radiated from Josh, less than a foot from her. They weren’t talking, and she was afraid if she didn’t think of something to say, it would be awkward and he would leave.

  “Did you think about those suggestions I made on your speech?” she asked.

  “I finished last night,” he said. “You can look at it whenever you want.”

  “It will have to be tomorrow. We’re leaving first thing Friday morning.”

  He didn’t respond, and an uncomfortable silence drifted in.

  “Hey, I’m sorry you’re going to be stuck with me Saturday,” Josh said.

  She looked over at him. His cheeks weren’t pink anymore, and he didn’t look as huggable.

  “Josh, it’s totally fine,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. We all have to go anyway.”

  “I hope Madigan’s not upset about it.”

  “I don’t think he cares.”

  “No? You’ll be hanging out with me all night.”

  “Why would he care?”

  “I would if I were him.”

  “We’re talking about Madigan?” she said. “Madigan who’s on the slackline right now?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s my boss.”

  “I know, but you guys are a thing.”

  April laughed. “A thing? Madigan and me? Like that? No.”

  “Really?”

  “Really!”

  “You two are always together.”

  “Uh, yeah. He’s my boss.”

  “And you’re always wearing his clothes.”

  “I was borrowing his jacket for a while because mine wasn’t warm enough. I have a better one now.”

  They both looked at Madigan wobbling his way down the slackline. Yes, Madigan was cute, and, yes, he was a friend in addition to being her boss, but there wasn’t anything more than that.

  “You’re serious you guys aren’t dating?” Josh asked.

  “Yes!”

  Out on the slackline, Madigan lost his balance and jumped off. This time he stayed on the ground. “April, you should give it a try,” he called.

  “Yeah. Come on, I’ll help you out,” Josh said.

  She would really rather not, but before she could refuse, Josh was at the center of the line, waiting for her. Was she desperate enough to touch him that she’d take a turn looking like a drunk circus performer on that damn line?

  She rolled the bottoms of her jeans up and kicked off her sandals. Apparently she was.

  Josh pushed the line down and held it there while she put her foot on it. She clasped the hand he was holding out for her, and the powerful buzz from before zipped through her body like a delicious electrocution, making the backs of her knees weak.

  “Just stand up on that leg,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

  She started to shift her weight, then hesitated. Her knees were literally, physically, going to give out.

  “Give me a second,” she said.

  Her eyes met his lovely brown-green ones, and he smiled ever so slightly. She blushed and the faintness went away.

  She pulled hard on Josh’s hand and stood up on the line. It wasn’t just wobbly, it was a 7.0 earthquake!

  Josh eased the slackline back to its full height and took her other hand. His palm
s were callused and his grip powerful.

  “Hang out here for a minute,” he said. “Wait for all the motion to settle.”

  When the line stilled, she let go of his far hand, gripping the remaining one like her life depended on it as the line vibrated beneath her feet. It felt very inappropriate to be touching him with all these people around, but at the moment, she didn’t care. There was a perfectly good excuse for them holding hands, and she was going to take full advantage of it.

  She took one step on the line and then another. With each shift of her weight, the line shot from side to side, trying to buck her off. But with Josh steadying her, she made slow, deliberate progress, eventually reaching the tree trunk at the end.

  Carefully, she turned around. She’d planned to get off the tightrope as soon as possible, but when she got back to the low spot in the middle, where it would have been the easiest to step off, she let Josh guide her on. It felt so good, so natural, for them to be touching and working together like this. From now on, it would feel wrong not to be touching when she was near him.

  Josh looked up at her. “You’re doing awesome.”

  He was so handsome, and not only on the outside. There was something about him that radiated comfort, excitement, and caring, all at the same time.

  He was still looking at her, his face reflecting some of the same intense focus he had while he balanced on the slackline and when he climbed. Just a few minutes ago, he had triple-checked her relationship status. And now he was helping her in a very intimate way, even though it would have made a lot more sense for her coworker—the same guy he had been convinced she was dating—to do it.

  Had his appearance at Celery Slabs truly not been a coincidence? What about how he was now a staple at Walkabout dinners? And his sudden cooperation during interviews?

  She stumbled on the slackline, and it threw her against him. He grabbed her waist to steady her. They locked eyes. His hand stayed warm and firm on the narrowest part of her waist.

  What if…?

  Her skin tingled.

  What if her attraction to him was mutual?