The night began as many others. He pulled the big SUV off US 26 east of Zigzag, down a short graveled roadway, and right into the driveway of their rustic, cedar-clad cabin just west of the mountain. Bringing the truck to a stop next to Anna\u2019s black Volvo wagon, he got out to stretch and breathed his first gulp of mountain air: thin, crisp, and clean. He could hear the Sandy River rushing in the distance, gravity and rock defining its course. Tomorrow he\u2019d be up early; get unloaded; grab the waders, vest, fly rod, and tackle; leave the family to their own devices; and head for the river.
\nJason stepped quietly into the old cabin, said a cursory hello to Anna, Brian, and Jesse, made his way upstairs, and settled comfortably at his old heirloom desk. There was peace in this place, even with the undertow of unrest. The soothing smells of cedar, leather, and crackling fire wafted through the cabin as he casually leafed through the materials he\u2019d received from Cascade Mountain Guides: packing list, itinerary, orientation information. Had he covered everything? Was he ready for this?
\nThe truth was, he\u2019d been dead bored and miserable for months. He wanted to do something new and challenging, something to wake up a life anesthetized by material success and emotional isolation. Most of all, he wanted to escape the pounding of an unrelenting conscience. When he\u2019d seen the poster in a downtown window, he\u2019d decided that a climb up 11,240 feet of slumbering volcano was just the ticket. He\u2019d contacted Cascade in July of last year, having been advised by a good friend and experienced climber to ask for a highly sought-after guide known as Merlin. Booked for the remainder of the climbing year, Merlin had spots available the next May. Jason signed up and used the date as motivation to get his sedentary physique back in shape during the dripping Oregon winter.
\nIt wasn\u2019t until several weeks ago, when talking with Lance Kennedy, a former mountain guide and business acquaintance, that he learned who \u201cMerlin\u201d was: Clara Schroeder, a fiftyish, retired chemical engineer who was, according to Lance, an institution on the mountain. She\u2019d been tagged with the nickname years ago for her route-finding skills, an uncanny nose for the whereabouts of lost climbers, and a reputation for the heady discussions she would mediate during summit climbs. Discussions that, Lance said, had affected him and others he knew for years after.
\n\u201cShe\u2019s been through it,\u201d Lance emphasized. \u201cShe knows what she\u2019s talking about. Listen to her.\u201d
\nClara was reportedly a delightful combination of guide, philosopher, historian, chemist, teacher, motivator, geologist, and athlete. And she was tough. \u201cPioneer tough,\u201d Lance said. He clearly thought the world of Clara.
\nHe\u2019d met her in 1973 on his first ascent of Rainier. Lance and his team of climbers had been fighting miserable weather for nearly \u00acthirty-six hours, were still 800 feet below the summit in \u00acforty-mile-per-hour winds, and were seriously considering abandoning any attempt at the top. Three climbers, two young men and, he remembered, a lanky young woman who showed strength, grace, and ease in the face of a cold wrath, appeared out of the howling blizzard above them. They\u2019d been to the summit and taken some photos, said it was wonderful, wished them well, and continued their descent like a stroll in the park. Thank you, Clara Schroeder.
\nAfter his descent of Rainier, Lance tracked Clara down and began a friendship that had survived calm, turbulence, and the twists and turns that define the course of a life\u2019s existence. She was just that kind of person: a force that raised the tide of all she touched.
\nAll this made Jason wince a bit. He worried that someone like Clara would look straight through him, see him for what he was: lost, alone, and void of substance. He\u2019d naturally been a little nervous about the climb anyway. Now he was unnaturally anxious about meeting Clara. He regularly did business with heavy hitters, CEOs and CFOs, and had no uneasiness in holding his own in the rocky geology of executive strata. Why this sudden distress over meeting a mountain guide? Kennedy\u2019s description of Clara excavated old bones long buried, and he didn\u2019t know why.
\nHe had suspicions, however. Had he really become uncomfortable with . . . what? Authenticity? Had it come to that? Clara represented, by description at least, something he had once thought he would certainly become, a lover of life and of people. Someone who had an influence on others, made them see things in themselves they never saw before. Someone who enthusiastically grabbed the proverbial bull by the horns and didn\u2019t let go until they\u2019d had the ride of their life. He wondered if it was still possible for him to be that person. Jason didn\u2019t know, but he had his doubts.
\nKnowing that his wife and two teenage kids were flopped in the great room downstairs, it occurred to him that he should probably make an appearance. A fleeting thought. He knew Anna would read it for what it was: obligation rather than desire. And he knew, from repeated experience, what would come next: a whispered but pointed \u201cconversation\u201d about him becoming more involved with the family. Same stuff, different time and place. Jason played the images in his mind and heard the audio, all of which summoned the usual throbbing of the head, not because he felt bad for his lack of participation, but because he knew that nothing but an argument would come from the interrogation. Avoidance was the better option, and he had that down cold.
\nTime with his family had slowly eroded over the past several years. Like a shallow lake drying up during the peak of summer heat, it didn\u2019t happen all at once, but slowly and at an undeniable pace.
\nHe found himself missing more games, activities, and family outings. Lately he\u2019d missed a variety of social engagements with Anna due to \u201cimportant\u201d work at the office. He couldn\u2019t admit to her that it wasn\u2019t the work that kept him there but the tension between them that kept him away. Jason disliked himself for not having the guts to confront the problem, to take a weekend away with this wonderful woman he had once loved so much, to see if they might work things out. To begin again. He suspected the thought of spending an entire weekend alone with him was more than she could bear.
\nHe\u2019d forgotten Anna\u2019s birthday last year, and although she hadn\u2019t appeared outwardly upset, Jason knew he\u2019d hurt her and told her he was sorry. She\u2019d kindly accepted his apology, but she couldn\u2019t mask the disappointment abundant in her deep brown eyes. Anna couldn\u2019t have cared less about gifts. What did mean a great deal to her was consideration. A gift was a symbol of time spent, of the fact that Jason had invested effort in thinking about her and what he might do to make her happy. It had taken him years to figure that out\u2014that it wasn\u2019t the gift per se, but the thinking and behavior behind the gift that was the treasure for Anna.
\nThat knowledge had finally struck him some years ago when he was looking through a family album. Anna had written captions under the various photos, cards, and drawings that the kids had given her over the years. Included were six poems written on colored craft paper and stapled together, poems that Brian, nine years old and in fourth grade at the time, had collected for her as a Mother\u2019s Day pres\u00acent. Handwritten on the front cover was a note: \u201cDear Mom, Happy Mother\u2019s Day. I got these poems at school with the help of Mrs. Thompson. She\u2019s nice. They remind me of you. Thanks for being my Mom. I love you, Brian.\u201d Anna\u2019s caption underneath said simply, \u201cThe finest gift I\u2019ve ever received from my wonderful son Brian.\u201d Upon reading this, Jason considered that perhaps she\u2019d written her inscription for Brian\u2019s benefit, that it was an acknowledgment to him that she understood. Further thought made him realize that Anna\u2019s caption was a mother\u2019s honesty. It was one of the finest things she\u2019d ever received\u2014from anyone. A gift of scrap paper, felt marker, and time, and priceless to her.
\nHe thought it ironic that once he began to understand what made her tick, they began to drift further apart. Was it because Anna felt he knew how to make her happy and yet chose not to give her those simple things? His time? His consideration? His thoughts? Himself? Perhaps that was the sharp wedge driven between them. Maybe ignorance was bliss, he thought. Knowledge carried the weight of responsibility and expectation.
\nHe slipped the climbing brochures and equipment list back into his briefcase. Remaining upstairs, he moved to the comfortable old brown leather sofa, stretched out, opened the cover of Angels and Demons, and promptly fell asleep.
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