The Art of Holding On and Letting Go (34 page)

“You found me out, huh?” Grandpa stood in the doorway, grinning. He held a shoe box at his side.

“The handwriting matches,” I said. “Time to fess up.”

“Confession, Grandma and I saw two of the other notes someone had sent you. We weren't spying, I promise, one was out in the open when Grandma gathered up your dirty clothes, and one was in your jeans pocket. You know, she usually checks before she tosses pants in the washer. Then we overheard you talking to Kaitlyn about it on the phone. And I was talking to Jake at the climbing gym one day when I picked you up, and the kid confessed everything to me. But swore me to secrecy. Your grandma loves a good mystery. You've seen all her Agatha Christies in here.”

“Those are Grandma's? I thought they were Mom's. I've never seen Grandma read anything but magazines.”

“You're right. That's one of the things that changed when she stopped going out. She didn't go to the library for books anymore. Maybe that will start to change now. And your mom read all those Agatha Christies too, that's why they're in here now.”

“So your Grandma loves mysteries, and she thought we could add to your mysterious notes, make it even more challenging to solve.”

“It was
Grandma's
idea?”

“She remembered the
Mystery of the Orient Express
, where every passenger is a suspect and has a secret. In your case, there'd be so many different people involved with the notes, it'd be hard to sort out.” Grandpa looked a little sheepish. “I guess we get a little bored staying home all day, especially cooped up all winter.”

“But how'd you know I had gone to all those places? You even knew the names of the climbing routes.”

“I wanted to remind you of your climbing history and special times with your parents.” He held out the shoe box to me, and I took it. “I've been saving this for you, adding to it every year. Truth be told, I've always been afraid something would happen to your parents. I'm glad I'm not giving you the box in those circumstances.”

He smiled and turned to go. “Have fun with Tom,” he called.

I opened the lid of the box. It was stuffed full of letters. Letters on notebook paper, stationary, e-mail printouts. Letters from my mom, telling Grandma and Grandpa all about me, for years and years.

I closed the box and sighed.
Wow. Michigan's a mystery novel.
I'd return to the letters later, when I could savor them. They would last me a long time.

My big box of books and magazines was back in my closet. I opened the flaps and reached inside, my hands brushing something soft. I pulled out red yarn, and kept pulling and pulling—a scarf. I gathered it into a ball, my fingers twined in the loops, and held it under my chin.
Kaitlyn
. She'd crocheted me a going-away gift. Or was it a coming-home present? I hung it around my neck and reached back into the box.

I pulled out Annie Dillard and Mary Oliver and stacked them next to Thoreau on my desk. Maybe I'd take Grandpa up on his offer to build me a bookcase. We could do it together.

I sat on the front porch waiting for Tom. I drank in the blue, blue sky and remembered a moment with Mom and Dad when I was younger. We sat at the base of a cliff, resting after a climb. The sky was blue like today with trailing wisps of clouds. My dad had picked up a stick and was slowly waving it in the air in twirls and figure eights.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I'm stirring the sky.”

That's exactly what it looked like. He was stirring the clouds, blending and swirling them into the blue.

“It's magic,” Mom had said.

Thoreau wrote,
Not till we are lost, in other words, not till we have lost the world, do we begin to find ourselves, and realize where we are and the infinite extent of our relations
. Before, I thought Thoreau was talking about getting lost in nature, leaving the busy world behind and discovering yourself out in the woods. But now I wonder if he meant more than that. Last year, I lost the only world I had ever known—life with my parents in the mountains. We had lost the world that held Uncle Max. And now, we were finding our way in a new world.

Grandma and Grandpa strolled across the yard, their shadows trailing behind them. I used to play a game with Dad when I was little, trying to fit inside his shadow as we walked. I liked to be hidden, safely absorbed by his shadow, then stick out an arm, wiggle my fingers, kick a foot. I remembered how free I felt competing in Ecuador, on my own, outside of my parents' shadow.

I felt it strongly now, a stab in my ribs; I had to keep climbing. Somehow, my climbing would keep them going too. It seemed interconnected. I couldn't just sit home and wait. It was time for me to call Coach Mel.

A horn honked, and I looked up to see Kaitlyn and Nick waving from Kaitlyn's beast of a car. I trotted down the walk.

“We're going to work, but wanted to show you my new do.” Kaitlyn tossed her head from side to side and flipped her hair. “What do you think?”

Her hair had been cut to just above her shoulders and streaked maroon-red.

“I love it!”

“And she came up with a new name to go with the hair,” Nick said.

Kaitlyn opened her jean jacket, revealing a black T-shirt with a picture of a silver-whiskered grinning cat.

“Kat!” she said with a squeal. “That's my new nickname.”

“I get it. I love it!”

“And it's even better because her mom got a dog,” Nick said.

“Not a chocolate Lab named Cocoa?” I said.

Kaitlyn scrunched up her nose. “It's a Chihuahua mixed with a Dachshund. Who does that?”

Nick couldn't hold back his laughter. “It's a Chiweenie!”

I slapped my hand over my gaping mouth.

“It's a real thing!” Kaitlyn said. “That's what they're actually called.” She shook her head.

Another horn beeped behind us. Tom pulled up in his sun-faded silver Escort wagon.

“What are you and Tom doing?” Kaitlyn asked.

“I don't know,” I said. “It's a sunny day surprise.”

“I was rich, if not in money, in sunny hours and summer days, and spent them lavishly,” Nick recited with grandiose gestures like he was on stage.

“Ha!” I pointed my finger at him. “You've been reading Thoreau!” Nick crossed his eyes. “Someday I'll write my own manifesto, in plain,
simple
, language.”

Kaitlyn and Nick leaned out the window and yelled hi to Tom. “We gotta go. Have fun.”

“Bye Kat!” I said and waved.

Tom hopped out of the car and met me on the sidewalk. He held out a card in his hand. “Ta-da! I've got my license, whoop-de-do!” And he did a hip swiveling, jump shot victory dance.

I laughed and studied the picture. “Nice mug shot.”

Grandma and Grandpa came around from the backyard, the knees of their pants stained with dirt.

“Nice car,” Grandpa said.

“Ha-ha. I wish,” Tom said.

Grandpa chuckled. “Your time will come. You've checked this one out? The tires, oil, gassed up?”

“All set. It's ugly, but safe.”

“Bring Cara back in time for dinner, and you can eat with us,” Grandma said.

We waved good-bye and headed out to enjoy the glorious day.

“So what's this surprise?” I asked.

“You'll see when we get there.”

We sped onto the highway, in the opposite direction that I had taken with Grandpa toward downtown Detroit. This time, we were heading north out of the city, through the layers of suburbs, until the subdivisions almost disappeared, replaced by trees and open space. Tom looked more relaxed driving than I had ever seen him. His car was a stick shift, and he smoothly switched the gears. He was still a careful driver, fifty-five miles per hour, cruising in the right lane.

He noticed my smile. “What's so funny?”

“Nothing. You. You're driving great!”

“Thanks. I've been practicing. For you.” He took his eyes off the road just long enough to glance at me and smile. “It took me a while to get the hang of a stick, but I think it makes me less nervous. I have to concentrate on shifting.”

“Kensington Metro Park,” he said, reading the highway exit sign. “I thought about going down to Belle-Isle in Detroit, but I know my way around here better.”

“What's Belle-Isle?”

“A big park along the Detroit River. It's really pretty. Not what people expect when they hear Detroit.”

“Next time.”

He reached over and squeezed my hand.

We drove along the curving roads inside the park, passing green lawns, signs for hiking and biking trails, a sparkling lake.

“Have you ever been to Lake Michigan?” I asked.

“Sure. Sleeping Bear Dunes, Petoskey stones, pasties.”

“Pasties?”

“Little pies stuffed with meat and veggies. Yum.”

“Pupusas and pasties. I've been missing out. Nick said we could all go to his cottage on Lake Michigan this summer.”

“You're gonna love it.” Tom pulled in a parking lot and grabbed his backpack out of the backseat.

“What do you have in there?” I asked.

“Picnic essentials. You up for a little hike?”

“Sure.”

A magnolia tree, bursting with blooms, marked the entrance to a trail. We passed through the sweet, spring perfume and followed the dirt path, up a sloping hill.

“I can't believe we're the only ones here,” I said.

“It'll be more crowded in the summer, but it's so big, you can still find your own private spot.”

We walked a little further until the path leveled out.

“This way.” Tom slipped his hand into mine and led me off the trail, over to a small gathering of pine trees.

“Is this the perfect picnic spot or what?”

I sat down on a blanket of pine needles, always surprised at how soft they are. I leaned back on my forearms, gazing up at the canopy of trees encircling us. The branches were like outstretched arms, the sun glittering through the fingers.

“Mmm, this would make a great campsite.”

Tom lay down next to me, propped up on his elbow.

“It's
sylvan
. Ha, SAT word.”

His sandy, hazel eyes were more green than usual; spring was showing up everywhere.

“I wanted us to get away before basketball camp starts up. I won't have as much free time then.”

He pulled a rolled-up magazine out of his backpack. “Jake asked me to give this to you. He marked a page for you to look at.”

I sat up and spread the magazine across my lap. It was the May edition of
Climbing
opened to the listing of competitions and rankings. Jake had highlighted one name in several of the junior competitions.

“Becky!” I blurted.

“That's how he said you'd react.”

“I can't believe it! Third place, second place,” I scanned the list. “First place!”

“So what's her story?” Tom said.

“She's … she's just not that good!” I sputtered. “At least she never used to be. She's not in tune with nature, like I bet it would never occur to her to think there's energy in rocks.” I tossed the magazine over my head. “Her family creeps me out. They just want the spotlight.”

“Looks like she's got the spotlight now.”

“Worse, she's taken my place on the podium,” I said.

“You gonna take it back?”

I looked at him for a moment without answering. “What did Jake say?”

“He said you're going to kick some butt. And he wants to go with you.”

I grinned and pushed his shoulder.

“I want to focus on outdoor climbs though, the bouldering comps, putting up new routes. I need to get Jake out on real rocks. Then he's gonna be unstoppable. I think he can get some sponsors, at least get his gear and some travel expenses paid.”

“You really think he's ready?” Tom asked.

“Oh yeah, definitely. I'm going to steal away your hoops protégé.”

We were quiet for a minute, and I leaned back on my forearms again, closing my eyes. A whisper of breeze tiptoed across my face. After the winter gloom, everything felt fresh and new. Alive.

Jake and I had already started planning a bake sale at Planet Granite to fund our travel, and Grandma had agreed to help us make her amazing cookies. If I could get her out of the house to help us sell the cookies too, with all those climbers praising her baking skills —it'd be a win-win.

“So I guess you'll be busy this summer too, if you're traveling to cliffs and competing again,” Tom said.

I nodded. “I don't think I could ever play a sport like basketball. It's so loud. I couldn't concentrate. Climbing is quiet. It's all you can think about.”

“Actually, basketball's the same way. You have to keep your head in the game. One tiny distraction and you've lost the ball. That's one reason why I never had a girlfriend before. Ann-Marie and her friends would come to the game yelling my name and expecting me to look over and wave or something. But you can't do that. They don't understand.”

I did. I squeezed his hand. “What's the other reason? For never having a girlfriend.”

“There wasn't anyone I liked enough. Until now.”

A wavy lock of hair flopped over his eyes as he looked down into my face, his grin so irresistible. He trailed his fingertips up my forearm.

“Back in middle school, everyone started dating. My friends were asking girls out, and then they'd break up a week later. It was so stupid. Finally, in seventh grade, they bugged me enough about this one girl, and I asked her out. It was so weird. We broke up a month later, and she wouldn't even look at me after that.”

His fingertip plucked the beaded bracelets on my wrist and stroked along the inside of my elbow. “I liked you so much, but I didn't want things to ever get weird between us.”

“You're already thinking of breaking up with me?”