Page 150 of Full Contact

From the floor, the move didn’t look like much. It was a pinch near the lip and then a hold almost a body length away. On my first attempt, I got my hand on it, didn’t trust it with my weight, and lost my grip.

“You looked at it,” Dana said. “You can’t look at it. You have to keep moving.”

I sat beside her while my forearms recovered.

“I bought a cookbook at the used bookstore,” Dana said. “Someone’s written notes beside half the recipes. Mostly oven temperatures, but beside the beef Wellington it says, ‘Not worth making for Philip.’”

“What did Philip do?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m reading the recipes in order.”

Felix leaned in from the other side. “Has anyone seen my—“ He stopped. “No. Hold on. I came over here for something.”

“Age will do that to you,” Dana said.

He walked over to the gray wall, and Dana turned back to me.

“Maybe Philip didn’t like mushrooms,” I said.

“Then she could have written that. She underlined his name.”

“Let me know if he turns up again.”

“Oh, you’ll get photographs of it on your phone.” She gestured toward the wall. “It’s your turn.”

The second time up, I kept my hand on the hold long enough to feel my feet swing out from under me. The third time, I stopped thinking and kept climbing. I didn’t make it, but I got closer.

Over smoothies, Felix asked whether we were free Sunday. “Short ribs. I have something to prove since you told me about Kieran’s.”

I opened the work calendar. There was a game Saturday night. Sunday showed nothing but a reminder to pay my water bill.

“Yes, I can make it,” I said.

“I’m writing it down before you change your mind,” Felix said.

I was in bed before ten thirty with my book and the phone on the pillow beside me. It lit up with a photograph: Peaches lying across the middle of Trier’s exercise mat, all four feet tucked under, as though the mat had been delivered for her.

Trier: She’s taken the mat. I’m stretching on the floor.

Mark: Is she supervising or competing?

Trier: Owning.

I laughed alone in my bedroom.

***

On Thursday, Trier opened the door before I could get my key in the lock. He took the grocery bag out of my arm and kissed me.

“What’s the surprise dinner?”

“Tacos. Ground turkey, shells, cheese, and a bag of lettuce somebody else already shredded.”

“That’s dinner and a plan.”

Peaches was already on the little wooden chair. Trier pulled a stool up to the counter and started dicing tomatoes.

“How was the climbing?” he asked. “Did you conquer the rude one?”