Page 2 of Free Fall

“So…” she begins.

Ugh.I knew it.

“I’ve spoken to Henry…”

I wipe sweat from my brow. It’s more from the sun that’s shining hot and bright than from exertion. From the looks of the wide open sky, it’s only going to get warmer.

“Did you hear me?”

I shrug. If Henry’s talked to Peggy Jo, it’s probably not great news. I avoid his calls typically. He insisted a few years back thatI set Peggy Jo up with financial power of attorney for a reason. This one, I guess.

“He says at this rate you’ve got, at most, a year of cash left before that trust fund is gone.”

I frown. “Money is meaningless.”

“Until you need to replace something on the van or you want food in your belly. Come on, Dan. All he’s suggesting is that the time has come to look into sponsorships, writing journal articles, speaking engagements, that sort of thing. Your reputation is strong enough now. The community will vouch for you. Even if they think you’re odd, they’re going to admit you’re one of the best.”

“I don’t climb for money.”

Peggy Jo sighs. “Fine, but you can’t climb without food, gear, gas…”

I wrinkle my nose in distaste. It’s true, but I don’t want to hear it. Worrying about things like that is a distraction. Distractions slow you down or fuck you up, and free solo enthusiasts can’t afford either. A distraction at the wrong time can be life-ending. I’d ended up with a mouthful of dirt earlier, hadn’t I, all because of some other climber’s distraction. Up until now, I’ve been lucky to have the trust fund—weird as it was to receive initially—but I’ve never felt attached to it. The money’s always felt unearned and undeserved.

“He can talk to me about it again when I’ve sent the route.” I scratch an itch behind my ear. “For that, I only need a few months.”

Peggy Jo glances at me sharply. “You’re still determined to do it this October, huh?”

“I am.”

“You’re insane.”

I shrug. I hear that a lot. No one has attempted what I’m going to do and it’s arguable no sane person would. So, yeah, maybe I am out of my mind. “We’ll see.”

“The weather isn’t even optimal for it. August and September, the wall’s still too hot for reliable training.”

“I’ll send it in late October or early November. It’ll be fine.”

Peggy Jo’s expression grows grim. “Are youplanningon dying in the attempt?”

“No.” Though it can’t be ruled out, and designing my life around some nebulous future, jumping through hoops to get sponsorships or speaking engagements—both of which I’d suck at—when I’m not even sure I’ll make it to Christmas seems arrogant. Better to live tightly focused on the present. Better to plan for no future at all.

“Then you’re gonna need money.”

“I’ll deal with it after.”

Peggy Jo groans, throwing her hands at the sky in frustration. “Sometimes I wish I’d never taken you up on that first wall.”

“I’d have found someone else to do it.”

“I know you would have.” Laying her arm across my shoulder, she squeezes me. Her fingers are chalked up, warm, and familiar. She’s one of the only people who ever touches me—aside from the men I hook up with. I’m not fond of the backslapping, hugging culture of climbers, and they’ve all learned from my cringes that I’m not interested in hugsorin them. But Peggy Jo never holds back. She treats me like a mother would.

Ha. A mother.

Like I even know what that means…

“Henry said you have a year of money leftif you’re lucky. Look, I could place a few calls. A sponsorship would be the easiest to get. All you’d need to do is agree to use sponsored gearand allow some photos to be taken while you’re climbing with it, and—”

“I don’t want to do that.”