Above the Snowline His Forgotten Anchor

The annual outdoor brand launch. On the big screen, a photo of Austin Delgado and Julie Donaldson standing together at the camp at 24,600 feet.

The line of text beneath it read: The perfect team. Partners through life and death.

The host asked Austin who had been most indispensable in his climbing career.

He glanced at Julie and answered without hesitation. "Julie, of course. Every time it counted, she was the one who pulled me through."

I sat in the audience, still holding the speech I'd spent two nights rewriting for him.

Three years. Every climbing season, I'd taken leave and camped out at base camp.

I learned to read weather charts, learned altitude-sickness first aid, learned to wait at twenty below for him to say, "Made it down safe."

Last year, in the storm at Camp Two, I hauled two big emergency oxygen tanks up to him. On the way down, the altitude sickness made me cough up blood.

All he said over the radio was, "Good work. Don't push it next time."

In the documentary, every frame I was in had been cut.

After the launch, Austin slung an arm around my shoulders. "Don't read into it. It's a commercial thing. You don't care about that kind of empty credit anyway."

I looked down at his phone's lock screen. That photo from 24,600 feet.

I wasn't in it.

So he didn't need me waiting for his safe-arrival call anymore.

"This limited-edition co-branded shell jacket, the cut's really not for everyone. It kind of shortens you. Just let Julie wear it instead."

Austin's voice came from outside the backstage dressing room.

His tone was gentle, with a thread of taking it for granted.

I stood at the half-open door, looking at the women's shell jacket with my name on it.

The brand had given it to me to thank me for three years as logistics director, paired deliberately with Austin's men's version as a couples' set.

Only fifty sets in the world, with my and Austin's initials embroidered into the lining.

Julie stood in front of the full-length mirror, struggling to pull the zipper up.

She was half a head shorter than me, and the hem hung down over her thighs, making her look a little ridiculous.

She turned her head, eyes faintly red as she looked at Austin.

"Austin, am I being too selfish? Taking Bea's things."

"It was the sponsor's gift to begin with. Bea stays at base camp now. A pro-grade polar piece like this would be wasted on her anyway."

Austin stepped forward and fastened the windproof clasp at her collar for her.

"You're walking Everest's south face with me next month. The waterproof layer's more useful for you."

Then he turned to me, his gaze calm, as if he were handing out shared supplies.

"Bea, you're used to that old one anyway, right?"

I lowered my head and looked at my own fleece jacket, washed pale.

Austin had bought it for me three years ago, the first time he landed a small sponsorship.

The cuffs had frayed soft at the edges.

"Right." I nodded.

Austin smiled, satisfied, and ruffled my hair.

"I knew you were the most sensible. You never fuss over these vain little things."

Julie's fingers, careless or not, traced the initials in the lining that belonged to me.

"Thank you, Bea. Honestly, I didn't want to fight over it. It's just, Austin said partners should dress to match, or the press photos won't look good."

She smiled sweetly, and at the bottom of her eyes flickered a challenge only I could read.

I didn't answer. I turned and went to the corner of the room, gathering up the gear Austin had left scattered across the floor.

The chalk bag, the locking carabiner and quickdraw, and the speech I'd pulled two all-nighters to put together for him.

On the draft, it had originally read: "Thank you to the safety rope behind me, my fiance, Beatrice Sullivan."

Now that page was crumpled into a ball, tossed on the rim of the trash can.

"Come on. The sponsors put together a dinner tonight, and you're coming with me."

Austin had changed clothes. He looked at the two gear bags hanging from my hands and frowned.

"Leave the bags in the car. You can't show up to a dinner dressed like that. Run over to the mall next door and buy a dress to change into."

He held out a credit card.

I didn't take it.

"I'm not going. I need to get home and check next month's supply list."

His hand stopped midair, and his face darkened.

"Beatrice, today is the day I landed a top-tier sponsorship." He lowered his voice, fingers pinching the back of my neck. "Don't ruin the mood."

"If the dress thing is bothering you, I'll have my assistant buy you a couple tomorrow."

"Just don't pull a face in front of Julie. She'll read into it."

I lifted my head and looked at him.

His features were the same ones I knew so well, but they were full of an arrogance I couldn't make sense of anymore.

He was certain I was jealous. Certain that a few soothing words would settle me, and I'd go right back to being the most invisible stepping stone under his feet.

"I'm not bothered." I shouldered the gear bag, and the strap pressed its mark straight into my collarbone.

"I really do have to go back and check the list."

Because I was going to settle the part that belonged to me, once and for all.

Austin stared at me for a few seconds, then took the card back, his tone going cold again.

"Suit yourself. Go to bed early. Don't wait up for me."

He turned and walked toward Julie, and the two of them left the backstage area side by side.

I stood where I was and watched them disappear at the end of the hallway.

I lowered my head, took out my phone, and changed Austin's contact name from "My Safety Rope" back to "Austin."

It was already ten at night when I got back to the apartment.

I didn't turn on the main light, just left the little wall lamp by the entryway on.

I went out to the balcony, dropped Austin's gear bag on the floor, unzipped it, and started taking everything out, piece by piece.

The worn main climbing rope needed re-waxing. The tip of the ice axe needed filing down.

For the past three years, all of this had been my work.

Austin said his hands were for climbing and couldn't be dulled by rough chores like these.

I believed him.

From maintaining his gear, my hands grew thick with calluses, and in winter they split open in cracks that never washed clean.

I pulled out a frayed accessory cord.

Last year, in the blizzard at Camp Two, I'd used it to strap myself to two oxygen tanks and climbed up with them on my back.

My altitude sickness was severe then. Every step felt like knives carving up my lungs.

But I didn't dare stop, because Austin was up there waiting for the oxygen.

When I finally reached the camp and handed him the tanks, a sweetness rose in my throat, and I coughed up a mouthful of bloody spit.

Austin was busy treating a scrape on the back of Julie's hand right then. He didn't even turn around.

I looked at the cord, and without hesitating, I picked up the scissors and cut it through the middle.

The severed nylon fibers scattered across the floor, and I swept them into the trash along with the file.

At half past midnight, the lock turned.

Austin walked in reeking of alcohol.

He took off his coat, tossed it onto the couch, and pressed at the spot between his brows.

"Pour me a glass of warm water. Add some honey."

He gave the order out of habit, without even opening his eyes.

I was sitting on the rug, sorting through a cardboard box. I didn't move.

"Beatrice?" He opened his eyes, his tone carrying the lazy slur of drink and a thread of displeasure. "Didn't you hear me?"

He came over and saw what was in the box.

A few books on meteorology, an old thermos, and some changes of clothes.

"What are you fussing with in the middle of the night?" A note of irritation crept into his voice.

"Packing," I answered calmly.

Austin paused, then let out a soft scoff.

"Packing up? Going back to that old place of yours?"

He dragged a chair over and sat, looking down at me.

"Beatrice, is this because I didn't say your name at the launch? Are you sulking about that?"

"That was a business event. The sponsor signed for the partnership IP between me and Julie. It's spelled out in the contract."

He paused, and his tone eased a little.

"Once the sponsorship money comes through, we'll put a down payment on a place in the city, put it in your name. Good enough?"

I set the last book into the box and sealed the flaps with tape.

"No need."

Austin's brows drew together.

Just then his phone rangJulie's personal ringtone.

He picked up, and his voice turned gentle in an instant.

"What's wrong, Julie? Still awake?"

Her voice came through the line, thick with tears.

"Austin, I think the altitude-sickness aftereffects are flaring up again. My head's so dizzy"

He shot to his feet and grabbed his coat.

"Don't move around, I'm coming right over."

At the door he stopped, turned his head back toward me.

"Julie's not doing well. I have to go. Get some sleep early, and quit acting up."

The door slammed shut.

I sat in the quiet living room, looking at the calendar on the table.

The 15th, the date circled in red pen.

A year ago today, I coughed up blood at Camp Two. The doctor said my lungs had taken irreversible damage and would need a checkup every year.

I picked up a pen and blacked out that red circle.

Then I dialed the moving company.

The next morning, the team held its debrief at the studio.

Austin sat at the head of the table, Julie at his right hand, a steaming cup of coffee in her hands.

When I came in, his eyes lingered for a second on my empty hands.

Normally I arrived half an hour early to have the materials and drinks ready for everyone.

Today the table was bare.

"Beatrice, what took you so long? Where are the materials?" Austin rapped his knuckles on the table.

"Today I'm only here to listen." I pulled out the chair at the very end and sat down.

His brows knotted deeper. Julie tugged lightly at his sleeve.

"Austin, let it go. Bea probably didn't sleep well last night. Let's just start."

She walked to the projector and opened the slides.

"The commercial climb on Everest's south face is our main event."

"I've reached out to a few media outlets. We're planning a documentary that follows the whole thing."

Julie pointed at the route map on the screen, talking smoothly.

"But the weather on the south face changes too fast. We need an extremely precise weather route guide and camp plan."

She paused, and her eyes turned to me.

"Bea, I heard you've got an exclusive data set you spent half a month putting together. That's right, isn't it?"

The conference room went quiet.

That dataI'd compared five years of cloud maps for the south face, cross-referenced feedback from over a dozen weather stations, and marked every avalanche risk point.

I'd made it for Austin's safety.

"That route guide is my own work." I looked at Julie, my voice flat.

"I know." Julie smiled and came over.

"But we're all doing this for the team. You're not going up to high altitude anyway, so keeping the guide to yourself is just a waste."

"If I take it and use it, that's how the resource gets put to its best use."

She turned to Austin. "Right, Austin?"

He spun the pen in his hand, his gaze sweeping over to me, certain.

He was sure I'd say yes.

"Beatrice, send the route guide file to Julie."

This climb matters too much to us. We can't afford a single slip-up.

He used his most reasonable voice to make his most lopsided decision.

And if I don't hand it over? I leaned back into my chair.

Austin's hand went still.

Beatrice, don't be difficult. His voice turned cold.

This is work. The route guide's in your hands, but are you the one going up?

Julie's lead climber. She's the one out front who needs it. You should know that better than anyone.

I watched him sit there so righteously sure of himself, and nothing in me stirred at all.

Fine. I pulled out the flash drive and tossed it on the table.

The metal casing hit the glass with a sharp click.

Every source file's on there.

Julie's eyes lit up. She reached over and snatched it at once.

Thank you, Bea! I knew you'd always put the bigger picture first.

Austin's expression eased too, his gaze even carrying a trace of approval.

That's more like it. There's a sponsor dinner tonight. Go home and get ready. Dress decently.

I stood, walked to my own workstation, and opened my laptop.

I clicked the folder I'd named Safety Line.

Inside were three years of route plans, weather analyses, and emergency protocols, all of them done for Austin.

Select all. Delete. Empty the recycle bin.

I shut the laptop and slid it into my bag.

Austin watched, his brow drawing together slightly.

What do you need the laptop for?

Getting it repaired. I headed for the door without looking back. Seven tonight. I'll be there on time.

The dinner was at a private club downtown.

When I pushed open the door to the room, the drinking was already in full swing.

Austin sat in the seat of honor, trading easy laughs with a few sponsors.

Julie sat beside him, wearing the co-branded shell jacket that should have been mine.

When he saw me come in, Austin pointed at the empty seat in the far corner.

Sit there.

I went over and sat down.

After a few rounds of wine, Julie carried her glass over to me.

Bea, this one's for you.

Thank you for all the quiet support you've given Austin these three years. From now on my cousin will be taking over the logistics, so you can finally take it easy.

Her smile was all innocence. Then her wrist tipped, all at once.

The dark red wine landed precisely on my old mountaineering boots.

Austin had bought them for me three years ago, with his first month of part-time wages.

He'd said these boots could carry me anywhere I wanted to go.

Now a wide, glaring stain of red bled across the leather.

Oh no! I'm so sorry, so sorry! I didn't mean to. Bea, are you all right?

Julie cried out and yanked out a tissue, but what she wiped was her own wine-flecked fingers.

For a moment the room went quiet.

Austin stood, frowning, came over, took the tissue from Julie's hand, and carefully dabbed at her fingertips.

How were you so careless? You're not hurt?

Only once he'd confirmed Julie was fine did he turn his head and give me a flat glance.

Go clean up in the restroom. Don't spoil the mood here.

I looked at him, said nothing, stood, and walked out of the room.

In the restroom, the wine had already soaked into the suede. No amount of rubbing would get it out.

Like certain things. Once they're ruined, they're just ruined.

I threw away the tissue and looked at the woman in the mirror, pale-faced, calm-eyed.

I straightened my collar, turned, and walked back to the room.

I pushed open the door. Austin was clinking glasses with Daryl, one of the sponsors.

Don't worry, Daryl. That outdoor community account, Above the Snowline, will be run by Julie herself from now on.

She's more of a professional. She can bring the brand far more exposure.

I stopped in the doorway.

Above the Snowline was the independent account I'd built from nothing over three years.

Three hundred thousand real followers, every one of them earned through the hard, hands-on guides I'd written, one post at a time.

It was the only thing in my hands that wasn't tied under Austin's studio.

When Julie saw me, she instantly switched on a sweet smile.

Bea, Austin says he's handing that account over to me to run. Don't worry, I'll take good care of it. I won't waste all the work you put into it.

Austin turned to look at me, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Hand over the account password and the back-end access to Julie tomorrow. That account of yours has hit a plateau. It needs Julie's personal brand to carry it.

It's for the overall good of the studio, too.

He looked at me, his gaze full of certainty.

He was convinced I'd give in, just like I had every single time over the past three years.

I walked up to Austin, took a white envelope from my pocket, and set it on the lazy Susan in front of him.

What's this? Austin frowned.