Renae stood over a white porcelain stove with her back to Jarrid cooking a hot breakfast he hadn’t asked for and didn’t want. He thought his wife was beautiful, even wearing her favorite threadbare robe and her hair a mess. She flipped the eggs expertly, clanking the iron skillet with an egg turner. Bacon sizzled in another skillet filling the little kitchen with a steamy, wet smell that made Jarrid sick. He wasn’t hungry, but he was glad she was with him, taking care of him before daylight, just before he had to leave. He didn’t want to go rock climbing. It was Renae’s idea. She thought it would do him good to join the boys and do something manly. She didn’t put it that way, but that’s what she meant. Jarrid felt pulled along like a stone sliding off the edge of a cliff. Renae never suspected that he had a fear of heights. He was too embarrassed to tell her, because her dad and brother were iron workers. Jarrid pictured them skipping along nonchalantly on eight-inch-wide I-beams hundreds of feet above the ground. He couldn’t tell her that he had frozen on the rock the first time out only thirty feet up. However, he figured she knew. Maybe Renae’s brother had told her behind his back; Luke was like that. When it happened, Luke had tried to smooth it over, told him that he would get the hang of it, but Jarrid knew he wouldn’t. Whatever the reason, Renae kept after him to go back out and try it again. The thought occurred to Jarrid that she was ashamed of him. So, when Luke called and invited him to give it another shot, he reluctantly said okay.
