Climb | ✔

Chapter 7 | On Call

It was almost frightening how quickly feelings like affection, excitement, and elation could be whittled away into somber dread. When Winter's phone buzzed at dinner and her dad's caller ID popped up, she nearly bolted for the phone. It had been almost a full week since she'd heard his voice and she had much to report on and much to ask.

Yet 'how's my girl?' and 'I missed you.' quickly devolved into one of John Moore's key indicators that he was calling with reason: "So, Winter, listen up."

It was shocking how quickly her mind braced itself for what was about to follow, and how the hollowness that followed the descent of her emotional high had become routine.

"One of the guys at the office here, you won't believe it-" John was struggling to audibly contain his excitement. This spelt doom for Winter. "His brother is part of the admissions council at Stanford Business school."

Winter felt herself deflate, as if the couch cushions beneath her were beginning to swallow her up in a mirth of vague comfort and suffocating prospects. This again, she lamented.

"Now, I know it's a graduate program, obviously," he droned on, completely deaf to his daughter's indecision and doubt.

They'd discussed Winter's future as if she were born to follow his steps. In many ways, both father and daughter found comfort in carefully charting Winter into a destiny marked by opportunity, edification, and dignity. This way, the two reasoned, they could ward away the alternative that befell her mother.

"But he forwarded me his email and number and I let him know that you'd be calling."

"What?" Winter spoke for the first time since the conversation started, about 5 minutes ago, she measured.

"Yeah, it'll be an opportunity for you to ask more about the admissions process and get more information."

"I already know about the admission process. It's on their website."

"But you might learn something that's not on the website, understand?"

Winter bit her lip. She knew exactly what he meant.

"You know how these things work, Winter. Getting your name out there to him and forming a good relationship can't hurt. He won't be doing admissions for undergrad but he can and will surely put in a good word for you, especially once he gets to know how wonderful and bright you are."

Despite his good intentions, all Winter could muster up out of her were passive hums and paltry yeses. For some reason, her mind was preoccupied with that stupid youth art competition Mrs. Palladino was devoutly peddling. She still didn't want any part of it.

"So, I'll text you his details soon. His name is Marcus Reuter."

"Okay," she said. At this, he seemed to pause for a bit.

"Look, sweetheart," he sighed. "I know it's still a bit early for all of this, and I really don't want to pressure you."

Finally tuned into the conversation, Winter sat up and hung closely to the silent line between her and her father.

"It doesn't have to be Stanford of course. There are a lot of other great schools that would be lucky to have you. Hell, I know you'd have no problem getting into Columbia with your grades. You're leagues ahead of me when I was your age."

"Right," she said dejectedly. More silence invaded the conversation while Winter collected herself at a miraculous pace. "What about Thanksgiving?"

"Thanksgiving?" he asked. "Oh! Thanksgiving." He'd forgotten. "I put in a request for time off and I'm waiting to hear back," he lied. "I'll let you know as soon as I do, sweetheart."