Contracts, Matt Rogers [phonics reading books TXT] 📗

used to be. Can I just focus on the walk, please?’

She said, ‘Can we talk on the descents?’

‘Okay,’ he compromised.

So they set off, an uneasy pairing, trailed by a convoy that was required to accompany Aidan Parker at all times thanks to his crucial role in the rarely-discussed black-operations sector of the U.S. government.

2

But Raya didn’t know that.

She knew her dad worked for the government, and little else. He’d always kept it that way. Mostly because of the NDAs he was forced to sign every year, but also because there was seldom a heartwarming conversation that would come from openly discussing his job. He’d tried to imagine opening the floodgates, spilling the beans on what exactly he dealt with day in and day out, but he couldn’t see it ever brightening the mood at the dinner table.

Not that they gathered round the dinner table all that often back home.

His marriage was disintegrating, in the same way that many marriages did. No vicious arguing. No real emotion at all. In fact, it was precisely the opposite of how divorces play out on television, but wasn’t that the case most of the time? He and Catherine had been drifting for the better part of five years. Each day that passed without his presence, each night he stumbled through the door exhausted and depleted, sometimes after ten p.m. … each of those instances drove another slight wedge through the ever-widening gap between them. And that seemed to be a regular occurrence these days.

Raya didn’t know of her parents’ marital problems, either. Parker had ensured it, and Catherine hadn’t been jumping at the bit to enlighten her.

How exactly could they explain that they’d probably soon divorce for no real reason other than sheer lack of passion and interest?

Thankfully, Raya eased off on the verbal assault until they reached Kharikhola, a small town at the peak of one of the mountains. They strode in an hour or so before sundown, and Parker dropped his trekking poles into the dirt at the first sign of the nearest teahouse. It was much the same as the buildings they’d stayed in over the last few nights, made of stone and bright yellow wooden trim, with an open front door that faced the trail and a cohort of young Europeans clustered around a plastic table with Everest beers in their hands out front.

Parker took a moment to compose himself. He hadn’t expected to have to exert himself so hard. His ankles throbbed, and his chest tightened with each breath, and overall he felt a decade older as he put his hands on his hips and flashed a relieved look at his daughter when she pulled to a halt beside him.

But she looked fine.

She said, ‘Were you ready for this trip, Dad?’

He said, ‘Yeah. I’ll get used to it. This is day three. I’ll be fine by day five.’

‘You’re not as thin as you used to be. Maybe you should have shed that before we came here.’

‘Thanks, honey.’

She shrugged. ‘Do you want the truth, or do you want me to bullshit?’

For a fleeting moment, he was seized by a flashback to the endless days he’d spent cooped up in a featureless office, coordinating the high-pressure, high-stress, high-intensity operations that his fellow countrymen routinely embarked on. He tried not to shiver.

He said, ‘The truth always leads to the best results.’

Briefly, she smiled. ‘That’s the dad I know. So, you want the truth?’

‘Sure.’

‘You’re getting fat. You’re spending too much time at work. You’re ageing three years for every year you spend on this planet. I don’t want you to work as hard. I don’t want you to drop dead. I want to spend time with you. I want you to have a life.’

Parker didn’t retort.

He just stared at her.

He said, ‘Thanks, sweetheart. I understand.’

‘But are you going to fall straight back into the same routines when we get home?’

He paused. ‘I’ll do my best not to.’

‘Your best?’

‘I can’t promise you anything. My job … won’t allow it.’

‘Why don’t you quit?’

‘Because what I do is important.’

‘Will you ever talk to me about it?’

He bowed his head. ‘I can’t.’

She almost yelled at him. Almost. He could sense the words catch at the corners of her lips, on their way out but snatched by the protective shield of common decency at the last moment. He knew what they’d be.

You fucking selfish prick. Why don’t you care about your family? How could your job be so important that it means you have to neglect the people you’re supposed to care about the most?

He didn’t answer.

There was nothing asked, but there might as well have been.

He knew, deep down, exactly what Raya thought of him.

Because he thought the same of himself.

You don’t talk about your job under the guise of nobility but you don’t have the foresight or the self-discipline to even keep yourself in shape.

The bodyguards, Winston and Oscar, made it to the top of the trailhead. They wordlessly glanced at the teahouse.

Then they looked back at the guide and the porter.

The guide, Sejun, spoke passable English. The porter, whose name they hadn’t had the opportunity to memorise, didn’t speak a word of English. What he could do incredibly well was carry close to half his bodyweight in luggage on his back. He had both Parker and Raya’s North Face bags tied together with rope and draped across his upper back, which meant he’d been carrying close to fifty pounds for the entirety of the trek. He was a small, skinny man with wrinkles and bags under his eyes from a lifetime of hardship. But he didn’t complain, let alone utter a word, as they reached the top. This was his job, and he was damn good at it.

Sejun turned to his clients.

‘Not here,’ he told Parker. ‘This place sold out. No rooms. Maybe twenty minutes down road, okay?’

Parker sighed.

Raya shrugged.

It spoke to their respective fitness levels.

They trudged along the trail, jabbing their trekking poles into the loose dirt at any opportunity, grinding their aching