One of his smarter moves had been to get Dylan, fresh out of the NHL and looking for something new to do, to help with NAK. He’d eased back from day-to-day involvement now, too.
NAK would have gone bust within months without Dylan’s help. Dylan knew how to read people. He knew how to fight in a way Noah didn’t.
They were both keenly aware that a central challenge for a newly public company was to figure out what to do with the founder. Sometimes the best thing for the company was for the founder to stay on as CEO, or at least remain deeply involved in the stewardship of his or her creation.
Sometimes the best thing was for the founder to find something else to do.
Like spend a few days hiking on the other side of the continent.
Noah decided to focus on that problem another time. “I promise I won’t step foot in that ballroom until I’ve had a shower,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to scare the ladies.”
Dylan grunted. “More like turn everyone off their hors d’oeuvres.”
Noah grinned, leaning back on one arm as he surveyed the view of the mixed hardwood forest they were about to enter, a relief after the rugged, open terrain above the tree line. At over 6000 feet, Mount Washington was the highest peak in the east and one of the deadliest mountains in the world, in part because of its proximity to a large and mobile population, in part because of its changeable and often extreme weather conditions. Noah liked it because unlike the other mountains in what was known as the Presidential Range—a series of high peaks named after U.S. presidents—Mount Washington had a weather observatory and a full café with hot dogs at the top.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had hot dogs, but he’d helped himself to two on his brief stay on the summit.
“It’s a beautiful spot, Dylan,” Noah said, meaning it, “but the same mosquito that bit me yesterday at the Lake in the Clouds has found me again. I think it followed me up and down this mountain.”
“It’s not the same mosquito, Noah.”
“I hate mosquitoes.”
“At least it’s only one. It could be a hundred.”
“Maybe my lack of showering discouraged reinforcements.”
Dylan grinned at him. “You and mosquitoes. Imagine if you didn’t have bug repellant.”
“No, thanks.”
“You never hiked up Mount Washington while you were at MIT?”
Noah shook his head. “Never even considered it.”
“Too busy doing math problems,” Dylan said, amused.
Math problems. Noah sighed. He had explained countless times in his long friendship with Dylan—practically since first grade—that “math problems” was too simplistic. It didn’t explain how his mind worked.
“I’m not good at math,” Dylan added.
“You don’t like math. There’s a difference. And your idea of ‘math’ is arithmetic. Adding fractions.”
“I can add fractions. It’s multiplying them that does me in.”
Noah glanced at Dylan but couldn’t tell if he was serious.
“We shouldn’t sit too long,” Dylan said. “We don’t have much farther to go, but we want to make it down the mountain in time to get to Boston and turn into swashbucklers.”
For a split second, Noah imagined himself lying back on the boulder and taking a nap. They’d encountered high winds, fog and temperatures in the low fifties on the last thousand feet or so to the summit. He appreciated the clear, quiet weather and relative warmth lower on the mountain. It was even sunny. By the time they reached the trailhead at Pinkham Notch, it would be in the seventies. He’d peeled off his jacket on the descent and continued in his special moisture-wicking Patagonia T-shirt and hiking pants. Dylan, who was built like a bull, was in Carhartt. Noah was fair and lean, more one for sessions in the gym or dojo than treks in the wilderness. Dylan had decided a few days in the White Mountains would be good for Noah.
Same with the masquerade ball tonight.
Good for him.
Noah had gone along. Why not? It wasn’t as if he had a whole lot else to do. Not like even just a couple of months ago. A year, two years, ten years ago, he’d navigated a hectic schedule that would have flattened most people he knew. So had Dylan.
“You couldn’t sign me up for a simple black-tie ball,” Noah said, sitting up straight on the New England granite. “No. No way. My best friend since first grade has to sign me up for a masquerade. I have to wear a costume.”
“More or less. It’s not like Halloween.” Dylan was clearly unmoved by Noah’s complaints. “All in the name of fun and a good cause.”
“Right.” Noah drank some water from his water bottle, relieved that he didn’t see any mosquitoes. “I’ve agreed to dress up in whatever swashbuckler outfit you’ve managed to find for me, but I’m skipping the long-haired wig and funny beard.”
“Just not the sword,” Dylan said.
Noah grinned. “Never the sword.”