One Mountain Away (14 page)

She remembered that her benefactor had ordered the eggplant provolone pizza at Cuppa. She thought Ray, the chef, might give her the recipe so she could make it tonight as a surprise. Charlotte’s kitchen had everything, including vented pizza pans that still had the stickers on them. She was going to have such fun.

She parked down the street from Cuppa and smiled at the customers sitting at outside tables. Inside she spotted Ray talking to Stella, her manager. Unfortunately, halfway across the room, on the way to join in their conversation, she also spotted Davis. Or rather he spotted her, because suddenly he was right there, his lanky body blocking her progress.

“Hey,” he said.

Her ebullient mood vanished. Almost immediately her stomach dived for her toes, giving credence to her theory that stress magnified morning sickness times two.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“What do you think? I came to find you. I know you always pick up your check on Saturday mornings.”

“Should I be impressed? It’s not exactly remembering to be faithful, but it’s something.”

“Harmony…” He shook his head. “Please don’t be sarcastic.”

She felt the sting, but she thrust her shoulders back. “Don’t make this
my
problem, Davis.”

“Can we sit and talk? I’ll buy you coffee, lunch, whatever you want.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to blow him off, but she suppressed it. As a matter of fact, she was hungry again, and eating might actually help her roiling stomach. She wouldn’t be sorry to have one of Ray’s blueberry scones with a decaf latte.

A smile lit his long face when she agreed. Without a word she found a table in the corner and watched Davis step up to the coffee counter. She hoped the barista took his time on the latte. Davis was notoriously impatient, and when they’d lived together, she had always taken on situations like this one. She’d stood in line to get the food, while he sat at tables with his smartphone or his portable computer and transacted business.

Today she didn’t lift a finger. Instead, with pleasure, she watched him shift his weight from foot to foot.

She hadn’t expected Davis to come looking for her. The moment she’d learned he was sleeping with the new hygienist at his dentist’s office, she had packed her belongings and moved to Jennifer’s. A week later he had come here to Cuppa to admit that, yes, he had been having an affair, but it was actually more like a one-night stand that had gone on for a few weeks, and it was over now. He was sorry, but it really hadn’t meant a thing, and Harmony should come back.

She hadn’t. She knew she had very little backbone. She’d grown up in a home where a woman’s role was to grovel, and while she knew that was wrong, old habits died hard. Still, there were limits. She would not tolerate physical abuse, and she would not tolerate infidelity. Or maybe she was able to hold that line because she didn’t really love Davis. For a time she’d thought she did, but since moving out, she had wondered if all she’d loved were the bonuses that had come along with him. The sleek condo that she’d cleaned until it sparkled. The well-equipped kitchen that had been such fun to cook in. The soft king-size bed where their baby had been conceived.

Their baby.

She watched him lean over the counter and give the barista their order. Davis was thin but well-proportioned, wide shoulders, narrow hips, long muscular legs. And sitting here, the rear view wasn’t half-bad. He kept his brown hair CPA short, and he was attractive, with his serious, bordering-on-brooding face with its prominent nose. He looked good in suits and usually wore them, although today he had on khakis and a pale blue sport shirt. Even his casual clothes were starched and ironed to perfection.

He came back to the table with a fruit salad as well as a scone and set both in front of her. “I know how much you like cantaloupe.”

She nodded her thanks, and he left, to return a moment later with the largest size latte for her and orange juice for himself.

“Decaf?” she asked, then took it when he nodded.

He seated himself across from her. “How have you been?”

“Busy.”

“Do you have big plans for your day?”

“I’m not planning to run for president, but I have things to do.”

“I’m heading into the office in a little while.”

She wondered why he thought she cared. Davis worked for one of Asheville’s oldest accounting firms. His plan was to become a partner and eventually a top dog, and to that end, he scrutinized everything in his life for its possible effect on his future. He had a long list of certifications to work toward, and he put in extra hours every day just to prove he had the right stuff. No surprise he was heading into the office, unless he was heading for some other woman’s bedroom.

“Are you still living with Jennifer?” he asked.

“I’m staying in Biltmore Forest.”

He looked surprised. “Seriously?”

“It’s temporary, but it’s a lot better than Jennifer’s sofa.”

“What kind of room? Who’s house?”

She took her spoon and began to stir her latte, beating the foam into submission. “Exactly what gives you the right to ask, Davis?”

“It’s just so out of the blue. Who do you even
know
over there?”

“You mean who could somebody like me know in the poshest part of Asheville? Somebody without talents, resources, education—”

He reached over and covered her hand. “I didn’t say any of those things.”

“It’s none of your business,” she said, looking down. She wondered if he had covered her hand out of affection or because the stirring had annoyed him. Davis was easily annoyed.

“Fine.” He lifted his hand. “I was worried, that’s all.”

“A little late, this worrying thing, wouldn’t you say?”

“I made a mistake.”

“You got that right.”

“I know you’re pissed. You have a right to be. I don’t know what I could have been thinking.”

“I’m not sure
thinking
had anything to do with it. You wanted something, and you went after it. End of story.”

“When you moved in with me, that was a commitment. I guess I just didn’t get that. I didn’t see it through your eyes. I was still thinking like a single guy.”

She looked up. “Thank you for breakfast. You can leave anytime.”

He leaned forward. He had dark eyes and heavy brows, and he used the eyes to his advantage now, pleading soulfully. “Can we start again?”

She was pregnant with his child. Since he hadn’t mentioned it, she figured he didn’t suspect the truth. Whatever had possessed him to apologize and win her back was something different. Could he possibly miss her, or did he miss her attentions to his apartment, her cooking, the way she had tried so diligently not to irritate him?

“I don’t think people ever really start again,” she said. “We started and stopped. A relationship is not a stalled engine. There’s no road service on the highway of life.”

“I’ve missed the way you express yourself. I’ve missed waking up with you.”

“And the way I washed your underwear and did the grocery shopping and entertained your colleagues. I even took your cat to the vet to have him put to sleep because you were too busy.”

“You volunteered because Paws was suffering. I was going to do it the next day.”

He’d had meetings when the going got rough for Paws, so, sobbing, she’d taken the poor animal in by herself. She wondered what kind of father Davis would be. Would his job take precedence over a child’s needs? He’d told her he didn’t want kids, that he was sure he wasn’t the right kind of person to have them. She was afraid he was probably right.

“So we can’t start again,” he said, and this time he covered both her hands, although neither one was fidgeting. “Not without some garbage behind us on that highway of life, but once we’re around it, maybe we can put some distance between it and us. Can we try?”

She wanted to say no, but why, exactly? To hurt him? Possibly. Because she knew he wasn’t the right guy to hook up with long term? Possibly. Because even with all the anxiety of leaving him and trying to find her way, she hadn’t really missed him?

Despite all of the above, she was carrying his child, his son or daughter. And breaking all ties now made little sense. Eventually, if she continued the pregnancy, Davis would have to know, have to participate, if only to provide child support.

“What are you proposing?” she asked at last.

“We can start slow.” He grinned. “We could go out on a date. I’ll take you to Zambra. You love it there. We can take our time and talk over tapas. That’s all, I promise. We can see how it goes, then decide what to do next.”

“When were you thinking?”

“What’s your next night off?”

“Tonight, but I’m busy.”

“Doing what?” He held up his hand before she could reply. “I’m sorry, never mind. What’s a good night for you?”

“Next Saturday.”

“A whole week?”

“Anticipation is a good thing, on a par with denial.”

He didn’t look happy, but he nodded. He really did hate to wait. “Okay, let me know where to pick you up.”

She didn’t want Davis to come to Charlotte’s, but she wasn’t sure why. “We can meet at the restaurant.”

“Thank you, Harmony. I promise things will be different.”

He had no idea
how
different. She just gave him a thin smile as he stood. “I’ll see you about seven on Saturday.”

He bent over and, before she could stop him, kissed the top of her head. She watched him leave and tried to figure out how she felt.

Hungry, she decided, and she turned her attention back to the food in front of her.

Chapter Twelve

First Day Journal: May 1

I’ll confess I began this journal reluctantly. A therapist on my cancer treatment team recommended I keep one. She told me to look back at what I’ve done, what I’ve gained, what I’ve lost. I was supposed to find ways to say hello and ways to say goodbye.

I was certain a journal was silly. I was at Duke to be cured, not changed. When I told her that, she asked what I wanted to be cured of? My cancer? My anger? My denial that death is inevitable?

After I reluctantly agreed, she suggested I write as if I were reliving events. She said this would deepen my understanding and make them immediate once again.

Once I began, I found I couldn’t stop.

The most important things are the hardest to write about. My leukemia. The weeks of treatment. Facing the truth. Taylor and Maddie.

It’s past time to write about Ethan, because after seeing him at the park on Thursday, he’s entered my dreams again. In dreams I’m young, and so is he. The world is standing right before us. All we have to do is reach out our hands.

As a country girl, I find adjusting to life in Asheville is anything but easy. After convincing Mrs. King to try me as her summer nanny, I move into the family’s house and befriend their two active school-age boys. In the beginning the city frightens me. I have a room in the third-floor attic, and the house isn’t far from the Biltmore Estate, where the boys and I hike and bike. The woods and paths remind me of home, and I spend as much time with them there as I can. At the end of the first summer, the Kings invite me to stay on in exchange for occasional babysitting and light cleaning, an arrangement that continues for years.

Grateful to be rescued once more, I quickly find a second job serving lunches at a small Biltmore Village café with clientele who tip well. More important, they’re the people I want to become. Being near them is instructive, and I watch closely and practice becoming someone new.

Two summers pass, and I save enough money to attend community college part-time. I spend what free time I have alone. I’m surrounded by men and women my age, but we’re all rushing toward a better life, and we have no time to enjoy the one we share. At the same time the feeling that I’m poised on the edge of a precipice lessens. While I occasionally run into people who knew Lottie Lou Hale, most of the time I’m free to work toward a different future.

My life centers on achievement. I have so much I want to leave behind that I have little time to think about what comes next. I need money for everyday living. I need education. Respect and prestige are my goals. I never want anyone to look down on me again. I want to be in charge, to be looked up to. I want all the good things I see around me.

I don’t want to stand on the outside looking in.

So important is this that I spend hours poring over plans. First community college. Then, with financial aid, one of the excellent state universities. Perhaps a degree in business, although I want more than to manage an office or shuffle papers. Nothing feels grand enough. Unlike my father, I don’t want a trip down easy street, but whatever street I travel, I want my destination to be worth the journey.

I learn a lot about my new home. After our city fathers faithfully paid back all debts incurred before the Depression, our sleepy little mountain town woke up. With an economic cloud overhead, nobody had any reason to bulldoze our architectural heritage in the name of development, so almost accidentally, we now have much to offer. Retirees are stepping up the pace of their mountain moves. There’s a new feeling of optimism in the air. I want to be a part of it.

In the meantime I date, but only a little. I’m afraid I might make my mother’s mistake and bind my life to a worthless man. As part of my attempts to change Lottie Lou into Charlotte Louise, I study clothes and styles, hair and makeup. At work and in the Kings’ home, I observe the wealthy, the way they sit and walk, their table manners and conversation, their vocal inflections and accents. I’m careful not to put on airs, as Gran would say, but slowly I leave the mountain girl behind.

During my fifth summer in Asheville, Ethan walks into my life, or rather my classroom. I’ve just completed my first year and a half of coursework, and the Kings have decided to move to Rhode Island.

The hours I devoted to the boys are snapped up at the café, and I make enough money to afford a sunny room in a big house in Montford. That summer I sign up for only one course, a humanities survey. The professor is enthusiastic about guest lecturers. We hear musicologists and artists, and one day we hear Ethan Graves Martin, who shows a historical slideshow of European architecture, and the way each building and site is connected to the centuries that came before.