One Mountain Away (7 page)

“
You’ll
be sure?” He sounded as if he was sure she wouldn’t get
that
right, either.

The young woman looked down at the vegetables and crockery covering the floor at their feet, the dressing oozing into a chunky cheese puddle dotted with green, and suddenly her face drained of all color. She closed her eyes, covered her mouth with her hand and took off toward the coffee bar.

Charlotte could remain silent no longer. With one smooth motion she pulled a pad out of her purse, stood and held it out to the man. “Do us all a favor and put your number there. You can leave it on the way out. And maybe you can add an apology.”

He had the grace to look ashamed, or maybe he was just worried Charlotte was going to continue. “Never mind.” He stood and motioned to his wife. “Let’s get out of here.”

He rounded the table and started toward the door, his wife close behind him.

Charlotte started to sit back down, but she realized what little appetite she’d had was gone now, and she was too upset to eat. Instead, she took out her wallet and dropped two twenties on the table before she started toward the door, too.

Harmony was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

In Charlotte’s opinion, her house was the finest example of Colonial Revival architecture in upscale Biltmore Forest. Built from salmon-tinged brick with imposing white pillars and decorative woodwork, it ruled over its neighbors from a rise in the center of a two-acre lot.

The house was much too large for a woman alone, which hadn’t stopped the newly divorced Charlotte from snapping it up when it came on the market ten years ago. She’d had her eye on the house for years, had even tried to buy it once before when she was still married. So when it had come back on the market a second time, she’d made sure she was first in line.

Since then, despite a sagging economy, the house had increased in value, thanks to her constant attention to maintenance and landscaping. Of course, even though she was free to gloat, there was nobody who cared. The house inspired one of two undesirable reactions. The first was awe, often tinged heavily with envy. The second was worse, something she could only tag as dismay. The house clearly sucked up money and resources without mercy or discrimination.

The house in Biltmore Forest had been a dream, a symbol, a satisfied “yes” at the end of a long, torturous road.

Or so she’d thought.

This evening she turned into the driveway with groceries tucked into the passenger’s seat. After leaving Cuppa she had stopped at Earth Fare to stock up on fresh salads and baked goods, because her refrigerator was as empty as the rest of her evening promised to be.

Right now all she wanted was to put the bags in the refrigerator without even bothering to unpack them and fall asleep in her bedroom, fully clothed. She was so tired every cell in her body had shriveled from fatigue.

She didn’t bother with the garage. She pulled into the stone-paved parking area hidden behind a bower of English ivy and turned off the engine.

“Okay, now you’re getting out,” she said out loud, then forced herself to follow her own orders.

Inside, she put away the groceries and told herself it was good to be home. But once she’d made herself a cup of hot tea and a slice of toast, she lay exhausted on the living room sofa, staring at the ceiling. In the end, as the grandfather clock tolled ten, she rose, smoothed wrinkles from her clothes, closed the front door behind her and headed back to Cuppa.

After being forced to park several blocks away on a side street, she stood outside the restaurant once more. She doubted Harmony Stoddard would appreciate reacquainting herself with a witness to her unfortunate dinner-shift encounter, but Charlotte wanted to be certain that the bad-tempered man hadn’t complained. And if someone else had spoken to the manager, the mother at the next table, perhaps, or another server, Charlotte wanted to be sure Harmony wasn’t blamed for something that was certainly not her fault.

Inside, the hostess stand was empty. Farther in a few people sipped coffee, but one of them was packing up her computer. A muscular middle-age man in one of Cuppa’s signature shirts stopped Charlotte as she continued toward the back.

“We’re closing,” he said. “Did you need something?”

“By any chance are you the manager?”

“She went home early. I’m in charge.”

“I was here earlier. I was sitting in the back, and a child at the next table slammed into my server and sent salad flying all over a man at another table. I just wanted to be sure the server didn’t get into trouble. I was right there, and it was absolutely not her fault.”

He looked surprised. “You came all the way back to tell us that?”

“And to make sure she’s okay.” She decided to level. “The man behaved badly. He didn’t apologize. I thought somebody ought to.”

“You know how rare that would be?” He ran his hand through short-cropped hair. “Who was it? Harmony?”

“Uh-huh.” She wondered how he knew.

His mouth twisted into a wry smile. “She had a bad night. I didn’t know why.”

“Is she here? Maybe I could make it a better one.”

“She left about half an hour ago, after she finished her shift.”

Charlotte felt a pang of regret. “Maybe I could write her a note?”

“Sure. Just leave it on the coffee bar. I’ll make sure she gets it.”

Charlotte wandered over and sat on a stool. She penned a few lines on a sheet of notebook paper and signed it. Then, on a whim, she added her business card and circled her cell phone number, although she doubted the young woman would call.

With nothing else to do she left the note and trudged to her car. The air was cool, and while the street wasn’t deserted, she felt utterly alone. On the street, in the city, on good old Mother Earth. She thought of the memorial service where she had not been welcome. She thought of the wary expression in her own minister’s eyes.

She thought of her granddaughter climbing to the top of a jungle gym, unaware that her grandmother was sitting just yards away watching her.

She slowed her pace. She had nowhere to go except home, and nothing to do there but think.

If she hadn’t slowed she wouldn’t have glanced into the car parked in front of her. Under the light of a streetlamp the sedan looked like something General Motors had long since discontinued. Rust etched wheel hubs. The rear door had been badly dented and someone—clearly not a professional—had tried to hammer it back into shape. Most important, as Charlotte drew even with the car, what she saw inside made her stop and stare.

The woman in the backseat, head pillowed on a blanket and another blanket drawn up around her, was all too familiar.

Charlotte debated what to do. She’d come to find Harmony Stoddard, but not like this. Before she could make herself continue along the sidewalk, Harmony’s eyes opened, and the two women stared at each other.

“I’m sorry,” Charlotte said, since only a pane of glass separated them. She started forward, then she stopped and went back. “Are you okay?”

Harmony was sitting up now, and she wiped her eyes before she moved over to the door and opened it, swinging her long legs over the side to face Charlotte.

“What are you doing here?” She didn’t sound angry.

“Well, right now I’m on my way to my car, but I was just at Cuppa to find you. I wanted to apologize. That man behaved so badly, and I wanted to be sure you weren’t in trouble for anything he did or said.”

Tears glistened on Harmony’s cheeks, and she rubbed them away with her fist before she spoke. Charlotte was reminded of her daughter as a toddler. Taylor had always done exactly that. Taylor, the daughter she hadn’t spoken to for almost eleven years.

“You didn’t have to come back. It was okay.” Harmony got out of the car and stood with her back to it.

“It wasn’t okay.” Charlotte debated what to do or say next. Part of her thought she ought to continue to her car. But suddenly the conversation wasn’t about a stranger’s bad manners anymore. It was about so many other things.

“You’re not okay,” she said. “Are you sleeping in your car tonight?”

“No…” Harmony bit her lip. “Not for the whole night, anyway.”

“Just part of it?”

“I’m…I’m staying with a friend.”

“You can’t get in? You don’t have a key?”

“That’s not it.” The young woman seemed to debate with herself. “She’s got a date. I don’t want to be there when…”

Charlotte understood. “Oh, right, I see.” She hesitated. “It’s a small place, I guess?”

“Like a closet, and I’m crashing on her sofa until I can find something better. I—” She shook her head.

“You’ve been there awhile?”

“You don’t want to hear all this.” Harmony smiled a watery smile. “This isn’t your problem, right?”

“Absolutely not. Not one bit.” Charlotte smiled, too. “So tell me, anyway.”

Harmony started to cry. Charlotte wasn’t sure what to do, but before she could decide, she’d put her arms around the girl and pulled her close.

“When was the last time you ate?” she asked, as Harmony, bending at the waist, sobbed against her neck. She felt the girl’s shoulders hunch in answer.

“Will your car be okay here tonight?” Charlotte asked, making a decision.

“I…I guess. But I don’t—”

“You’re coming home with me, and don’t worry, you can call your friend and tell her where you are. You’ll be safe. I’m not a serial killer.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

Charlotte was afraid she did. She was afraid no one needed to do it more.

Chapter Six

LIVING IN ASHEVILLE was a trade-off for Taylor Martin. At first, after Maddie’s problematic birth, the city of Taylor’s own birth was the only place she
could
live. Without her father’s help, both financial and emotional, she would never have been able to support herself and care for her daughter.

Jeremy’s parents, who also lived in town, had helped, as well, and despite Taylor’s disdain for her daughter’s father, she couldn’t dislike the senior Larsens. From the beginning they had stepped up to the plate, insisting that Jeremy acknowledge the baby, then offering financial support. After Maddie’s birth they had put their son through college, or tried to, but they had also made certain Jeremy understood that once he was earning a living, they expected him to take over the child support payments.

The Larsens were now only part-time Asheville residents, migrating to Florida for the coldest months, but when they were in town, they were enthusiastic babysitters, available at a moment’s notice. While nowadays Jeremy paid his own child support, his parents paid all the health care extras insurance didn’t cover.

Taylor knew she should consider moving to a city with more and better jobs, perhaps one with specialists making their mark in neurobiology. But nowhere else on the planet would she have the support system she had here, and nowhere else would Maddie be surrounded by so many people who loved her.

This evening she reconsidered that conclusion. Classes at Moon and Stars were physically grueling, and in addition to yoga, she also taught Pilates at a local gym. For this she was paid enough to keep body and soul together, but not much more. She had a degree in Health and Wellness promotion and had hoped to go on to something in the medical field, but earning one degree had been difficult enough, even with a network of friends and family.

Asheville was short on jobs and long on people with the same kind of skills she had. At times like this she found herself imagining a less exhausting way to survive. The truth was, she was lucky to have the jobs she did. Her employers at both the gym and the yoga studio understood that sometimes Maddie needed Taylor more than her students did. That benefit was impossible to beat.

This evening, when she pulled up in front of her house, she stared up at the crescent moon rising overhead. She knew Maddie was all right or her father would have called. Her daughter was probably sleeping off the effects of the most serious seizure Taylor remembered in years, what her doctor had called a “breakthrough” seizure on the phone, since it had been an escalation of symptoms. She’d been so sure they had finally gotten the medications right. Dr. Hilliard had been cautiously optimistic, as well. And now they might have to start all over.

She got out of the car and only then noticed that her father’s Acura was no longer in front of her house. His spot had been taken by a familiar yellow Volkswagen bug.

The front door of the house was unlocked, which was no surprise. Taylor locked up at bedtime, but the neighborhood was quiet, and the neighbors on both sides had great-grandchildren and time to watch the world go by outside their windows. Her neighbors were another reason she didn’t want to move to a better job in a faceless city.

She closed the front door loudly so her guest would know she was home. The house was so small she was through the living room and kitchen in seconds, then beyond to the family room that was just large enough for a small television and sofa. The television was off and Samantha Ferguson was curled up on the cushions, but if she’d been sleeping, she wasn’t now. She smiled, arms out and fists clenched as she stretched.

“You’re not my father,” Taylor said. “He’s older, and his hair’s turning gray.”

“I forgot you were teaching this evening. I popped by on my way back from Mom’s, so I told him I’d wait for you. He looked tired. I think he was glad to go.”

Taylor felt a twinge of guilt. Her father adored Maddie, but she wondered if she was taking advantage of his devotion. By drawing constantly on his support and help, was she keeping him from finding a woman he could share his life with?

She tossed her backpack on the coffee table and flopped down beside her friend. “Where’s Edna?”

“Mom’s got her. Tomorrow’s a field trip to a local farm, and Mom’s on spring vacation, so she said she’d chaperone.”

Taylor lowered her voice. “Maddie’s already asleep?”

“For a good hour. She was exhausted.”

“Dad told you what happened?”

“He said she had a generalized tonic-clonic seizure.”