The Mountain Between Us (14 page)

“That means a lot. Especially knowing I've got you on my side.”

“Yeah.” She managed a rueful smile. “I never would have admitted this when I was a kid, but we're more alike than different.”

“I couldn't be more proud of you. And whatever you decide to do about D. J., I'll stand by you.”

“Thanks. I don't have any plans, but I'll let you know if that changes.” The best she could say was that she no longer hated D. J. If only she could let go of hating some of the things she'd done before and after he'd left. Like mother, like daughter, she told herself. Sometimes letting go of the past was harder than facing the future.

 

As the baby grew inside Maggie, its presence in her life grew. How could a tiny baby, not yet born even, take up so much space—emotionally, mentally, and even physically? For instance, she had to make a place for this infant in the little house she rented in town. The second bedroom she'd been using for storage seemed the logical choice, but looking at it now with Jameso, she had her doubts. “It's an awfully small room,” she said, contemplating the sloping ceiling and the one tiny window.

“Small for the plans Barb sent,” Jameso said. “But it ought to be big enough for a baby. I mean, how much room do they need?”

“You need room for the crib and a dresser for clothing. A changing table would be nice, but I can make do with the top of the dresser. Somewhere to put diapers and a monitor. A humidifier for this dry air . . .” Everything she'd read in the half a dozen baby books Barb had sent her made her head spin.

“I can put up some shelves and stuff,” he said. “It'll be okay.”

“What about at your place? You need room for the baby there, too.”

His expression grew wary. “Why do I need room for the baby there?”

“So he—or she—can stay with you sometimes.”

“Why would he—or she—stay with me? I mean, babies need to be with their mothers. Won't you be breastfeeding . . . or something?” He said “or something” as if he was afraid to imagine what that mysterious other thing might be.

“I can pump breast milk for bottle feedings. And you'll want to spend time with your child to bond.”

“I will?” He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing. “I mean, sure, I will. But I don't think I need a whole room for the baby. It'll be easier if we keep everything here at your place.”

He looked so flummoxed that she almost took pity on him—almost. “You've never spent much time around babies, have you?” she asked.

“No.”

“No little brothers or sisters or cousins, or nieces and nephews?” He never talked about his family—one of the things that both annoyed and intrigued her.

“My sister is two years older than me. She's got a couple of kids, but we aren't really close.”

“Why is that?” Being an only child, Maggie had often longed for a sister or brother. She'd fantasized about her mother remarrying, or her father reappearing with children in tow. She referred to Barb as the sister she never had, but it wasn't quite the same, having someone in the world who shared your blood and your memories of growing up.

“No reason. We just aren't close. So, you want the shelves here?”

He'd slammed shut a door she couldn't go through. This reluctance to talk about his family worried her. What demons lurked there that might affect her child? Did mental illness or alcoholism or drug addiction lie hidden in his bloodline?

Of course, she was one to talk, considering her father's penchant for abusing alcohol, and her suspicion that some mental imbalance had led him to flee his home and take refuge in his mountain hermitage. “We'd better wait until I get some furniture in here; then we'll know where the shelves will fit best. In the meantime, I have to figure out what to do with all this stuff.” She surveyed the boxes, each cryptically marked with a single word:
Kitchen, Dining, Books.

“You can store them at my place,” he said.

“So you have room for my boxes, but not for a baby?”

“I can shove boxes into the crawl space. Certainly can't do that with a baby.”

“You do know I'll need you to keep the baby sometimes.”

“Sure. Of course, I'll do that.” Though he didn't look or sound very confident.

“What will you do with the baby when you keep it?”

“I figured I'd just, you know, hold it. Keep it comfortable and . . . safe.”

The earnestness of his expression and the tenderness with which he spoke the words untied another knot in the bindings around her heart. “Oh, Jameso, that's so sweet.” She leaned against him and his arm went around her.

“I didn't say it to be sweet. It's just what I'd do.”

“You're going to be a great dad,” she said.

He flushed. “I'll do what I can, for you and the baby. I'll try not to mess things up.”

“That's the best any of us can do.”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “So you want to wait on the shelves?”

She laughed. “Yes, Barb said she had some ideas for the nursery.”

“Barb has plenty of ideas. She sends me text messages and e-mails half a dozen times a day.”

“She's almost more excited than I am. She and Jimmy are planning to visit for Christmas.”

“I've got to meet this Jimmy guy. He must be something if he can handle Barb.”

“He's actually very quiet—the strong, silent type. Very supportive. He pretty much lets Barb take the lead.”

“I imagine if he didn't give Barb the reins, she'd yank them right out of his hands. So she's in charge of the nursery?”

“Yes, just do whatever she wants. It's easier that way.”

“Definitely easier.”

Too bad Maggie couldn't turn everything having to do with the baby over to someone like Barb. Then maybe she wouldn't feel so lost.

Big breath in.
Follow your instincts,
she told herself.
And take Jameso's advice. Hold the baby. Keep it comfortable and safe.
That's all any of them wanted, wasn't it?

C
HAPTER NINE

B
efore she painted in the burro, bighorn, and other animals on the mural, Olivia decided she needed to do more research. She persuaded Lucas to accompany her to the library, where he helped her pick out several books. She was curious to see how the curmudgeon, Cassie, would respond to her and Lucas together, after her brusque send-off during Olivia's first visit to the library.

“Hello, Lucas, Ms. Theriot.” Cassie greeted them formally at the front desk and accepted Lucas's library card. She studied the titles on their stack of books. They seemingly met her approval; she scanned them and handed them back.

“I'm doing more research for my mural,” Olivia said, unable to resist goading the woman a little.

“I saw your work when I was in the café the other day,” Cassie said. “I thought the pioneer woman was a nice touch. Women don't get enough credit for their contributions.”

Olivia blinked, momentarily stunned by this unexpected praise. “Thank you,” she said. “I'm glad you like it.”

“I can't believe she said she liked my mural,” Olivia said to Lucas as they left the library. “She was so hostile last time I saw her.”

“She isn't so bad, really,” Lucas said. “I think she's probably had a hard life.”

“Life is hard for almost everyone sometimes,” Olivia said.

“Was it hard for you, growing up without your dad?”

The question startled and unsettled her. She and Lucas had never talked much about her past. He knew the basic facts, of course, but she'd always figured that, as a kid, he wasn't much interested in anything that had happened to her before he was born. Why the sudden interest? “My dad was around. I just didn't live with him all the time,” she said. “I knew lots of kids whose parents were divorced, so it wasn't that big a deal.”

But sometimes it had been. She'd carried a little girl's fantasy of the perfect dad, especially when she saw friends with their fathers. Sometimes she'd wished her mother would remarry, so that at least she could have a stepdad, but Lucille never dated while Olivia was living at home—at least not that Olivia knew about.

The thought occurred to her that maybe Lucas wasn't asking about her dad because he was curious about Olivia's childhood, but because he had regrets about his own. “Lucas, I'm sorry your father hasn't been a good dad,” she said. “I tried to get him to see you, but some men just aren't good fathers.”

He kicked at a rock in the road. “Yeah, well, I don't remember much about him, so I guess it doesn't matter.”

“But you'd like a father to do stuff with. That's natural.”

“D. J. does stuff with me.”

“But D. J. isn't your father.”

“I know that.” He gave her a classic “I'm not stupid” teenage look that she remembered only too well directing at her own mother. “Let's go by his place,” Lucas said. “I want to show him the books I got.”

Refusing would probably start an argument, and she hated to destroy the closeness she felt to him today. Who knew how many more such times she'd have now that he was entering the turbulent teen years? And surely she could stand a few minutes in D. J.'s company. “All right.”

They turned down the side street that led toward the rental where D. J. lived. “I know what I want for Christmas,” Lucas said.

“And what is that?” She'd been thinking a new winter coat might be a good present, but he probably wouldn't agree.

“I want a twenty-two.”

“A twenty-two?” she asked, confused. “Twenty-two what?”

“Not twenty-two what.” He laughed. “A twenty-two. A gun. For hunting and stuff.”

She stopped in the middle of the road. “You want a gun?” She stared at the young man before her. He was the same height as her now, and his hair fell in front of his eyes. Now that she thought about it, his voice had dropped to a deeper register sometime in the last few weeks. What had happened to her little boy—the sweet, innocent child who would never ask for a gun as a present?

“Sure, lots of guys at school have them.”

“But you don't know anything about guns.”

“D. J. can teach me. He shot guns in Iraq.”

D. J. again! Had he put this idea into Lucas's head?

As they approached the house, she recognized D. J. in the front yard, standing next to—was that a dead deer?

“Where did you get that?” Lucas called, running ahead.

“I shot it up near Copper Springs. Hello, Olivia.”

“You shot it?” She stared at the dead animal, strung up by its hind feet from a tree in D. J.'s front yard.

“Don't worry, I have a tag.”

“But you're from the city. You don't hunt.”

He laughed. “I'm discovering my inner mountain man.”

“What are you going to do with a whole deer?” Olivia asked.

“Keep some of it. Give some away. I thought your mother might like some.”

“You'll have to ask her.” But Olivia had a feeling venison was in her future.

“Look at the books I got at the library,” Lucas said. “We're studying the Civil War in school, so I got a biography of Robert E. Lee and one of Ulysses S. Grant.”

“I read the Grant bio last year,” D. J. said. “You'll like it.”

“Are you coming to the Thanksgiving dinner?” Lucas asked. Apparently even school kids knew about the community Thanksgiving dinner—another Eureka tradition Olivia was going to have to get accustomed to. Lucille had informed her that, of course, they were all going, and they were going to contribute. Outvoted—since Lucas had enthusiastically agreed—Olivia had relented.

“I wouldn't miss a free feed,” D. J. said.

“Mom is making mashed potatoes. From scratch.” D. J. looked at her. “Mashed potatoes for a hundred people?”

“Maybe enough for fifty.” It was the one make-ahead-and-make-a-lot dish she knew she could handle, courtesy of a restaurant where she'd once waitressed, which had served up the Crock-Pot mix of potatoes, sour cream, and cheese as a specialty.

“Are they the ones with sour cream and cheese?” he asked.

She told herself she shouldn't be so pleased he remembered. “Yes.”

“Then I'll definitely be there early.”

“We'll save you a place,” Lucas said. “You can sit with us.”

She eyed her son. Was he playing matchmaker? She'd have to have a talk with him about that.

“Can I go in and play games?” Lucas asked. Perhaps this was another reason he'd been so eager to stop by D. J.'s place, to check out the latest video gaming system, which his mother and grandmother had refused to buy him.

“Sure.”

He loped toward the house, long legs covering the distance in a few strides. As soon as the door slammed behind him, Olivia turned to D. J. “He asked for a
gun
for Christmas.”

“And you think I had something to do with it.”

“I know you did.” She eyed the dead deer.

“It won't hurt him to learn how to shoot at his age. Lots of boys around here grow up around guns.”

“He's not lots of boys. Lucas is smart. He has an IQ of 160. He's interested in science and history. He's going to go to college and do great things.”

“He can do all that and still get a gun for Christmas.”

“Not from me. And not from you either.”

“I won't give him a gun if you don't want me to.”

She hadn't expected him to acquiesce so easily. “Thank you for respecting my wishes,” she said stiffly.

He took a step toward her. “Look, I know I should have asked you before I decided to go to Iraq. I was just feeling so bad about being out of work so long and not in a position to support a family. The chance to go away for a little while and make a lot of money seemed too good to pass up. I thought you'd see that I was doing it for us.”

She held up her hand to stop him. “There's no sense going over this again. You made your choice, now we all have to live with it.”

He started to say something else, but Lucas emerged from the house. “Mom! D. J.! Grandma is on television!”

They arrived inside to see the tail end of an interview with Lucille about the town's financial crisis. Olivia was struck by how drawn her mother looked. Older and smaller. But her words were calm and measured. “Eureka is not going to let this setback destroy us. The people here have always pulled together to help each other out. For instance, we're still having the Thanksgiving dinner as we do every year. We've got volunteers to do other jobs around town. We'll get through this together.”

The cameras panned over the town—the Last Dollar, the Dirty Sally, Lacy's, the school, and the library. Trees were bare and everything looked a little forlorn and run-down.

“Eureka probably doesn't look like much to most people, but I like it,” Lucas said.

“What do you like about it?” D. J. asked.

“I like that I can ride my bike everywhere, and that I know almost everyone now that I've been here a while. I like that Grandma is here.” He paused, then added, “And kids here don't think I'm a loser.”

“Of course you're not a loser,” Olivia said.

He made a face. “You think that because you're my mom. In the city, I was a loser—a funny-looking brain who spent all his time with his head in a book. Here I have friends, and the teachers like me . . . well, most of them do.”

“There are other places where you could have all that,” Olivia said. “Bigger places with more opportunities.”

“I don't want to move again, Mom.” He set his lips in a pout.

“I didn't say anything about moving, just that you shouldn't limit your world to one small town.” She wanted so much more for him—so much more than she'd ever had.

“Sometimes you can find everything you need in a small town,” D. J. said. “If the people you love are there. And you're doing things that fulfill you.”

Right. As if she was fulfilled behind the bar at the Dirty Sally.

Then she thought of the mural. She could lose herself in that work, mixing colors and adding shading and texture. If she could find a way to make art her work . . .

She became aware of D. J.'s gaze fixed on her, as if trying to read her thoughts. “Are you fulfilled driving a snowplow?” she asked.

“I don't know. I haven't done it yet. But I'm happy. This place is a good fit for me.”

“For me, too,” Lucas said.

Which left Olivia the odd person out. She didn't feel like Eureka fit. She didn't know if anywhere fit. A town wasn't like a sweater you put on, or a pair of shoes. “It's just a town,” she said. “It's not the secret to happiness.”

“You might be wrong about that.” D. J. smiled, as if he knew a secret he wouldn't tell her. The look should have angered her; instead, it filled her with longing. All the moving she'd done, all she'd really been looking for was the place that fit. A home that felt right. What if such a place didn't exist for her? What if there was nowhere she could truly be happy?

“Sometimes when something doesn't fit, you have to alter it to meet your needs,” he said. “Or you change your expectations.”

“You accept less, you mean.”

“No, I don't think you should ever accept less.” His eyes met hers, deep and intense. “You deserve the best. You always have.”

How did he know what she deserved? Or what was the best? If people got what they deserved, then, judging by her life so far, she hadn't qualified for much in the way of blessings. There was Lucas, of course—the best thing in her life, so far. But she'd fallen so short in all she wanted to give him. Eureka was the first real home he'd known, and even here they shared a house with her mother. She was almost thirty and she didn't have much education or anything like a career. None of that was what she called “the best.”

“I guess I have a lot to look forward to,” she said.

“I hope we both have good things to look forward to.” He spoke as if he expected those things to happen to them together, that they'd be a couple again. That would never happen. You couldn't undo the past, and some wounds, she was sure, ran too deep to heal.

 

Lucille took Olivia's advice about stopping moping to heart and tried as much as possible to return to her old routine. Guilt and worry over the town's finances and her own role in the debacle made for many sleepless nights, but during the day she kept up a front of bravely carrying on. She was working behind the counter at Lacy's during the second week of November when the door opened and Bob, Doug, Paul, Junior, and Reggie filed in and arranged themselves in front of her like schoolboys called into the principal's office.

“If you're not too busy, Madam Mayor, we'd like to have a word with you,” Bob said.

Had they come to ask for her resignation at last? “No, I'm not busy,” she said. “I was printing out the turkeys for the place cards for the community dinner.” Elementary-school children colored and cut out the pictures of turkeys to use as name tags and place cards at the long tables set up in the school gymnasium. The town provided a turkey and ham, and community members bought side dishes. Eureka might be broke, but that wasn't going to stop this tradition.

“It's good that we're still having the dinner,” Paul said.

“Maggie's friend Barb Stanowski insisted on paying for the turkeys and Eureka Grocery is donating the hams,” Lucille said.

“That's good, then.” Paul glanced at the others in the party.