One Mountain Away (12 page)

Swimming was a communal activity for Analiese. She couldn’t remember ever being in a pool alone, and she wondered if that bothered Charlotte, too.

“How did the memorial service go?” Charlotte asked, before Analiese could think of a way to say what she needed to.

“The best services leave people feeling better because they can start to put the life and death in perspective. I think we began that yesterday. The stories about Minnie went on almost an hour. There was a lot of laughter. That’s always good.”

“I never met her.”

“I didn’t think you had.”

“When Falconview realized we had to have her property, I sent other people out to talk to her. They brought back reports. They did all the legwork. I only saw the house once, just before it was torn down. I never saw…” She shook her head, staring at the pool. “Do you ever look back at your life and wonder how you could have been so wrong when you were so sure at the time you were right?”

Analiese didn’t know what to say. She had known Charlotte Hale for nearly a decade, but this was
not
the same woman.

She realized something personal was called for. “You know I used to be in television news? I can’t tell you the number of times I pushed people to reveal something on the air that I knew would come back to haunt them. I told myself the public had a right to know the truth. That’s what we always told ourselves, but when I look back on it now? It doesn’t seem to help.”

“You’re being kind.”

“I’m being truthful.”

“I have so many regrets.”

Analiese felt as if she’d stepped into another dimension.

Charlotte turned to look at her and saw her confusion. “And now you’re wondering if Charlotte Hale’s been the victim of body snatchers.”

“No, I’m thinking that I’m glad I’m sitting here with you. Being here today won’t be one of the things
I
regret.”

Charlotte sighed. “I’m dying.”

For a moment Analiese wasn’t sure she’d heard her right. She leaned forward and rested her fingertips on Charlotte’s arms. “What do you mean?”

“Maybe I’m being dramatic. I have leukemia, an acute form, which means the news is very rarely good. I got sick a couple of months ago—in fact, I nearly died. The doctors say it’s still theoretically possible I won’t die at all. Not from leukemia, anyway. But even the most optimistic say it would have improved my chances to make an earlier diagnosis. I let myself get right to the point of no return because I was too busy to pay attention to the way I felt. Too busy changing the Buncombe County landscape. Too busy making money and trying to get the world to see things my way.” She smiled a little. “Too busy to wonder why I never recovered from what I thought was a drawn-out winter cold.”

“I am so sorry.”

“You and me both.”

“But you could beat it?”

“I did a serious round of chemo at Duke and I’m in remission, waiting for my strength to improve and my counts to go up high enough to start the next phase. But while the bone marrow looks good, the counts don’t, so my doctors are being cautious.”

“How did you pull this off without people knowing?”

“I told anyone who mattered that I was in Europe with a group of investors, then off to Saint Martin on a well-deserved vacation. Trust me, chemo was no vacation.” She touched the top of her head. “I didn’t lose too much of my hair, so that was a bonus, and I could afford a good haircut and products galore to make it look thicker. I’m trying to gain back some weight.”

“Why didn’t you tell me
then?
Was there somebody…?”

“To help? No, you’re the first person I’ve told, and maybe the only one for a while. The last thing I want is anybody to feel sorry for me. I don’t want anybody trying to be nice because they don’t want to feel guilty when I die.”

Analiese already felt this secret weighing her down. All the things she knew that might help wouldn’t, not unless Charlotte was willing to let people know she needed their support.

“Why are you telling
me?
” she asked at last.

Charlotte laughed a little, and to Analiese the sound seemed real, not a bit forced. “You mean you don’t think I need you to absolve me of all my sins?”

Analiese smiled in response. “I would, if that were in my power.”

“I know. You take your job very seriously.”

“I’m afraid it’s a serious job.”

“Especially at moments like this one.”

“Not my favorite part.”

“Do you feel burdened?”

“Who’s helping whom?”

Charlotte was quiet for a moment, as if she needed to put her words in order. “You know, if you were some kindly older man, with thirty years of ministry behind you and a beatific smile—”

“This would be easier,” Analiese finished for her.

“That’s actually not what I was going to say. No, I was going to say this would be impossible.”

“Really?”

“Here’s the truth, and I’ve given it a lot of thought. No matter our differences, I know I can trust you. And I know you’re going to give helping me your best shot. You’re going to be sensible and thorough, and you’re going to dig deeper than somebody who thinks he has all the answers at his fingertips because he’s too tired to look for more.”

“That may be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about my ministry.”

“And now you’re waiting for the punch line.”

“Something like that.”

Charlotte set her glass on the table and wiped her hands against her beige capris. “I should die more often. It makes for great repartee.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“I think you mean that.”

“I think so, too.”

Charlotte was silent again, and Analiese sat quietly.

“I said I have a lot of regrets,” Charlotte began at last. “Here’s one of my biggest. When I heard the diagnosis, in the moments right before I zoomed off to Durham? I felt such a rush of relief.” She had been looking out at the pool, but now she turned. “Even though I was terrified, I thought, ‘It will be good to die and get this over with.’”

Analiese realized her concern must have shown, because Charlotte hurried on.

“I would never, never take my own life. You have to understand that. But when I realized living a long full life was probably out of my hands? I just wanted to close my eyes and wait for the end. My grandmother used to tell me death was the last mountain we have to climb, and just before she died, she opened her eyes and looked toward the window in her bedroom as if she were viewing a miracle.”

“That must be a good memory.”

“When the doctor told me my diagnosis? I thought about that day and about the look on her face, and I found myself hoping that she hadn’t really been looking at the gates of heaven, that there really wasn’t anything waiting for any of us except eternal sleep. That’s when I realized what a loss my life has been.”

When she didn’t know what to say, Analiese knew not to say a thing. She was almost certain this was
not
the moment for reassurance, although it felt wrong not to give it.

“I have to change things,” Charlotte said at last. “I realize whatever time I’ve been given, whether it’s months or years, I can’t die knowing I’ve made so many mistakes and never tried hard enough to set them right. I realize dying’s not about what comes next, because no matter how great or poor our faith, we really can’t know what’s waiting, or at least
I
can’t. For me it’s about what came before. The impact we had. The love we gave. The hearts we left intact…” She cleared her throat, and her eyes filled with tears. “Or broken.”

“I hope you aren’t saying that you’ve done nothing important with your life until now. Because you’ve given generously in many ways.”

“Too often for the wrong reasons.” Charlotte held up her hand to stop Analiese from continuing. “I realize nothing’s that cut and dried. I’ve done things because I knew they were important and right, and sometimes they were. But I’ve done so many things that seemed right and were terribly, terribly wrong. Like moving poor Minnie off her land. And here’s how I know. When I found out I was dying, I realized there wasn’t one person in the world who would really care. That I’ve lived fifty-two years, and while some people will feel conflicted, or even a little bit sad, no one will really miss me. Not because people are cruel, but because I haven’t given them a reason to.”

Analiese would have given almost anything to be able to contradict her, but not only wasn’t that the right approach, she was afraid what Charlotte had just said was true.

Who would miss Charlotte at the Church of the Covenant? The council and committee members whose opinions she had too often ignored or overlooked? The staff who winced whenever she approached with a new list of jobs or, worse, helpful advice on how to do their present ones?

And what about the rest of Charlotte’s contacts? She was said to have an iron grip at Falconview, with an annual exodus of staff who fell out of favor or disagreed with her one time too many. She’d served on boards all over town, but despite the advantages she brought of insight, financial support and prestige, she routinely tried the patience of administrators and board members alike.

Then, of course, there was her family, who were never mentioned, despite the fact that they lived right here in Asheville.

“Why haven’t you?” Analiese asked. “Why
haven’t
you allowed anybody to get close?”

“That would take longer to tell than we have now.”

“But it sounds like you understand, at least a little?”

“I had nothing but time when I was hooked up to those IVs at Duke. Everybody should be shut up alone in a room for weeks, with nothing to do but reconsider their lives.”

“And it wouldn’t hurt to have an actual death sentence to urge them on.”

“It’s quite the motivator.”

Analiese felt for the right words. “I admire you. I admire
this
—this desire to set things right, to reevaluate, even though your life could be nearing its end. But, Charlotte, are you trying to make a bargain with God?”

“No, I think God’s better than that.”

“This is a lot to admit to, especially to someone you’ve butted heads with in the past.”

“That’s what makes you perfect, Analiese. Because if you ever had anything to lose by being honest with me, you’ve lost it already. So I think I can count on you to continue being honest, to pull me up short if I go off half-cocked, to help me live out whatever time is left in a way that won’t come back to haunt me on my deathbed. That’s what frightens me most. That one day in the not so distant future I’ll have only moments to look back on my life and nothing I’ll see will give me comfort.”

Charlotte leaned closer. “I know I’m asking a lot, more than I should. You’ve probably already guessed one thing I want to try to set right before I die.”

“Minnie? You tried to give me money for the animal shelter….”

“When I got home that night I wrote a check in her honor and sent it off, anyway. But you were right, that’s not what
she
would have done. It’s a worthy cause, and I’m glad I did it, but she would have acted in a way that mattered personally, reached out without thinking about the consequences. So I’ll be looking for more ways to do that myself. To honor her.”

Analiese took Charlotte’s hands. It felt natural, although before today she could not have imagined touching Charlotte Hale spontaneously and with affection. “Do you want me to look for ways to help?”

“I don’t think so. Not yet, anyway. I think I’ll know the right things when I see them. I just wanted someone to know what I’m feeling. And I guess I just needed to say this out loud.”

Analiese nodded, but she gripped Charlotte’s hands a little tighter and felt them soften in hers. “What else can I do?”

“Will you let me tell you about my daughter?”

Chapter Ten

First Day Journal: April 30

Each day at the park is like a human lifetime. Early in the morning everything sparkles with promise. Dew glistens on blades of grass; the sidewalks are empty pages sneakered feet have yet to write on. The air is still, as if a puff of breath from an angel’s lips is needed to set the day in motion.

As morning progresses, the park begins to waken. Birds sing on branches, and young lovers walk hand in hand. On benches like mine, coffee’s consumed, newspapers unfolded, cell phones pulled from pockets for casual conversations. Two mothers push strollers and chat. The sun peeks through the leafy canopy.

By afternoon balls whiz through the air and children shout commands. On the playground, mothers keep careful eyes on preschoolers who beg to swing higher. The climbing dome becomes a spaceship, the monkey bars an obstacle course over teeming pools of barracuda. The sun beats down on baseball caps and the open pages of books.

When evening comes, stragglers take their time departing, as if sorry to move on to other things. Some scoop up trash and toss it in bins. Others scuff feet in newly planted grass, as if making sure to leave their mark. Darkness is kept at bay by strategically placed lights.

In this way only is a day at the park different from a lifetime. No one and nothing can keep our darkness at bay, no matter how hard we try. I learned this in the hospital from a woman named Gwen, a powerful and uninvited lesson that haunts every step I take.

It’s morning now, and I’ve been waiting an hour. Maddie isn’t here, although she often comes to the park on Saturdays. I wonder how many friends she has. Are other children frightened of her seizures? Do they shun her to avoid the possibility of witnessing one?

Edna is here with her mother, who is typing on her laptop from a bench closer to the jungle gym. Her mother’s name is Samantha, and I came here for days before I realized exactly who she was. I knew her when she was a teenager. That this eluded me so long is a surprise, because Samantha is striking enough that even more than a decade later, I should have known her immediately.

In fairness to me, the girl I knew always carried herself as if she was spoiling for a fight. The woman smiles and moves with extraordinary grace. She laughs easily and clearly adores her daughter. She doesn’t seem to be watching Edna and her friends, but I know from watching her that she’s always aware. The transformation is so complete that I wonder what brought it about.