One Mountain Away (47 page)

Georgia looked thoughtful. “You laid yourself bare in your letter, Charlotte. It couldn’t have been easy. And I can’t think of a single reason why you did it, other than hoping to fix an old mistake.”

Charlotte smiled. “And I bet you’ve tried.”

“It’s kept me awake at night.” Georgia took a sip of her club soda. Then she stood. “Go back to bed. You need to rest and take care of yourself.”

Charlotte stood, too. “Right now that’s about all I’m good at.”

Georgia hesitated, then she reached out and embraced Charlotte. Quickly, firmly, before she stepped back. “I’m praying for you.”

“That’s even better than a letter of recommendation.”

“And every bit as successful, I hope.” Another genuine Georgia smile, and then she was gone.

Charlotte listened to the front door close and thought one of her own prayers had just been answered.

Chapter Forty-One

First Day Journal: July 2

My grandmother once told me there were two things I would need to live a good life. The first was courage, and the second was fear. Now I see I’ll also need them to die a good death. Courage to meet the end, realizing my death will make room so new seeds can be planted. Fear that encourages me to make my life ready for the harvest.

I wish I could hold my own granddaughter just once and tell her I’ve loved her since that moment ten years ago when I stood in a hospital hallway and wished she didn’t have to suffer so terribly.

Chapter Forty-Two

EARLY IN HER treatment Charlotte had demanded that Phil Granger not fall back on platitudes. They had known each other long enough that he hadn’t quibbled. When he’d recommended the newest cycle of chemo, he had told her the truth. It could take months before they knew if the treatment was helping. But she might not have months.

Now, almost a week since the first cycle had ended, she was beginning to feel better. Objectively she knew that was probably the side effects wearing off, most notably the nausea. She had been warned that in the next week her white cell count could drop to its lowest point, but for the time being, she was making the best use of her time.

She was just getting out of bed when Ethan came in to make sure she didn’t need anything before he dressed to go back to his house. Earlier, before he’d gone to forage for his own breakfast, he had brought her tea and toast, both of which she had managed to finish; then he’d sat on the edge of the bed as she sipped, discussing whether he should set up a temporary workshop on the patio or in her garage. She’d insisted he could work in his real workshop and she would call if she needed him, but Ethan had refused.

“I like being here with you.” He’d lifted her chin, the way he used to when they were much younger, and kissed her gently. “I don’t want to miss a moment.”

Now, when he saw she was watching him, he stretched, throwing back his broad shoulders, and smiled. “I just got off the phone. We have somebody interested in another unit at the factory.”

“That’s fantastic. I can’t wait to see what you’ve done in person.”

“Just as soon as you feel up to a field trip.”

“Got a minute?”

He came over to the bed and sat. “What for?”

She slipped her arms around his neck and pulled him close for a kiss. “Actually, my idea might take more than a minute.”

He pushed her hair off her face and looked into her eyes. He saw the invitation. “You’re not feeling
that
good, are you?”

“I feel like a woman in love, but…” She sighed. “I’m not the greatest bargain out there, Ethan. I’ve looked in the mirror.” Charlotte knew she was drawn and gaunt, and without her hairdresser’s attentions her hair looked as thin as it really was. Her scalp was visible, and she had dark circles under her eyes.

Ethan rubbed his cheek against hers. “You’re always beautiful to me, but I don’t want to hurt you, Lulu.”

“I think we’re through hurting each other.”

He lowered himself to the bed beside her. “Do you remember making love just a week before Taylor was born?”

“We didn’t.” She tilted her head. “Did we?”

“It was an exercise in poor judgment. We had to be creative. Very creative. You were huge.”

She laughed a little. “It’s coming back to me now.”

She slid over so he could stretch out beside her. He turned on his side, and his hand brushed the top button of her nightgown. “I remember telling you that you could stop me any time, that if I hurt you, or you changed your mind—”

“Or went into labor…”

“That, too.” He slowly unbuttoned the top button, then the next. “I told you to tell me to stop and I would….”

“I don’t remember putting that to the test.”

He leaned down and kissed her, slowly, tenderly. Thoroughly.

“I’ll make the same promise now,” he said.

“With the same results.”

* * *

Charlotte was lounging by the swimming pool later that morning when Harmony came outside, followed closely by Analiese.

“Reverend Ana.” Charlotte started to stand, but Analiese waved her back into her chair. Since she was supposed to avoid the sun, Ethan had pulled a lounge chair into the shadows and settled her there before he’d left an hour ago. A warm, flower-scented breeze had nearly lulled her to sleep.

Harmony shaded her eyes and looked in the direction of the sun, as if gauging the time, although more likely she was gauging the etiquette of abandoning Charlotte. “I think this might be a good time to shop for groceries, if that’s all right?”

“Reverend Ana will keep me company, and Ethan’s coming back in a little while.”

“Ethan?” Analiese asked after Harmony left.

Charlotte smiled at her. “He moved in.”

“Well. Wow.”

“Spoken like a theologian.”

“Appreciation for the mystery of life is part of every theology.”

“As well it should be.” Charlotte motioned her into a chair. “Drinks and snacks are in the cooler on the table. Harmony and Ethan are determined to fatten me up. This morning Harmony made a special juice blend that I swear will kill or cure me. Beets, carrots, kale, wheatgrass—whatever that is. You’re welcome to sample. In fact I beg you to drink it.”

Before she sat, Analiese peeked in the cooler and screwed up her face in distaste. “Too bad I had an early lunch.”

“For both of us.”

Analiese kicked off her sandals. She’d been carrying something Charlotte had mistaken for a straw purse, but now she saw it was more like a market basket, flat on the bottom, open at the top.

Charlotte closed her eyes for a moment. “It’s perfect out here, isn’t it? I might just spend the whole day in this lounge chair.”

“You look happy, Charlotte.”

“I’ve been given that rarest of commodities.”

“A major illness? Unfortunately, not so rare.”

“A second chance.”

“Ethan,” Analiese said.

“He told me the two of you talked. On the mountain.”

Analiese was no longer smiling. “Finding out you were sick was difficult for him, Charlotte. Finding out he really cared was more so.”

“Thank you for helping him. Thank you for helping
me
.”

“In that spirit?” Analiese pulled the bag toward her, then she lifted a green plastic pot out of the depths. Inside it a fuzzy stalk with familiar-looking lobed leaves sprouted out of dark soil. “This is for you.”

Charlotte might not have used her gardening skills since leaving home, but she hadn’t forgotten most of what she’d known. “A tomato plant?”

“Not just any tomato plant. A miracle.”

Analiese got up, put the pot into Charlotte’s hands and closed her own hands over Charlotte’s for a moment. “That day I ran into Ethan up at the old farmhouse, I got there first. I’d decided to look around a little before I went inside, and while I was wandering, a car drove up. It turned out to be the young couple who were your last renters, the ones who’d just moved out before you showed me the place.”

“What were they doing?”

“When they moved in originally, the previous renter told them to pay attention in late spring, because they would see tomato plants coming up where tomatoes had been planted the year before. He said they should dig up the healthiest and plant them in rows in a different part of the plot. He said they would be amazed at what they had by summer’s end. So they did, and they got tomato plants so tall they had to keep finding new and better ways to stake them. One year they had to resort to stepladders with bamboo poles between them.”

“My grandmother’s tomato trees. I can’t believe they…” Charlotte shook her head. For a moment she didn’t trust herself to speak as memories assailed her. Her grandmother gently bending the tall plants toward her to pick the tomatoes at the top. Her grandmother in the kitchen at the woodstove placing quart jars of tomatoes in a water bath canner to preserve them.

Memories of her grandmother, who had always put Charlotte first, who had always loved her.

“I couldn’t believe it, either,” Analiese said, “but the young man explained. Seems these aren’t hybrid plants, so they have exceptional vigor, and they’re true to type from generation to generation. After you left home, maybe your father raised a few for something to eat, or maybe a neighbor came and got some, then brought a new generation back as a housewarming gift when you rented out the house.”

Charlotte could see that happening. During her childhood neighbors had always shared plants. She was sure her grandmother had passed on the tomato trees to others, as swaps or gifts. And the first person Ethan had rented the farm to after Hearty died had been the brother of their neighbor, Bill Johnston. Bill had probably shared the seedlings with his brother.

“So renter told renter,” Charlotte said.

“The renters who just moved out took a few plants with them when they left, but they were so busy unpacking and fixing up their new house, they didn’t get them in the ground in time, and they died. They came back up the mountain hoping to find more in the garden. After they left with a couple, I made sure a dozen of the leftovers were in a nice straight row in the garden, to continue the tradition.”

“And this is one of them.” Charlotte caressed the pot. “I thought these plants were lost. Such a wonderful thing, gone forever.”

“The seeds remained. I bet this plant and everything it stands for will continue to be passed down for generations.”

“Because somebody along the way nurtured the seeds and protected them.”

“The way we nurture and protect our memories of people who lived before us. The good they did? Like those seeds of your grandmother’s, it doesn’t die. It’s passed from person to person. It lives on in other forms, in other places, but the essence of what it was at the beginning never changes.”

“You can’t tell a story that doesn’t ring with meaning, can you?”

“I would lose my job if I tried.”

Charlotte hugged the plant to her chest and reached over to take Analiese’s hand. “Not if I had anything to say about it.”

* * *

Ethan’s car was parked in his driveway when Taylor passed on the way home from a morning yoga class, a sulky Maddie in the passenger’s seat. Maddie hadn’t been happy to be dragged out of bed to wait at the studio, and she hadn’t kept her feelings to herself. Now she was the one who spotted Ethan’s car and told her mother to stop.

When the front door opened and Ethan stepped outside to his porch, Taylor realized she had little choice. Her father had probably noticed their car, and Maddie was already rolling down her window to call to him. She wished she had chosen a different way home.

Taylor parked at the curb and waited until Maddie jumped out to greet her grandfather before she opened her own door to follow.

Maddie had quickly launched into an explanation of where they’d been and what they’d been doing, and Ethan was listening patiently.

“I didn’t even have time to eat anything except an apple for breakfast,” Maddie finished. “And I’m starving.”

“Because you didn’t want to get out of bed when I called you,” Taylor said. Then she turned to Ethan. “We have a bunch of errands to do this afternoon, so I’m taking her home for lunch first.”

Maddie was pouting. “We could have eaten out.”

“You’re paying?” Taylor asked. “Out of your allowance?”

“You left some things here the last time you were over,” Ethan told Maddie. “Why don’t you run in and check your bedroom closet? I can’t even remember what I stuck in there.”

“Can I get a glass of orange juice before I drop dead of starvation?”

“May I?” Taylor corrected.

Maddie’s eyes narrowed. “You need one, too?”

“Scoot,” Ethan said, pointing. “And make sure you get everything.” He waited until Maddie was gone. “That’s some mood she’s in.”

“She got on a different schedule when she was at Jeremy’s. He and Willow are up late at night and sleep late, too. Maddie doesn’t want to give that up, and she’s not happy I’ve made her.” She waited, and when he didn’t speak, she added some real news. “I called him last night, and we had a long conversation.”

Taylor was used to her father hanging on her every word—or something close to it—but while Ethan was listening, he still seemed preoccupied.

Epiphanies happen at odd moments. Yoga was one way of seeking enlightenment, but Taylor knew no matter what she engaged in, the higher spiritual mind was a part of who she was. Sometimes that part made itself known whether she felt ready or not.

In a moment of clarity she saw how important Ethan’s approval—no, not simply approval, his
adoration
—had become to her through the years. They’d been a team since the moment she walked out of her childhood home. She had counted on him for counsel, for strength, for companionship. But he was the only member of the team who had done any giving. She had unabashedly taken. And she had never worried about that unequal balance, or what it might be doing to either of them.

She had separated from her mother, not as a teenager should, gradually and gently, but with an irreparable rift.