On the Mountain (Follow your Bliss #5)

by Riordan Hall, Deirdre

  Baskia shot him a quick frown. “No, a friend and I did the renovations. See, I even spilled a little paint on the wood over there.” She shrugged. “It’s not perfect, but—” Baskia wore a self-satisfied grin as she swept out of the room, grabbed a bottle of wine, and left the guys to catch up.

  Instead, Trace stopped her at the top of the stairs and backed her toward the master bedroom. “Where were we?” he asked quietly.

  She leaned in close. She smelled mint and laughter. “I’m sorry. She ruined my mood, and you’re not doing it any favors either.”

  “You and that chick?” Trace raised an eyebrow, apparently ignoring her dig at him.

  “I’d hardly call her a chick. Maybe stuck-up, kiss-up, bore, but not that.”

  “I can’t imagine you being friends with her. She’s like a delicate flower.”

  “And I can’t imagine you and my brother as bros,” she said, her voice dripping with hostility. “What’s with calling him Three?”

  “Three. Third. William Benedict the Third. College thing.”

  “Oh yeah, I forgot you were educated.”

  “I’m well-educated and not just in things you can learn in a classroom.” Trace put his hand on the small of her back, pulling her hips toward his. “So where am I going to sleep?”

  It was Baskia’s turn to smirk. “We’ll see how well you behave.” She went to the kitchen and uncorked the bottle, remembering how she was going to celebrate sober, contemplative, ready to move into the new year like a boss, but the arrival of guests prompted a change of plans that could only be managed with wine.

  A few minutes later, Will entered the room sans Mellie. “It’s great to be back here.”

  “I’ve taken to calling it home,” Baskia said smugly.

  “I can see that.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

  “Notwithstanding your surprise at our arrival, you seem mellower.” He grinned at her, the unasked question about her and Trace visible in his eyes.

  She poured herself a glass of red. “Mellow like wine?”

  “Don’t be like that.”

  “Like what?” Baskia shot back.

  “How you usually are.”

  “You don’t like me?”

  “Yes, of course I do. I love you. I’m your brother. I was just saying you seem more relaxed, happier since you’ve been up here. I took bets that you’d be back in Manhattan within twenty-four hours. But it’s impressed me that you’ve dug out a life up here, literally,” he said, glancing out the window at the heaps of snow. “But suddenly you’re reverting to the old you.”

  “And who’s that?” she asked rhetorically, because of course she knew exactly what he meant. It was the same girl she tried so desperately to distance herself from, but with uncertainty about who she should become, she felt stuck somewhere in-between. “If I wanted a psychological evaluation, I’m sure one of mother’s friends could connect me with someone more qualified.”

  Will reached for her arm. “I know what this is about. Please don’t be mad at Mellie. She isn’t the one trying to make you into someone you’re not. And if the girl who you were isn’t who you are today, she’ll be the first person to tell you that’s okay.”

  Baskia’s mouth fell open. “I’m not looking to be told I’m okay. You have nerve. Siding with the two of them.”

  “Mom and Mellie are not in league. She just needed a mother figure after she lost her own. Like it or not, mom was the closest person. It wasn’t like you came running back.”

  “Well, Mom never exactly doted on me, and I was working—” Baskia blurted.

  “I know,” Will said and pulled her into a brotherly hug. “I know.”

  Baskia wanted to cry, but held back, afraid to ruin her eyeliner.

  Just then, Mellie and Trace entered the room from opposite directions.

  “Let’s have a toast,” Will said, pouring everyone a glass of wine. “I forgot the Benedict wine collection was up here. Well, part of it. Did you hear about the place they’re thinking of buying in Italy, a little villa with Aunt Bea and Uncle Henry. I doubt that would work; they can’t stand each other for longer than lunch. Stunning, with fountains, a lush garden…I say you take up residence there the next time you decide to relocate,” Will said good-naturedly. He raised his glass then passed a glass to Mellie.

  Baskia caught his look that told her to play nice.

  She raised her half-drained glass, and he refilled it.

  The group relocated to the living room, Baskia taking her usual spot on the couch. Trace tossed a log on the fire and then lowered himself next to her, almost protectively. She wondered if he could save her from the emotions that repeatedly rose and fell that evening, first with his arrival, then her brother, and then with the baggage Mellie brought.

  “It’s almost a new year, let’s reflect on the twelve months behind us. ‘With mirth and laughter, let old wrinkles come,’” Will said in a regal tone.

  “Shakespeare,” Baskia said, not hesitating. She chortled at the memory of another game she and her brother used to play: guess-the-speaker-of-the-famous-quote. Or GSFQ “We must have been the envy of our peers with their hand-held devices,” she said sarcastically. In response to the question on Trace’s face, she added, “It’s a game Will and I used to play.”

  “Recite a quote and everyone else has to guess who said it. I was thinking of one that sums up the year for me. I learned to laugh more.”

  “That’s lucky for us,” Trace said. “Recovering from senior slump?”

  “Something like that.”

  Baskia caught Will chancing a look at Mellie who hadn’t moved an inch during the conversation.

  “I’ve got one,” Trace said. “‘There is the heat of love, the pulsing rush of longing, the lover’s whisper, irresistible, magic to make the sanest man go mad.’”

  Will clapped his hand on Trace’s shoulder. “You’ve been struck, huh?”

  “Homer. The Iliad,” Baskia said, eyeing the book tucked in the basket by the couch.

  “Well done, little sister. I didn’t know you were a fan of the Classics.”

  Baskia smirked.

  “Mellie, do you have one?” Will asked.

  She cleared her throat. “’Grief does not change you…it reveals you.’” She looked out the window, but then snapped her gaze in Baskia’s direction as if she wanted to say more.

  Everyone was silent, the fire burning away the unspoken words of the last twelve months.

  “I don’t know. Anyone else have a guess?” Will asked.

  Trace and Baskia shook their heads.

  “It was from a book by John Green. This year for me was one of transformation. I’m not who I was, and I’m not sorry either.” She held Baskia’s gaze.

  “I’ll toast to that,” Will said, ignoring the tension.

  “’Let her dream, for when she wakes, she will move mountains,’” Baskia said.

  Again, silence until Trace said, “I like that one.”

  “Me too. It’s anonymous. I saw it on a mug,” she said, thinking fondly of Wes. Mellie wasn’t the only one who’d welcomed change without apology nor was she the only one tormented by grief.

  “And let’s toast to new beginnings,” Baskia said, turning up music to draw the mood in the room back to one of celebration.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Not long after Baskia had set out some of the appetizers she had on hand from Christmas, headlights flashed through the windows facing the driveway.

  “Expecting more company?” Trace asked, his expression, as ever, on the edge of laughter.

  She wondered what it would be like if everything in the world was amusing.

  Peering out the window, she spotted Wes’s pickup, along with another car. He’d hardly mentioned friends. Curiosity brought her out into the cold night. She stood on the front porch, her sparkly shoes brilliant against the snowy path. Wes slunk out of his truck. Two figures exited the car. Out of context, it took Bask
ia a moment to place them.

  “London?” she called across the frozen expanse, incredulous.

  “If it weren’t for this mountain man, we never would have made it up,” she said in a throaty voice.

  Baskia bristled, looking at him apologetically. Although, he hadn’t shaved in a few days making him fit the profile of a rugged mountain man.

  “I found them trying to get up the second hill there. They said they’re friends of yours.”

  “If I’d known we were going to Siberia, I would have packed appropriately,” Carlito said, extracting himself from the car.

  “Reminds me of home,” Nels said, taking a deep breath, his arms outstretched.

  “Uh, let’s go inside,” Baskia said, shivering.

  The cabin was cozy. Will and Trace laughed about an old dorm story as they caught up, but the fire did nothing to warm the chill that had come over Baskia at the sight of five of her old friends from the City, accompanied by Wes.

  “I thought you said you weren’t expecting company?” Trace said quietly, as he stood to meet the new arrivals.

  “I’d planned a quiet night alone, thank you very much,” she sniped back.

  “What do we have here?” London asked, looking from Baskia to Trace.

  “I thought maybe the mountain man over there was the reason for your disappearance, but now I see I was mistaken. Well done.” She trailed her bony fingers down Trace’s chest. He grimaced.

  Carlito nodded in agreement.

  Will shot Baskia a look. Whether he wondered about London’s comment about the two of them together or just disapproved of London herself, she wasn’t sure.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce us? Oh, I recognize you,” London said distastefully to Mellie. “You must be the brother.” She pointed at Will.

  He slid closer to Mellie, prompting Baskia to shoot him a look of accusation. She drew a deep breath as her worlds collided. “Everyone, this is my brother Will, my childhood friend Mellie, Trace, and Wes, my neighbor. And this is Kate London, Nels, Carlito, Ali, and Gigi. What brings you here?” she asked London.

  “I should ask you the same thing,” London retorted, looking around at the rustic, yet posh cabin. “I wanted to see if the rumors were true.”

  “What rumors?”

  “Don’t look so surprised. You knew there’d be talk the moment you left town. I just wondered if it was a PR tactic; trying to make yourself more valuable through being scarce or if you were just jealous of my coming up while you were going down.”

  By the sallow contours in her face, the twitchiness of her movements, and the debt in her voice, it was evident she hadn’t eased up on drugs either. The person who stood before Baskia was Kate London amplified and warped by substances, alcohol, lack of sleep, and a distorted sense of self. How’s that for a psych-evaluation, she thought smugly.

  “Classy, London,” Baskia said.

  “That’s my specialty,” she answered, evidently not noticing Baskia’s sarcasm.

  “I’d say your specialty is walking all over people, so if that’s how you define classy, I suggest you reference a dictionary.”

  “Oh, don’t go all self-righteous on me. You didn’t pull out your sophisticated crap when you came slumming.”

  “Once upon a time, a girl named Kate London aspired to be sophisticated, there’s no denying it. But I see you’ve come down in the world,” Baskia said bitingly.

  “From where I stand, you have a much longer way to fall. And when you land, it’s going to hurt a lot worse than it ever would for me.” London spoke the words as if she didn’t quite believe them. She wore the truth on her face, in her frizzy hair, the dark circles under her eyes, and the invisible yearning that tugged on her skin, craving a fix.

  “Why don’t you show me to the ladies room?”

  Baskia pointed to the door, not moving an inch. Nels followed her, but she shut the door before he could enter.

  “We tried to stop her,” Gigi said.

  “There’s no stopping a train wreck,” Carlito added. “No, we’re curious—I mean cautious.”

  “If she thinks she came here to ruin you, she’s mistaken,” Ali said. “I thought I’d run interference.”

  Gigi looked confused.

  Carlito looked bored.

  Baskia looked pissed. “Well, you didn’t do a very good job. If you must know I came up here—”

  Before she could finish, London exited the bathroom. She sniffed once, and all eyes landed on her, the way she liked it. But her strut faltered.

  Baskia took a sip of wine. For the sake of the rest of her guests, she remained silent, choosing to take the high road, at least for the time being. The hum of one song changing and another beginning cut through the quiet.

  “Are you planning on staying the night?” Baskia asked everyone except London, hoping to either smooth things over or get rid of them; though she did worry about them trying to drive back.

  “If by night you mean are we going to sleep? No. We’re going to party,” London hooted, popping the cork on the bottle of champagne Gigi brought in. They cheered. “Glasses,” London ordered.

  Will brought another bottle of wine up from the basement. Ali pumped up the music. Carlito moved a table and other furnishings out of the way, and he and Gigi started dancing. Wes stood in the corner of the room watching with a mixture of fascination and dismay that bowed his lips into a frown. Baskia stood up to bring him over to the couch, but Ali asked him to dance with her. His eyes widened, stricken.

  Nels tried to pull London over to dance, but she jerked her arm away, making a beeline for Trace. Baskia tossed back the rest of her wine and stalked over to them.

  “—You look like a fun time. Want to join me in the bathroom?” London asked him before she realized Baskia stood behind her. “Do you want some?” London asked, pointedly when she saw Baskia. “Or wait, did you stop partying because you thought you were too good for the rest of us?”

  Trace stepped backward. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not interested.” He nodded with a faux geniality.

  London shrugged. “More for me.”

  Trace went to the kitchen, helping himself to another glass of wine, leaving the two of them standing eye to eye, as if ready to face off.

  “About that,” Baskia said, hanging on to sobriety for another moment, “have you thought about not—” but she didn’t get to finish and ask if London needed help or if she’d think about laying off the drugs.

  “This is my favorite song,” London screeched as a fast dance beat came through the speakers.

  Baskia sighed. If London didn’t care, she wondered if she should. Trace brought her a fresh glass of wine and took her by the hand toward the dark hallway. As she turned, she spotted Will and Mellie talking closely.

  “Are you okay?” Trace asked.

  Baskia leaned against the wall. Her feet, shod in the sparkling heels that should have made her want to dance, had started to hurt. “Nice of you to ask.” She scowled.

  “Don’t be that way.”

  “Why is everyone telling me not to be a certain way? I’m just being me. I’m not sorry if you don’t like it,” Baskia said, echoing Mellie’s sentiment from earlier.

  “No, you’re right. I like you the way you are. It just seems like your worlds collided tonight.”

  Baskia looked at him carefully in the dim light. His eyes held more depth than she’d ever noticed in a man she’d been intimate with. He looked at her tenderly, yet hungrily, like he wanted to take care of her and like he desired nothing but her. For a moment, the music went quiet and a voice inside promised an answer to the question that Trace had written, What do you want? Before she could follow the thread, London’s cackle issued from the living room. The moment was lost. “Yeah, you can say that my worlds collided. Let’s hope for a supernova. Come on, let’s dance.”

  As the night melted away, Baskia plunged into the kind of drunkenness that comes from champagne, tequila, wine, and whisky. Carlito played barten
der after finding the liquor cabinet. Baskia danced on the table, London joining her as if it were old times. For those moments, Baskia didn’t care that months and animosity stretched taut between them, or that her old friend had shed so much of herself, while Baskia inched closer to growing up and knowing who she was.

  Gigi bounced beside Ali. Wes, despite appearances, was a good dancer. She’d noticed a beer in his hand and slipped the keys to his truck into a drawer. Trace kept close to her. When Mellie, exhausted from dancing, plopped on the couch, Wes joined her. Nels struggled to get cell reception while Carlito danced to his own rhythm.

  When London found the bathroom door closed, she plucked the Iliad from the book basket, and spread thin lines on the cover. Baskia dove over an armchair. With a heaving gust, she blew it, like the powdery snow outside, sprinkling across the room.

  London screeched. “What the hell did you do that for?”

  “You’ve had enough. You’ve been in the bathroom nine times. You’re going to kill yourself.”

  “And what do you care? When have you ever cared about me?”

  Baskia searched London’s face, but Baskia could tell she was gone. London’s hyper-focused eyes didn’t actually see anything. Her body spasmed and moved involuntarily, and the words that hissed from her tongue were not her own. Or perhaps they were pulled from a conversation she should have had long ago, if she’d been able.

  “I’m not your mother, Kate.”

  “Then don’t act like her.”

  “I’m sure we can both agree that I’m not. I’m being a friend.”

  “You think you’re so great, everything you do is so important, and you can just leave me behind.”

  “Your mother is dead,” Baskia said, flinching at the harsh, but necessary words.

  The music, on shuffle, went silent.

  Just then Mellie appeared, tears already running down her cheeks. Baskia wanted to take the words back, but they needed to be said, though not to Mellie.

  London’s lips pulled into a thin line. She snarled.

  In a flicker, Baskia clearly saw the juxtaposition in her own character represented by her two friends. Both parts of herself stood before her: Mellie, the good girl, intelligent, kind, the picture of wealth and class, but with a piece missing from her heart. And London, fierce and brazen, ambitious and adventurous, headstrong and selfish, but on the edge of losing herself entirely. The very treasure Baskia fled to the cabin to save and restore. As she looked from girl to girl, she realized she had to reconcile the disparate parts of herself. The hint of finding union within sifted through the silt of doubt in her thoughts and the alcohol in her blood.