Anna rested her head on PJ’s shoulder.
“You know what I do remember, though? Everything about that night. Those…I don’t know, fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes burned into my skull forever.”
Anna wrapped her arms around him and drew closer, her chin on his shoulder, nuzzling his neck.
“I know,” she said.
PJ continued to rub his hands back and forth over his pants legs, the friction warming his thighs.
“Beer and cigarette breath. Wheezy smoker’s laugh. Crucifix tattoo on his wrist. The—”
PJ’s throat caught again. He cleared it, wringing his hands as he continued, his voice low and shaky.
“Blood running down my leg into my boot. How it got all sticky when I forgot about it. Washing it off in the creek by the exit 295 rest stop. Trying to—”
Reaching up with both hands, PJ took hold of Anna’s forearm. Laying his head against hers, he closed his eyes.
“It’s so fucked up,” he said. “I should remember my dad instead.”
Anna sighed, her breath warm on his wrist. She kissed his fingers.
“You’re too hard on yourself.”
PJ opened his eyes. A thin fog rolled up Gannett’s east face and dissolved over their heads.
“I don’t know how to stop thinking about it. Or how to stop feeling guilty. I mean…what the hell is that?”
Anna rose and climbed over PJ’s legs and sat facing him on his lap, wrapping her legs around his back. She threw her arms over his shoulders, locking her hands behind his neck. Their climbing hardware rattled together as they settled into each other’s arms.
“You know what I think,” Anna said.
PJ studied her expression, his hopeful gaze turning to a frown.
“What? Hackett? No, I can’t—”
“I know. I know. But I can’t—” Anna paused, glancing over PJ’s shoulder as she gathered her thoughts. “It might help. You told me once you could never forgive your mother for what she did. Do you remember that?”
PJ sighed.
“Yeah.”
“And wasn’t it better to let that go?”
PJ closed his eyes and nodded forward, resting his forehead on Anna’s chest as she went on.
“Whatever you did—or think you did—that you can’t forgive yourself for, you need to find a way. And whether or not you want to believe it, PJ, he went through the same kind of shit. I’d be willing to bet he’s still struggling with it all too.”
PJ was silent.
“And he brought you back to me,” Anna said, her eyes welling with tears. “That horrible night when I thought you were—”
Anna choked and was unable to finish. She hugged him and set her chin on top of his head, staring into the distance as they slowly rocked together on the edge of the boulder.
“I prayed so hard for you, PJ. That something wouldn’t let you give up.”
She drew a deep breath, letting it go with a cleansing sigh.
“And it worked.”
She kissed him on the head and leaned back, lifting his chin to look him in the eyes.
“What do you say to that?”
PJ wiped his nose with the sleeve of his jacket. He engaged her in a lingering gaze, his hands around her waist, gripping a pair of carabineers on the back of her harness. The corners of his mouth rose.
“Thanks.”
Anna nodded.
“You’re welcome. Promise me you’ll think about it.”
From PJ, a subtle nod. Anna smiled.
“Good.”
Pushing off on PJ’s shoulders, Anna got to her feet and resumed her position behind him on the boulder, pointing to the cups of snow beside them as she sat.
“So… as you were.”
PJ chuckled under his breath and took their canteens from their packs, holding them up for approval.
“Red or white?”
“Mmm, I don’t know. What goes with gorp?”
PJ studied the fluorescent mixtures, unscrewing and sniffing the caps before slipping the cherry Kool-Aid back into his pack.
“Tang. Definitely.”
PJ set their cups in front of him and as he began to pour, Anna reached behind her.
“Let me have yours,” she said. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
PJ closed the canteen and set it down.
“I’m getting that bad feeling again.”
Anna shook her hand with impatience. Warily, he handed her the cup.
Quickly unzipping the inside pocket of his jacket, PJ reached in and pulled out a ring. A round diamond set on a simple band. He looked at it, turning its facets in the sun, his hand trembling. He pushed the band into her snow cone, leaving the diamond proud. Anna slid his cup back to him across the boulder.
“Happy birthday, old man.” PJ turned and picked up his snow cone, a lit birthday candle standing in its center. “Make a wish.”
He glanced at the photo beside them and then looked down the mountain, finding the thin, meandering line of their tracks across the Dinwoody Glacier.
He smiled.
###
from the author
Stephen King, in his elegantly inspiring book, On Writing, likens the process of novel writing to the unearthing of a fossil. The story is already there, waiting to be discovered, and the writer’s job is to carefully excavate it with his or her collection of tools, (grammar, style, voice, etc.) leaving the whole largely intact. I like this analogy, as it accurately describes the development of The Ascent of PJ Marshall.
The first several drafts—products of working with dull or rusted tools ill-suited for the task—resulted in little more than blistered and bloody hands, the topsoil covering my fossil barely dented. But I knew it was down there. And so, inspired by the many brilliant writers who have gone before me, encouraged and supported by my team of beta readers and propped up on countless late nights by enormous volumes of coffee, I gradually honed the appropriate tools, discarding those that produced nothing but smashed thumbs.
My excavation of The Ascent of PJ Marshall has been a life-changing experience, and I have loved every mud-caked, raw-knuckled moment. I sincerely hope you enjoyed what I have dug up here. If so, and you know someone else who might enjoy this book, I would be eternally grateful for the recommendation. Reviews are always welcome as well, and encouraged. Likewise, if you feel I’ve mangled a perfectly good T.Rex or that I should have just left the damn thing in the ground altogether, let me know that as well. Visit me at www.bjandersonauthor.com or drop me a line at [email protected].
Thanks for reading!
about the author
Brian Anderson lives in Prairie du Sac, Wisconsin with his wife Elizabeth. They have two children, Alec and Isabelle, and two inseparable canines, Truman and Winston.
This is his first novel.
Also by Brian J. Anderson:
Ghosts of Florence Pass
For exclusive access to Brian J. Anderson's latest work in progress, along with information about author promotions, giveaways and contests, visit bjandersonauthor.com.
The Ascent of PJ Marshall Page 31