Another program Eliza felt better about had a wait list of several months, which obviously wouldn’t do for Gina’s immediate needs, though it couldn’t hurt to get her name on the list assuming she decided to come back. Insurance for the future, perhaps?
Henry had a promising conversation with his uncle, who had an old friend who ran Hazelwood Therapy, a posh, privately funded rehab center in the suburbs of Raleigh. He was waiting to hear back about availability, but Eliza felt that in the end, it wouldn’t matter even if there was a bed available. She would never be able to afford a residential program of that caliber.
She sighed and rubbed her temples with the heels of her hands. She was beginning to doubt that anything was going to work out. When Henry’s cell phone rang, they all jumped. He glanced at his phone and gave Eliza a slight nod. It was his uncle returning his call. He excused himself to the front porch to answer.
Eliza sat impatiently in the living room, picking at her nails. It was a nervous habit, one she thought she’d overcome, but as she looked at the mangled mess that graced the ends of her fingers, she realized it was clearly still an issue. She sighed and glanced at Barbara, who sat benignly at the kitchen table, folding a load of clean towels.
“Barbara, give me something to do. If I have to sit here waiting for something to happen for one minute longer, I’m liable to pick my fingernails off.”
Barbara smiled. “Here, take these towels down to the linen closet in between the kids’ bedrooms.”
Eliza took the towels and headed down the hall. She paused to look at the rows and rows of family pictures Barbara had crammed into every square inch of available wall space in the hallway. Most of the pictures were of Barbara’s own three children, but scattered amongst the more recent snapshots, Eliza recognized a photo of her father and Barbara as children.
Her father looked to be about ten, Barbara a few years younger. They were standing in front of a swimming pool, their lanky arms tangled around each other’s necks and childish grins gazing out from squinted, sun-kissed faces. Right beside it hung another photo of Eliza’s family when she was just a baby. Her parents sat on a park bench with four-year-old Gina between them and baby Eliza squished contentedly on her mother’s hip. Of course, she had no recollection of the photo, but she did remember how happy they’d been before her dad had gotten sick.
She often wondered how different her life might have turned out had her dad never had cancer, had her mom not spiraled into such a debilitating depression. She took a deep breath and shook the thought away. There was no sense in feeling sorry over her past.
“Is that you there?”
Eliza jumped. She hadn’t heard Henry approach her. “Yes.” Henry was pointing at the picture of her family sitting together in the park. “And that’s Gina right there.” She pointed to her sister.
“Your red hair came from your dad,” Henry said. “And those eyes too.”
“I was young when he first started chemotherapy for his cancer. Maybe seven or eight years old. I remember being so devastated when his hair started falling out. The red hair was kind of our thing, you know? I told him once I was going to grow my hair out extra long so I could cut it and have a wig made just for him.”
“He was sick for a long time, then,” Henry said. “He died when you were eleven?”
“He went into remission once, but it didn’t even last a year. We found out the cancer was back just after my eleventh birthday. He only lived a couple more months.”
“I’m sorry, Eliza,” Henry said gently.
“It was a long time ago.” She turned and walked to the linen closet, where she hastily stacked the towels on an empty shelf. “What did you find out from your uncle? Good news?”
Henry smiled. “Yes, as a matter of fact, very good news.”
They rejoined Barbara in the living room.
“My uncle put me in touch directly with his friend, who is the director of Hazelwood. They do have availability and would be happy to see Gina admitted. Of course, this place is wildly expensive. But they have some scholarship funding. We can thank my uncle for this one. The director said he owed a favor to my uncle, and he’d be happy to help work something out.”
“What does that mean? There might be money available for Gina?”
“He made it sound very promising. But there’s a catch. Scholarship funds can’t just go to anyone. They don’t, for example, want to fund rehabilitation for someone family members bring in kicking and screaming all the way. Scholarship funds are for those serious about succeeding at Hazelwood. Patients must go willingly and commit to making their very best effort at succeeding in their treatment.”
Eliza’s face fell. “That’s not Gina.”
“What if it is me?”
Everyone turned at the sound of Gina’s voice. She stood in the living room entry just off the foyer. No one had heard her come in the front door. Eliza stood and took a few steps toward her sister.
“It’s a good place, Gina. Much nicer than the last one you tried.” Eliza tried to keep her voice steady in an effort to mask the emotion bubbling inside. It almost seemed too good to be true. Gina had come back. She was there, so close to saying yes. “Will you go?”
Gina looked over Eliza’s shoulder at Henry. “Who’s he?”
“This is my friend Henry. We work together. It was his uncle who put us in touch with the director of Hazelwood.”
“How do we know I’d get the scholarship?” She directed her question at Henry.
“We don’t know for certain. You would still have to apply, but it was the director himself whom I spoke with. He seemed very confident it wouldn’t be an issue.”
Gina looked at the floor for what seemed like an interminable amount of time. “I’ll go,” she finally said. She looked up at Eliza, tears welling in her eyes. “I’ll go.”
* * *
Just after 11:00 p.m., Eliza left her sister sleeping in the guest bedroom and padded down the hall in her bare feet to get something to drink from the kitchen. The kitchen opened into the living room, where Henry was sleeping for the night, so she treaded extra softly, not wanting to disturb him if he’d already gone to bed. She was surprised to find him sitting at the kitchen table, his laptop open in front of him.
“Hi.” She smiled. “What are you working on?”
He looked up and shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing, really. Just reading over some notes.”
“What, like lesson-plan notes?” She pulled a bottled water from the refrigerator and sat down beside him at the table.
“No, more like story-idea notes.”
Eliza’s eyebrows shot up. “Henry, are you a writer?” She hardly knew why she was surprised. Writing certainly fit with everything else she knew about him. “What do you write?”
“Don’t go jumping to conclusions yet,” Henry said good-naturedly. “I like to write, but I don’t think I can call myself a writer. I’ve never been published or anything. It’s more just a hobby.”
“Surely you don’t have to be published to call yourself a writer,” Eliza said. “What do you write?” she asked again. “Fiction? Nonfiction? Catalog product descriptions?”
Henry looked at her quizzically. “Catalog descriptions?”
She waved her hand dismissively. “I had a roommate once who wrote for a clothing store. That was her job . . . to write descriptions for the catalog. She didn’t love it, but it paid the bills.”
Henry shook his head and laughed. “Well, that’s more than can be said for my writing. It hasn’t ever paid a single bill.” He hesitated for a moment. “I write fiction. I wrote a book a couple of years ago. I don’t know. I don’t even really know if it’s any good.” He seemed self-aware, even uncomfortable talking about his writing. She could tell it wasn’t something he frequently discussed.
“Have you ever had anyone read it?”
“No. And I don’t intend to, at least not anytime soon.”
“But you have to. How will you ever know if it is goo
d if you don’t let anyone read it?”
“Precisely.” Henry folded his arms across his chest. “Ignorance is bliss.” His tone was playful, but Eliza could tell there was a measure of seriousness to his claim. True, she couldn’t imagine all that went into creating a novel. She could hardly manage to write down a page-long journal entry. To write something so extensive, then risk the criticism and rejection that inevitably accompanied putting it out there? The thought made her nervous, and she wasn’t even the one who had written the book.
“Well, if you ever decide to let it see the light of day,” Eliza said, “I’d love to read it.”
He smiled. “I’ll remember that.” She watched him as he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes before placing them back on again. “I should get some sleep.” He stood from the table.
“Wait.” Eliza reached out and touched his arm. She stood up beside him, her hand still resting just below his elbow. She was standing close to him—closer than she had intended—and it made her mouth go dry and her pulse quicken.
Henry had been her rock the past forty-eight hours. He’d kept her calm and focused. He’d been encouraging and helpful and kind. But nothing that she was suddenly feeling had anything to do with him being kind. She pulled her hand away as if breaking their physical connection would keep him from knowing the thoughts racing through her mind—thoughts she was certain would embarrass Henry to the point of never wanting to speak to her again.
How would it make him feel to know she was busy wondering what it would be like to touch the stubble along the edge of his jawline or run her fingers through his hair? She quickly pushed the thoughts from her mind. This was no time to distract herself from Gina, from the job she had to do the following day. Still, there was no denying the appeal Henry suddenly had or the intensity of the feelings that had so quickly overwhelmed her. Focus, Eliza!
“I just wanted to say thank you,” she finally said. “I don’t think there’s a way I could adequately describe how grateful I am for all your help the past few days. Your kindness means a great deal.”
The words felt clumsy as they came out of her mouth. It seemed impossible for her to really convey the depth and sincerity of her gratitude. Everything that was happening with Gina was happening only because Henry had been there for her. He had surprised her in so many ways over the past couple of days—dropping everything to help her when it would have been so easy to send her on her way without a second thought.
“You’re most welcome,” Henry said. “I’m happy to help any way I can.”
“You’re a good man, Henry,” Eliza whispered. Their eyes met for a brief moment before, seized by sudden impulse, Eliza closed the distance between them, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him full on the lips. When she pulled away, Henry stood there, his eyes wide with surprise. He’d kissed back. She was certain of that. He could have pushed her away, and he hadn’t. But the stupefied look on his face didn’t exactly make it easy for her to know what to do next.
“Oh, gosh,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was . . . I was just . . .” She shook her head. Henry didn’t move, the shocked look on his face frozen in place. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m just going to go to bed. I’ll, um, I’ll just see you in the morning.” She backed out of the kitchen, then turned and hurried down the hall. She was fairly certain Henry still hadn’t moved when she closed her bedroom door.
Chapter 11
Henry and Eliza decided he would drive for the first half of the trip so she could spend time with Gina and then she’d take the wheel when they drove from Raleigh back to Rockbridge.
He was intrigued as he listened to the sisters’ conversation. Things had been tense at first, but with Eliza’s careful attention, Gina had eventually started to relax. Henry, on the other hand, couldn’t relax at all. He was mesmerized by Eliza’s ability to communicate with Gina, to put her at ease when the situation had the potential to be such a stressful one.
She was in her element with her sister; she was gentle, supportive, and steadfast. Whenever Gina’s resolve started to waver, Eliza was ready with the encouragement she needed. “This is the right thing,” she would say over and over again.
Henry wanted to believe Eliza was right, but he wasn’t so sure. He would never admit it out loud, but it almost seemed too easy.
They’d been driving for three hours when Henry stopped for gas in Knoxville. He stopped the car next to the gas pump and reached for his wallet.
“Here, Henry, use this,” Eliza said, reaching up to hand him her debit card. He shook his head. “It’s all right. I’ve got it this time.”
“Can I get you something to drink, then?” Eliza unbuckled her seat belt. “I need a Coke.”
“Just some water would be great.”
The air was hot and muggy outside the car, thick with humidity. It felt like a wet blanket draped over Henry’s shoulders, and it left him longing for the cooler temperatures at Rockbridge. When the tank was full, Eliza hadn’t yet returned from inside the gas station. He glanced into the back of the SUV, where Gina was leaned back in her seat, her head turned so she was staring out the window in the opposite direction. He opened the door and stuck his head inside.
“Can I get you anything?”
When she looked his way, he could see the tired desperation in her eyes. He realized that what her body was likely telling her she needed she’d just committed not to have.
“A shot of vodka would be nice,” she said idly, confirming his impression.
Henry wished there were something he could do to help her. Reassurance was all he had to offer. “You’re going to be okay, Gina.”
Gina shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe.”
“I’m going to go find Eliza. Are you sure you don’t need anything?” When she shook her head, he closed the car door and went inside.
Eliza was standing in the chip aisle, a bottle of Coke in her hand and a water bottle under her arm. She was on her cell phone, her back to Henry. He approached her slowly, not wanting to startle her, and touched her gently on the elbow. She turned and smiled, rolling her eyes as if to say, This conversation is taking longer than I thought it would. Henry shook his head, hoping she knew he was telling her not to worry. He reached for the drinks, eyebrows raised in question. She handed them over, and he took them to the counter to pay for them, realizing only when he got there that he’d left his wallet in the car.
“There, finished,” Eliza said, coming up beside him.
“That’s good ’cause my wallet is in the car.”
“I’m supposed to buy the drinks anyway.” Eliza pulled a couple dollars out of her purse and handed them to the cashier. “I finally talked to my mom,” she said.
Before leaving Nashville, they’d debated whether it would be prudent to drive forty-five minutes backward to go see Beverly in Ashland City. Eliza had wanted to see her mom but worried that the potential conflict of the visit might change Gina’s mind about rehab. In the end, they’d decided to head straight for Raleigh instead.
“How’s she doing?”
“I think she’s okay. She feels guilty I’m the one having to do all this, you know? There’s a lot of things my mom still struggles with that she can’t seem to forgive herself for. I wish she would though. I don’t think anyone blames her for what happened.”
Henry opened the door for Eliza, and they stepped back out into the steamy summer heat.
“But not everyone would feel that way. A lot of people would blame her for all that’s happened. I think it’s really wonderful that you don’t.”
Eliza only shrugged. “I buried the blame a long time ago. That doesn’t mean sometimes I don’t resent the way things are. I mean, I definitely have my selfish moments.”
Henry shook his head. “I have a hard time imagining that.”
Back at the car, Eliza turned to Henry, a questioning look on her face. “Where’s Gina?”
“I don’t know. She was here when I went inside to f
ind you.”
Eliza was already walking back into the gas station. “I’ll check the bathroom. Maybe she snuck past us inside.”
Henry turned back to the car and opened the driver’s side door. His heart sank. His wallet was sitting on the seat, open and dismantled. He sighed.
“She’s not there,” Eliza said when she returned. “She’s not anywhere inside.”
Henry slowly turned. “Wherever she is, she’s got $120 with her.”
Eliza’s face fell. She let out an angry laugh. “Ugh. I should have known this would happen. Did she take anything else? Any credit cards?”
“No, just the cash.” Henry felt terrible. If he hadn’t left Gina alone in the car, with his wallet sitting in plain sight, no less, this might not have happened. “Eliza, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left her alone.”
“It’s not your fault. She would have found another way,” Eliza said. “If not here, then the next stop. She would have climbed out a bathroom window or even stolen the car if given the chance.”
Henry was silently grateful he’d kept Eliza’s keys in his pocket while he’d gone inside. “Do you think she ever had any intention of going to rehab?” Henry asked. “Or was she just using us for a ride?”
“I don’t know.” Eliza’s reply was halfhearted. “I thought she seemed sincere . . . but she hasn’t had a drink in a couple of days. As soon as the craving came on, she probably lost her nerve. I don’t think I overestimated Gina’s sincerity. I think I underestimated the power of her drug.” Eliza leaned against the car, visibly frustrated. “I’ll pay you back for the cash she took.”
“That’s the least of my concerns.” Henry repeated the same question he’d asked at Barbara’s house the night he and Eliza had arrived. “Should we go look for her? She couldn’t have gotten far.” Henry looked around the gas station parking lot and down the road in both directions. She couldn’t have gotten anywhere. There wasn’t anywhere to go.
Mountains Between Us Page 10