Mountains Between Us

by Jenny Proctor

  “So when will you hear from Gina? Is she allowed to communicate with you during her therapy?” he asked as they climbed out of the car.

  “Not at first,” Eliza said. “Eventually, as she progresses, she’ll be able to e-mail and then call. It still seems surreal to me to think about her being there, you know? I’ve wanted this to happen for so long; I can’t believe it actually is. I just hope three months is long enough.”

  “You don’t think it will be?”

  “I don’t know.” Eliza let out a long sigh. “I want it to be. I guess I just think about her going back home with Mom after the three months is over. How will she not fall back into old patterns and old habits? If she’s around her old friends, won’t they try and lure her back into her old ways?”

  Henry leaned on the hood of his car. “I suppose. But isn’t that the risk everyone takes when they leave rehab? You have to start living a normal life sometime. And that’s what they will teach her at Hazelwood—how to live her life normally, how to say no to her old ways.”

  “You’re right. I know you’re right. If we were talking about someone else, I would be offering the same encouragement. I just know Gina’s track record. That, and she’s my sister. How do I not worry?”

  “You do worry,” Henry said. “It’s what we do when we love someone. I don’t think there’s a way to turn it off.”

  For a moment, Henry remembered the feelings he’d had at the hospital, his unnamed need to be there for Eliza, to make sure she was cared for. His own thoughts echoed back in his head. It’s what we do when we love someone.

  Love.

  Love?

  It took him a moment to realize Eliza was speaking again.

  “I’m going to see my mom in a couple of weeks,” Eliza was saying. “My old roommate is getting married, so I have to go back to Tennessee to do the bridesmaid thing. We’re planning a phone call that weekend. Maybe it will make me feel better to hear Gina’s voice and let her tell me how much better she’s doing.”

  Eliza stood in the dim glow of the street lamp that lit the small employee parking lot. Her arms were wrapped around her waist, her hands tucked inside her jacket.

  “You’re cold,” Henry said. “I should let you get inside.”

  “I love the cold,” she responded. “Cold means fall is officially here. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than these mountains when the leaves are changing color.”

  For a moment, they stood in silence. Though he tried to prevent it, Henry couldn’t stop his mind from thinking of her, a wave of impulsive fire darting across the kitchen and touching her lips to his. As he looked at her, her skin glowing in the lamplight, he had to resist the impulse to pull her to him and kiss her again, this time because he wanted it. His stomach nearly dropped when he looked in her eyes and realized that was precisely what she wanted him to do.

  “I’m gonna go,” he said hoarsely. “I, uh . . . Good night.” He took a step backward and started to turn.

  “Henry, wait.” Eliza lunged forward and caught his hand. “I don’t understand why you’re running away. What are you so afraid of?”

  Henry kept his face turned away, but he left his hand in hers.

  “Henry, I want this. I want you.”

  He pulled his hand away, feeling more conflicted than ever. “Eliza, I don’t know what to say. I just . . . I’m sorry.”

  He turned and walked to his apartment, wondering if he’d done the right thing. Every time he was with Eliza, it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore his feelings. He’d used logic and reason to determine their future. They could never be anything more than friends.

  But his heart wasn’t catching up.

  Not when she looked at him like she just had, when her touch alone was enough to take his breath away.

  Chapter 24

  On Friday afternoon, after her counseling sessions, Eliza found herself on the back deck of the admin building, drawn by the warm sun and the hope of some peace and quiet. It was late in the afternoon, and though the sun was settling toward evening, there was just enough light left to bathe the last row of picnic tables in a pleasing glow.

  On a whim, instead of just sitting at a picnic table, Eliza dropped her work bag, kicked off her shoes, and climbed on top, stretching out with her head resting on her bag, her legs crossed comfortably with one foot kicking in the air. She placed her arm across her eyes to shield them from the sun and, all at once, felt perfectly relaxed. Several minutes passed.

  “It’s a bit brazen, don’t you think, lying on a table right outside the director’s window? What kind of example are you setting for the students?”

  Eliza turned her head and saw Flip standing there, a quirky grin on his face.

  “The director could hardly argue with how magnificent it feels to lie in the sun at the end of a long day. As for the students, there are plenty of other tables if anyone would like to join me.”

  Flip laughed. “Well, enjoy it while it lasts. I can stand here and see the shade creeping up on you. Another ten minutes and the sun will be behind the trees, and your pretty perch might start to feel a bit chilly.”

  “Then please do be quiet for my last ten minutes of warm toes.”

  “How ’bout this?” Flip said. “I ask you to go out with me, you say yes, then I let you get back to your sunshine.”

  Eliza pushed up on her elbows. “On a date?”

  “Yes, a date, and I’ll not let you call it anything different this time either. Are you off tomorrow? Let’s take a picnic up onto the parkway. The trees are still blazing with color. We could hike, eat . . . It could be fun.”

  Eliza would be lying if she said she hadn’t expected this moment to come. Flip had convinced Eliza he hadn’t joined the Church for her, and she believed him. But he’d never been shy about his intentions. Now that faith was no longer a reason for her to say no, it was only natural for him to ask.

  She tried to be objective. Here he was, an active, bona fide, and official Mormon, funny, charming, with bonus points for being handsome, and he was asking her out on a date.

  Could she say yes?

  Her mind flashed back to the look on Henry’s face two nights before when she’d told him it was him she wanted. It still stung to think of him pulling his hand away and turning his back.

  It had been a long time since Eliza had shed any tears over a man. But that night, she’d called Lexie—it had taken three tries to wake her up—and indulged in an exhausting cry that had left her feeling empty and alone. She had to get over her feelings for Henry.

  “I’m not working Saturday,” she finally said. “I’d love to go out with you.”

  “Splendid,” Flip said. “I’ll come by for you at eleven. Hey, how’s Rebecca? Is she back from the hospital yet?”

  Eliza glanced at her watch. “Actually, she should be getting back any minute now. I should probably head over to the dorms to meet her and Dr. Adler.”

  “So she’s all right, then?”

  “Physically, she’s fine. It’s a pretty big step back in her therapy though. I’m still trying to figure out how I’m going to tackle it all.”

  “Hey, Liza,” Natalie said from the back door of the admin building. “Dr. Adler just pulled up. I figured you’d want to talk to Rebecca first, yeah?”

  “Yeah, I’m coming,” Eliza said. She climbed off the table and stepped back into her shoes.

  “So I guess I’ll see you Saturday,” Flip said with a grin.

  “And probably ten times before then,” Eliza said, “seeing how we live and work at the same place.”

  “Yes, but Saturday is a date, which makes it far more important. I’m already counting down the hours.”

  Eliza smiled and willed herself to feel a similar sense of excitement. There wasn’t a single good reason why she couldn’t go on a date with Flip and have a nice time.

  Not one single reason at all.

  * * *

  After an extensive counseling session with Rebecca, Eliza w
ent to check on Amber. She was handling her probation with what Eliza considered to be far more grace than was typical. Still, Eliza wondered if she actually felt the weight of what she’d done wrong. She was apologetic, of course, but every time they talked about it, Eliza thought she almost seemed dismissive, like there was hardly a reason to keep mentioning it at all.

  When Eliza arrived at Amber’s dorm room, she found the door open. Amber was alone in her room, sitting cross-legged on the bed, a book in her lap.

  “Hi.” Eliza leaned on the doorframe. “Where’s your roommate?”

  “Cleaning the bathroom, I think,” Amber said. “It didn’t pass inspection the first time, so Rachel is making her do it again.”

  “Do you mind if I come in?”

  Amber sighed and placed the book on the bed beside her. “Nope.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Bored.” It was an obvious reference to her lack of activity over the past couple of days. She was able to attend class, go to her counseling sessions, and eat, but nothing else. “Oh, I meant to ask you,” Amber said, suddenly perking up. “I’m supposed to take marshmallows to the mutual activity next Wednesday night. Can you take me by the store on our way to the church?”

  “I’m sorry, Amber,” Eliza said, “but your probation includes your Wednesday night Church activities. You’ll still attend with me on Sundays, but that’s it.”

  “That’s not fair.” Her voice was still calm, but it wasn’t hard to pick out the angry undertones pulsing through her. “I thought Church activity was supposed to be a part of my therapy.”

  The last word, therapy, was said with obvious distaste and sarcasm. It validated Eliza’s earlier observations about Amber’s experience at Rockbridge. Simply put, her life was too normal. Attending church every Sunday, meeting with friends on Wednesday nights, spending time with Eliza—so far, Rockbridge had required little sacrifice on Amber’s part.

  She was doing better than she did at home only because Rockbridge provided so much structure that she had little choice but to follow the rules. But rehabilitation wasn’t just about following rules. It was about changing perspectives and helping teenagers see themselves in a different way, a more productive way.

  Amber’s self-view wasn’t changing at all.

  She wasn’t answering the hard questions. She wasn’t changing herself.

  As her counselor, Eliza was the one to blame for that.

  Church was important. Amber needed the fellowship and the opportunities for spiritual growth that Mutual provided, but she seemed to treat it as nothing more than an event on her social calendar. It was time to shift Amber away from those things she recognized as “special treatment.” A weekly trip into Rose Creek to hang out with other teenagers was definitely special treatment.

  “I thought my grandmother insisted I attend church on Sundays and Wednesdays.”

  “I called your grandmother first thing this morning. She knows what happened, and she supports my decision. Until you can earn back my trust, you will leave campus only on Sunday mornings. Understood?”

  Amber slumped onto her pillow and folded her arms tightly across her chest. “Fine,” she said coolly. “You know they’ll miss me though, right? The leaders, my friends—what about their trust? Won’t I be letting them down?”

  “I can speak with your youth leaders and make sure they understand.”

  Amber breathed out a frustrated sigh. “So what about excursion? You’re not still sending me into the woods, are you?”

  Eliza considered the question. She and Dr. Adler had been discussing it at great length over the past two days. They recognized the risks but had ultimately decided the experience would benefit Amber a great deal. “You’re still going on excursion. You’ll leave next Thursday.”

  * * *

  At 7:32 that evening, the phone in Eliza’s kitchen started to ring. Eliza had missed dinner in the cafeteria that night because of an extended meeting with Dr. Adler, so she’d gone home to fix herself an omelet; otherwise, she might have missed the call. But she never could have prepared herself for the voice she heard on the other end.

  “Is this Eliza?” a gruff male voice asked.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Eliza, this is Bill Harrison. Do you remember me? I’m Henry’s . . . I used to be Henry’s father.”

  Chapter 25

  “I don’t understand,” Henry said. He shifted his laptop off his knees, placing it on the couch cushion beside him. “Why on earth would he call you?”

  Eliza sat perched on the edge of the armchair diagonal from Henry, her hands fidgeting nervously in her lap. It was the first time they’d spoken since she’d told him how she felt. He couldn’t be certain, but it seemed like she was trying very hard not to make eye contact.

  “I think he was afraid you wouldn’t speak to him, wouldn’t listen if he tried to leave you any messages.”

  “And I guess you talked to him that day, didn’t you? Told him your name—that’s probably all he needed to find your number.”

  “He waited for an hour or so to see if you’d come back. He just looked so sad; I felt like I needed to check on him. We only spoke for a few minutes, and he was very kind, apologetic that he might have caused any trouble. He left not long after that.”

  “Did he”—Henry swallowed hard—“Did he say anything about me?”

  “When he called?”

  “No. That day, after I left. Did he say anything about me then?”

  “He said you look exactly like he’d always pictured you.”

  Henry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. The room around him felt small and warmer than normal. He stood up, agitated, and went into the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water and gulped it down, then tried to take several slow, deliberate breaths.

  “Henry, I didn’t tell him anything about you,” Eliza said. “I told him you were a good man, but I didn’t tell him anything personal.”

  “You didn’t mention AJ?”

  “Of course not. That’s not my information to share.”

  Then why did he call?

  Henry couldn’t imagine any reason why he would want or need to know what William Harrison had told Eliza. He didn’t know the man and had no desire to get to know him. What could he have possibly said that would change Henry’s mind about that? He looked at Eliza, still sitting awkwardly in the living room, and sighed. “What did he tell you?”

  “He’s sick,” Eliza said.

  “Sick? What kind of sick?”

  “He didn’t give me any specifics, just that he wasn’t doing well.” She took a breath. “Henry, I think he’s dying. He didn’t say as much, but the way his voice sounded, it . . . it was like he was trying to clear the air, you know? Like he needed to make some final statement. In the end, he never did say anything. I asked if he wanted me to tell you he called, but he said no. He said it had been a mistake, that you would never want to see him.”

  “Did he want to come back here? To Rockbridge?”

  Eliza shook her head. “He’s sick—too sick to travel. I think he wanted to ask you to come to him.”

  Henry let out a frustrated laugh. “Well, that’s not likely to happen.”

  “Why not?” Though Eliza’s voice was small and quiet, the weight of her words settled on Henry like concrete miles thick.

  Why not?

  Why not?

  Why not?

  “He’s not my father, Eliza. We’ve had this conversation before. Why would I go see him? What would I even say if I did? ‘Gee, thanks, Dad. So happy you had such an easy time giving me away’?”

  “Who told you it was easy for him? How do you know that’s how he felt? Maybe there’s a different story here that you don’t know. Maybe that’s why he wants you to come see him. Maybe he wants to tell you how he really feels.”

  “Maybe so.” Henry collapsed back onto the couch. “Or maybe he’s not really sick at all and he’s manipulating the both of us.”

  �
�To what end?” Eliza said, the pitch of her voice edging upward. “What would be the purpose of that?”

  “I have no idea what the purpose would be, but I know this man spent most of his adult life in prison. I can’t trust him just because you thought he seemed kind.”

  “That’s true,” Eliza said. “You shouldn’t have to trust him.” The weight of the words she wasn’t saying hung heavy between them.

  “But you still think I should go see him.”

  Eliza shrugged. “If it were me, I’d want the closure of knowing what he had to say.”

  Closure? Henry had closure. He was perfectly fine living his life without a single thought for William Harrison. The matter was and always had been closed. It seemed like going to see him would bring the opposite of closure. It would open old wounds and galvanize the hurt Henry had experienced as a child all over again.

  Eliza moved from the chair and sat down next to Henry on the couch. “Do your parents have any idea that Bill has contacted you?”

  “Bill? He goes by Bill?” Henry asked, momentarily distracted. Eliza nodded. Henry shook his head. “I thought about telling them, but I don’t want to upset my mom, you know? This guy is very much a part of her past too—a past I’m pretty sure she’s put behind her. I could never expose her to anything that might bring her pain.”

  “That says a lot about the kind of man you are,” Eliza said. “But even though I’ve never met your mom, I’d venture a guess she’d do anything to keep you from feeling pain too. She’s the one person who might be able to add a bit of clarity about this man and what his intentions might be.”

  “I don’t know if I can do it.” Henry was sure his mom would talk to him. She’d tried in the past, and it was always Henry who had stopped her.

  What Henry feared more than anything was that starting down this road would inevitably land him square in the middle of William Harrison’s living room, having a conversation he never thought he would need or want to have.