“We’ll set up our tents and then . . .” Dad gestured to the tent at the far end, only he wasn’t pointing to the tent--he was pointing to dirt path that continued on up a grade that was gentle at first but which must get rapidly steep as the peak neared. The top of the mountain felt far away both in distance and height. Like it belonged in some other world, some fairy tale land of magic mountain people.
“Yeah, right,” Mercy said. “I’ve gone far enough.”
Dad held his smile. “Come on. The top. The summit. Getting there, standing on the top like a conquerer, don’t you want that?”
“It’s not Everest, Dad.”
He was staring off at the peak. “No, it’s not. But it is something.”
Was he thinking about his cancer? For him, would standing atop this stupid mountain be self-assurance that he could face the misery ahead, that no matter the pain he suffered he would prevail?
She almost started to cry thinking of her father in a hospital bed withering away while he talked about the time they had scaled Blood Mountain together.
“Give me some time to relax first, okay?”
“That’s my girl.” He patted her on the back. “I’ll get our tents up. Why don’t you eat something?”
She was about to say she wasn’t hungry when her stomach grumbled. She got an apple from her bag and ate it slowly, knees drawn up to her chest, one arm wrapped around her ankles. Her body had cooled and now the occasional breeze gave her quick chills. If only she had somebody to sit here next to her with his arm around her. Some burly guy with big arms, perhaps.
She laughed. God, she sounded like a middle-schooler.
Many of the trees around the clearing had already sprouted leaves and the evergreens stood as lush as ever. She expected there to be deer up here, maybe a whole family of them, and squirrels and bunnies, all frolicking together like some Disney film, but she didn’t see anything.
Somewhere, a crow made its distinctive call.
TWENTY-THREE
Victor had finished cleaning himself when the woman and her father entered the clearing. They sat for a while and talked but he couldn’t quite hear them, though the woman’s voice was like a sweet whisper on the wind. It teased his ears and he had to fight the urge to move closer. He had to stay in the woods. Had to wait for the right moment.
The woman ate an apple and then a sandwich while her father put up their tents. Two pop tents made from special material meant to withstand arctic temperatures. So laughable. If it was too cold for primal man to endure it, man was not meant to try. People spend too much energy going places they shouldn’t and attempting feats the universe never intended them to try. There was a word for that: hubris. Man was the most arrogant of animals and that self-centeredness blinded him to his vulnerabilities.
The day was soon when man would be taught his place. It was either harmony with nature or death.
Victor spread his toes into the cold dirt.
The important thing was that there were two tents. The woman had her own. His original snatch-in-the-night plan had changed but he always needed a back-up. He had to be prepared for anything.
A trio of crows flew overhead. They were messengers. They served distinct purposes. Their presence today on this mountain while Victor watched the girl eat her lunch and her father set up their tents meant that his forthcoming actions were not only welcome but blessed.
The universe decreed that this day would be Victor’s triumph.
TWENTY-FOUR
She needed more time to relax, so when Dad asked her if she was ready to head up to the top, she said her stomach hurt. Eating the food so soon after climbing the mountain. She felt like shit lying to him and felt even worse when he strapped on his bag and began the trek to the summit by himself. He was going to be by himself a lot soon, fighting against a disease intent on devouring him from the inside out.
Still, she couldn’t get moving.
When Dad had vanished into the woods again, Mercy took out her book and read a few pages but she wasn’t in the mood. The story always felt so immediate and dire and usually sucked her right in, but right now that fictional world felt as flimsy as a dream. She laid down with her bag as a pillow.
When she was a little girl, she used to lay out on the grass and watch the clouds for hours. She’d name the cloud creatures and march them through all kinds of adventures in the sky. When had she stopped doing that?
There were only a few thin clouds that stretched across the sky like those fake Halloween spiderwebs and Mercy couldn’t think of anything to imagine about them.
Arms pulled into the confines of her sweatshirt, she closed her eyes and let the breeze caress her face like flapping silk. She thought about Joel, which she knew was a really lame, little-girl-who-can’t-let-go-of-her-ex thing to do, but it was just her and the mountain so what difference did it make?
Their romance had been brief but there were times when he held her tight against his body and she never wanted to move. His hands curved around her sides and if he wanted he could have dragged her anywhere and she would have been helpless. She had wanted him to drag her places, the bed for instance, but he only ever held her tight. That was okay. It made her feel safe. She could go for one of those hugs now.
Something was moving behind her, in the woods. She opened her eyes but stayed still. The long, spider-web clouds were moving with the breeze and Mercy felt dizzy for a moment. Whatever was in the woods was moving slowly, each step a pronounced crunch.
She knew there were deer up here, maybe coyotes, too, but she hadn’t heard anything about bears. This couldn’t be a bear, anyway: the steps were too light. Unless it was a baby bear and that would mean the mother was around somewhere and if she found Mercy anywhere near her little cub . . .
Mercy sat up quickly and was surprised her arms were trapped inside her sweatshirt like someone had played a trick on her. She found the armholes as quickly as she could and was spinning around toward the sound thinking What the hell am I doing if it is a bear I need to be still pretend to be a rock or something when a young guy in hiking gear emerged from the tree line.
He was wearing jeans and a jacket with a black hiking bag on back. In one hand he was carrying a pair of boots. He waved at her with his other hand and she waved back, a little surprised at her own hand.
When he was close enough, he said hello. Mercy was getting to her feet, fighting the pain radiating through her legs.
He stopped ten feet away as if he wanted her invitation to come any closer. Like a gentleman, she thought. Or a knight entering a castle.
“Hello,” he said again. His face was smooth and handsome. And familiar.
“You’re the guy from the bookstore. I saw you at the diner this morning.”
He shrugged. “I don’t mean to disturb you.”
She gestured around her. “I wasn’t doing anything.”
He pointed to the dirt spot near her bag. “You mind if I take a seat?”
He sat and, after a moment, she sat as well, near him but not too close. This coincidence was a little creepy. That was okay, though. Mercy Higgins knew how to be cautious. She did caution very well.
The man’s feet were caked with dried mud. He spread his toes before him as if putting them on display for her.
“Something wrong with your boots?” she asked.
He smiled. He had a dimple on one cheek that was really cute.
“This is going to sound strange,” he said, “but I love the outdoors. Love coming up here and exploring outside of the path. Try to be one with nature. For a little while, anyway.”