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“Not this time? So, last time, after Alison…it was?”
I sighed, shut my suitcase, and sat next to her on the bed. “Yeah. Partly. I’m glad you didn’t ask me back then, because I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want to disappoint you, didn’t want to hurt you. It wasn’t that Iwantedyou to have HD or, my god, the kids—”
“I know,” she said quickly. She squeezed my arm. “I know. It’s okay.”
“I didn’t want to be angry at you, but I was, a little bit. Rationally, I knew it wasn’t your fault, but it just felt so unfair. I lost everything. My wife, the future I always thought I would have. My world flipped upside down overnight. And you…you got to keep everything I had lost. Your husband, your kids. The knowledge that you wouldn’t lose your mind and body. I wasglad. I wanted a good life for you. But right then, it was hard for me to witness it.”
“I get it,” she said softly and I knew she meant it. She didn’t judge me for it, either.
“It’s been three years. The wound isn’t as fresh. I’ve been to therapy, and that helped me figure out how to deal with the unknowns of my future. Let go of the things I can’t control, and when I did that, I realized that there’s still a lot within my power. I’m not as angry anymore. It still hurts sometimes, looking at you and your kids,” I admitted. “But not like it did then.”
She traced a seam on my comforter. “I felt guilty, when the tests results came back normal for me. Guilty and relieved. Guilty that you had to face it and I didn’t. Relieved that it was you and not me.” She grimaced. “And more guilt on top of that for feeling relief.”
“It’s normal to feel that. You know that, right? You already had Becca and Dimitri. An abnormal test for you would have meant…” I shook my head, not wanting to even think about it. “If it had to be one of us, it was good that it was me.”
“It would have been better not to beanyof us,” Suzie pointed out. “I hate this for you. I hate this for Dad. I hate this for every person with HD and their families. No one deserves this goddamn disease.”
“Amen to that.” I bumped her shoulder gently with mine, careful not to disturb Andy.
“So we’re okay now?” she pressed. Her eyes anxiously scanned my face. “You’re not leaving because of me.”
“No, I’m not leaving because of you. I have an obligation, you know that, and I intend to see it through. To be honest, I’m glad I’m supposed to be somewhere else. If I didn’t have to be in the White Mountains, I’d probably head to the Sierras for a week, get my head clear about Nora. I wouldn’t be gone for three years, though, for sure.” I stood up. “So, yeah. We’re okay.I’mokay.”
I meant it. Things were far from perfect. I wanted Nora so badly it hurt. But I wasn’t going to live my life like I was temporary. I was done with that. And what Nora needed—that wasn’t temporary, either.
One day, I hoped she would see that.
Chapter 30
Nora
Itrainedsteadilyfortwo weeks, which suited me just fine. Sunshine was a blasphemy. If my heart was a dark little raincloud, well, then the world should reflect that. Everything was wrong. Michael was gone—before I had gotten a chance to climb Hart Mountain, adding insult to injury. So what was I supposed to do? Just…decide to have a baby on my own, with no sign from the universe?
Was I even allowed to do that? Surely I needed a note from my mom, at least. Or something.
And then on Saturday the rain stopped. The sun didn’t come out, and the birds didn’t sing, but the weather forecast promised at least a few hours of respite before another rain pattern pushed through.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I texted Kate to tell her where I was going. I texted Emma, too, knowing she would call in Eli if necessary. Just in case. I made sure Brandon had enough water—I would be back in plenty of time for his dinner and insulin, but there was no way I was taking him up the Widow-Maker. Then I laced up my hiking boots and drove to the Hart Mountain trailhead.
By god, I was going to climb that mountain. I was going to climb that mountain, have a baby, and live life on my own terms, and nothing—nothing—was going to stop me.
Hart Mountain was the kind of experience I had hoped to endure only once, and I had expected to endure it with Michael. Not alone. We had never done even part of the hike together. Nothing about the mountain was familiar to me.
I took a deep breath, taking stock of my surroundings, and the enormity of what I was attempting washed over me. His words came back to me: There was no trail to the top of Hart Mountain.
No. Trail.
I had to find my own way, without the comforting knowledge that Michael was right behind me.
But he had prepared me for that. He had prepared me to find my own way. To make decisions without him. To trust myself.
Well, shit. The irony.
Because here I was, and did I trust myself? God, no. Not one iota. But I trusted Michael. I trusted that his training could and would get me up this goddamn mountain.
I took out my phone, opened the compass, and, exactly like he had taught me, took a photo of the coordinates and compass point. My “home” direction. Modern technology was wonderful, and while Michael had taught me how to use a compass and map, I was grateful that I had multiple options.
Going up, Michael had told me, was harder physically but easier mentally. Just because there wasn’t a well-marked trail didn’t mean no one had ever been here before. All I had to do was follow deer trails and keep going up, and eventually I would get to the top. Michael had told me I should expect it to take three hours. Any longer than four, and I should rethink my strategy.
