Page 68 of Mountains Divide Us

“And is that normal for you? Are you usually that forgetful?”

“Well, no.”

“So what makes you think the kid won’t know that? He’s probably been watchin’ you. He’s been watchin’ the library at the very least. Since you haven’t seen anything suspicious, he obviously knows what time you leave at night and what time you get there in the mornin’. And if he’s been comin’ in at night, he would’ve noticed if you’d left food out. As hungry as he probably is, he would’ve eaten it.”

“I didn’t think about that.” She peeked at me. “I’m sorry. Are you angry with me? Did I ruin the stakeout?”

Reaching for her hand, I held it. “No, we just have to be more careful.”

“I still think we should’ve stayed the night in the library. I mean, then even if he got spooked, we could’ve caught him.”

“But if he’s payin’ attention like I think he is, he’d notice if we didn’t leave when the library closed.”

She laughed under her breath. “I think it’s good that you’re the detective in this scenario and I’m not.”

We sat there for a while, not talking, and I held her hand the whole time. It was nice, and I kept trying to picture a life with her, but there was a bit of a divide between us now. It was small in the truck, but somehow, inside my chest, it felt as big as a mountain.

It sounded so simple. She didn’t mind breaking rules. I did. It wasn’t like we were talking about murder or tax fraud, but it still had me gripping the steering wheel tighter.

I had my own rules, and to be with her, I’d need to break them. I’d have to give myself to her, open up, put my pain out there for her to see and know. I’d have to be vulnerable and risk her running away with my heart in her hand. Even if we both opened up about our pasts, I would still be risking everything.

But opening up seemed like the way to bridge our gap. Or maybe part of the way. If I explained why I lived my life so rigidly, she’d have more of a reason to understand.

She’d told me a little about her past, but did she really think I was buying that what she’d said was the whole truth? She was still keeping something from me too. It was easy to see in the way her eyes would wander when I asked her about that time in her life. All I knew was that she’d dated some jerk in graduate school in Florida, but she hadn’t made a peep about why he was a jerk or what it was she’d gone through because of him.

Maybe if I broke my precious rules and told her about what happened when my mama died, she’d finally tell me about whatever it was still hurting her.

Technically, we’d known each other for more than a year, but we didn’t really know each other until recently. I hadn’t forgotten that. I wasn’t expecting her to give me everything she had in the span of a few weeks.

Or was I?

Maybe I was. Maybe I was ’cause she was everything I’d ever wanted, and I was afraid to lose her already.

And who was I to talk? I’d never told anyone about what I’d gone through, not even my ex-wife, which should’ve been my first clue we weren’t right for each other, especially ’cause she’d never asked, even though she’d known I’d been adopted.

The whole thing was pissing me off. What was the big fucking deal? So Samantha would know about my sad past. What difference would it make?

But as I watched her, eating her red licorice ropes in my truck, it became this big, festering thing in my mind. I’d worked it up into something I couldn’t see around. And I knew, if I told her, she’d feel sorry for me, and that was something I just could not abide.

And maybe her pity would be the thing that would make the whole bridge fall. We’d be two lonely mountains with no path through the valley between them.

Several hours had gone by with both of us staring at the library’s back door through my truck window in silence. Nothing happened. The kid never showed. Samantha nodded off, snuggled against my side, snoring lightly. Eventually, she moved down, resting her head on my leg while I pulled my fingers through her hair, feeling the silky strands fall out of my grasp.

Maybe Murphy had gone in the front, but no lights ever came on. There was no movement from inside, and finally, at three-thirty in the morning, I flipped my headlights on to drive her home. The stakeout was a bust.

“What?” She woke slowly and sat up, looking around like that doe in the forest as I drove down the alley, back out to Franklin Street. The apple of her cheek blushed red where it had been pushed against my thigh. “Where are you going?”

“Takin’ you home,” I said as the wind outside the truck kicked up. Trees were swaying, and the snow on the ground was starting to swirl in circles on the road.

She wiped the sleep from her eyes with her fingers. “But we didn’t find Murphy.” When I didn’t respond, she asked, “Frank?”

“You expect to find him with your eyes closed?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but let’s go back. I’m awake now.”

“If he was comin’, he woulda already. It’s late. I’ll try again tomorrow.”

When I dropped her off at her grandfather’s house, she smiled tentatively at me. “Can I see you tomorrow?”

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