Page 72 of The Mountain
“What happened, Lily?”
I pull my knees to my bare chest, wrapping one arm around them. A moment ago, it hadn’t felt strange being naked onthe couch in the living room. Not with the gentle light of the Christmas tree barely reaching the dark edges of the hallway and the sound of Seth snoring from his room.
I feel stripped bare and naked now.
Grandpa lets out a sigh, the sound crackling against the receiver of his phone, sharp in my ear. “Look, Lily.” His tone is soft now, placating, the hint of hard edges from earlier gone. “I know your parents are… being difficult. And I’m not going to say I don’t see where they’re coming from—you’re bright, always have been. You’d be an excellent lawyer, if you wanted.”
White fills my vision, heat rushing up the sides of my head, making my ears ring. I don’t need this. Not from him. Not today. I open my mouth to reply, the start of some angry retort ready on my tongue, but Grandpa cuts me off.
“But they’re wrong. Dead wrong.” He pauses, and I can hear the faint clicking of a pen in the background. Or maybe he’s tapping his fingers on his desk. “We had them over for dinner tonight, for Christmas Eve, and when we found out that they haven’t spoken to you since you left—that they’ve been giving you the ‘silent treatment’ as your dad called it… well. Let’s just say, I don’t think I’ve heard your grandmother speaking French on Christmas Eve in quite some time.”
He gives a mirthless chuckle, and I smile despite myself, despite the burn behind my eyes and the ache in my throat. My American-born grandpa brought Grandma to the States shortly after they married, and she has always insisted on speaking English at home—except when she’s angry. Then, French rolls off her tongue like a tidal wave, beautiful and furious.
“I bet Aunt Charlotte got a kick out of that,” I say dryly, thinking of my dad’s younger sister. Apparently, they’d been best friends once. Practically inseparable. Now, Aunt Charlotte can barely look at Dad without downing half a glass of red wine first.
“She did.” I hear the smile in Grandpa’s voice, but it’s tinged with sadness too. I guess it must be a hard thing, to watch your children grow up and turn against each other.
He clears his throat, growing serious. “Look, Lily. I know it doesn’t seem like it now, when you’re twenty years old, but life is short. You get one chance to follow your dreams, to build the life you want to live. And the whole time, there’s going to be people trying to change your path. People who would rather see you as a brick in whatever dream they’re building for themselves, rather than the architect of your own.”
I swallow, thinking for some reason of Jackie. Of the way she’d looked that first day on the ski lift, trembling but determined. When she’d told me about everything she’d given up, about all the sacrifices she made to prove herself.
“So unlike your father, I don’t think what you’re doing is a waste of time or potential or whatever other rubbish he’s said. Sure, I might not understand the appeal of working outdoors in the snow all day, but I don’t have to. It’s not my dream, it’s yours. And I know you’re going to be great at it.” He gives a dry chuckle, then adds: “Of course, I might be a little bit biased, since I’m your grandfather?—”
A raw sound escapes my lips on an exhale, half a laugh and half a sob. I shake my head, swiping at my eyes with the back of my hand.
“—and obviously with my genetics, you couldn’tnotbe great at whatever you set your mind to…”
He lets out another little laugh, the pen clicking in the background and then he’s silent for a long moment, listening, presumably, to me trying very hard not to cry on the other end of the phone. When he finally speaks, his voice is heavy, warm, like a thick quilt draped around trembling shoulders.
“I know I’m not the best at keeping in touch, but I always think about you. Every single day. And if you ever need anything, if you ever need anyone to talk to, or you get stuck in a difficult situation, I’m here.”
It all hits me at once.
The gnawing sense of hopelessness that comes with not having enough money, of having dreams visible but just out of reach. The dull ache of homesickness, and the childish longing to hear my parents’ voices, to hear someone sayI love youand We’re proud of you, and have strong arms wrap around me, shoring me up. That thread of unanswered texts, burning on my phone screen every time I open it up, the way my thumb halts over the screen as I try to type out some message they’ll respond to.
The avalanche.
I do cry then, stupid, hot tears that track down my cheeks, like water remembering the path of the last flood across the desert. Grandpa listens patiently on the line, his silent presence more soothing than any murmurs of concern could ever be.
And then I tell him.
I tell him about Tom, and how Eddie and Seth rescued me. I tell him about feeling sick, and the guys looking after me.When I tell him about the recording Eddie took, and Seth’s raw, split knuckles, Grandpa hums in dark satisfaction, thetap tap tappingin the background growing louder.
“And he’s not there anymore?” Grandpa interjects, anger and anxiety making his voice sharp. “ThisTomfellow.” He spits Tom’s name out like a bad word, and even though I can’t ever recall hearing Grandpa curse, I almost expect to hear it then.
“No,” I assure him quickly. “They kicked him out before I even woke up. Moved all his stuff out. I haven’t seen him since.”
Grandpa hums, not sounding completely satisfied by my answer. “Well. If you want to press charges… I’m sure we know people in Utah… or if you need help with a lawyer…”
I rub at my sternum, throat going tight. I know in that moment that he’d use every connection, however tenuous. That he’d exhaust every favor owed to him. That he’d pay for me to get the best legal representation possible.
If I wanted to, I could probably bury Tom in legal costs, even if I couldn’t put him away.
And maybe I should.
But the thought of seeing him again, of bringing what happened up over and over again, of being questioned… And while I might have been naive enough to take that drink from him, I’m not naive enough to think that my relationship with the guys wouldn’t weigh against me. A girl with five boyfriends? I can just imagine what they’d call me in a courtroom, what Tom’s lawyer would say.
No. No, I don’t think that’s what I want.
