Page 25 of Resisting the Grump

Why wouldn’t I be?

He ducked his head, stepping closer. “I just want you to be okay, String Bean…I still remember what you went through, and…” He looked over my shoulder, speaking quietly. “I know the real reason you left home.”

His eyes searched mine, as though I would spill the beans about Davis. Carl had known about my crush all those years ago, but he didn’t know what had happened in that library, so he couldn’t know the real reason I had left. Only Nora did.

Smiling up at him, I shook my head. “I just left for college, no big mystery. Mom and Dad need my help—that’s why I’m back.”

He watched my eyes, as though he was sensing that I wasn’t being entirely truthful, then let it drop.

“Just be careful up there and don’t give him more than just a polite hello. He hasn’t earned more than that—and call if there’s any issues whatsoever.”

Giving him a firm nod, I veered toward the front and tugged on the door. As I settled into the seat, I tried to let go of the strange sensation taking root in my gut.

Who was he talking about?

I took a few clarifying breaths and tried my best to shake off Carl’s words. But even as I pressed my foot to the gas, his words echoed in my ears.

9

RAE

The drive was beautiful.

Tall evergreens lined the black asphalt, seemingly growing taller with each mile I put behind me. The sky was a bleak, grayish color, worsening as I climbed in altitude. Memories of when I’d driven this dangerous road haunted me, rankling as the cringe factor surfaced. I had no idea where Davis had lived, so I would drive it for hours, thinking fate would lead me to him. Except it never did, and I just ended up wasting my time and gas.

It was mortifying remembering that period of my life…and thinking over the dinner with Davis the other night only reinforced the sentiment. It wasn’t just the humiliation from being obsessed with him; it was the fact that he’d gotten to witness my shame firsthand in that library, while confirming how pathetic he’d known I was all along.

It was still a fire in my veins and smoke in my lungs, leaving me burning and choking on my past, because Davis had a front row seat to my downfall. It was even worse that he didn’t seem to remember me now—that or he was just lying—but why act nice, almost flirty even, if he did remember?

The man who had secretly invited me to meet with him and then hooked up with someone in front of me wouldn’t casually ask where I had been the last four years with that easy smile. He just wouldn’t.

It was a few more miles before I realized I was gripping the wheel with so much force that my knuckles were white. Deep down, I knew I had to start getting past this anger and hurt. It wasn’t healthy.

A clearing in the tree line caught my eye, distracting me from my negative thoughts. It was so breathtaking that I pulled the car over along a spacious viewpoint and parked. Pushing the door open and slowly walking to the edge of the overhang, I looked down, seeing a serpentine river. White rocks littered each side of the water and sprawled in every direction. The quiet that cradled the world was so magnificent it made my eyes water.

I had lived in the shadow of Mount Macon my entire life, and I had never once hiked its trails, or stopped to take in its unending beauty. I had never stood on the edge of the wilderness, looked down and felt so hopeful. It was as though every gust of wind was blowing fresh air into my lungs for a future I could actually be excited about. This sacred place had no past, and the only future would consist of the yellowing of leaves or white tips of the trees.

Rubbing my arms, I closed my eyes and breathed.

I stood there on the edge of what seemed to make up my whole world and inhaled. With every breath, I released pieces of my past. Not all of it, but something was left there, and for the first time in four long years, I felt lighter.

* * *

Mrs. Kuami woresoiled overalls and a straw hat. She had a small cottage, with free range goats and chickens which sprawled over nearly every inch of her small driveway and yard. She offered me tea, which I accepted, knowing part of this delivery service would be a way to socialize with the forgotten men and women on Mount Macon. Surely they had to be lonely up here.

Which only proved right as Mrs. Kuami droned on and on about her late husband and her son, who was thinking of moving to Alaska. After about forty minutes, I apologized and told her I had to get going. I still had other deliveries to get out of the way.

The day went on as I continued further up the mountain.

Ford and Mr. Carlson both had wooden boxes set up for the case of groceries, with a walkie left near the front of the gate. All I had to do was inform them their order had arrived. Mr. Carlson had even left a tip tied to a river rock for me, which I had put inside the cup holder of my parent’s car. I’d use the twenty to help buy a few groceries for the house or maybe just grab dinner for them sometime.

My last stop was at the very top of the mountain, my logic slightly failing as I continued up the grade. I definitely should have started with the furthest house first then worked my way down.

It was nearly four in the afternoon when I started internally kicking myself for saving the furthest for last. I was trying to gauge whether or not the customer would want to engage in small talk merely based on their last name, but the packing slip for the last delivery was blank.

Something I hadn’t realized before.

Keeping my eyes on the road, while quickly flicking to the packing slip, I realized they’d filled out everything else on the sheet, making it seem complete, which is why I had missed it, but sure enough there wasn’t a name listed. First or last.

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