Page 23 of Christmas at Hart's Ridge

I wondered how much she knew. How much Ethan had told her. Hell, I wondered how muchEthanknew. Sure, he had noticed our parents were gone, but I had never shared my fears or worries with him. Like the time we were down to ten dollars and I had no way of reaching Mom and Dad to send us more. Or the time Maw Maw wandered away and I found her wearing far too few clothes, hanging out with some neighbor’s chickens.

“They weren’t around much. They traveled a lot for work.” I gave her the truth but kept it simple. But she was still watching me, those kaleidoscope eyes of hers too solemn. Too assessing.

So I dropped a kiss on her upturned mouth, because like that first piss during a night of drinking, now that I’d broken the seal I couldn’t fucking stop. She gave me an adorably befuddled look so of course I had to do it again. Then I nudged her shoulder. “Let’s go, Red. We’re never going to reach the top if you stand there staring at me.”

Her withering look made me grin.

After the first hill, we entered a dense forest of balsam fir. I breathed deeply. Some people said it smelled like Christmas, but for me it was the opposite. Christmas smelled like a pine forest. Bethany didn’t talk much, probably because she was working on keeping her feet under her, but I filled the quiet with tidbits about the trail we were walking and the names of the peaks around us.

“That’s the Roan High Knob shelter,” I told her as we passed by the one room log cabin. “It’s the highest-elevation shelter on the whole Appalachian Trail. Hikers sleep here if they don’t mind the mice. I prefer a tent, myself.”

“Have you hiked the whole trail?” Bethany panted.

“No. Just the parts near Hart’s Ridge.”

We were out of the forest then and onto the ridgeline. Frost-rimed grass and bare rhododendron bushes turned the mountains a crystalline white so sharp and bright in the cold sunlight that I had to squint behind my sunglasses. Our boots crunched on the hard-packed snow. Watching Bethany tramp forward with grace and precision, I was glad I had found her before she had hit the trail. She wouldn’t have made it without microspikes. The idea of her getting hurt, or missing out on all this winter gorgeousness, made me physically recoil.

“But you want to, right? Hike the whole thing, I mean,” she said, picking the conversation up again as we paused to take in the view. “I’ve seen the postcards.”

I knew what she was talking about. Goat’s Tavern was only a handful of miles off the Appalachian Trail. We did a good side business of picking up weary hikers and bringing them into town for a hot meal, a couple beers, and an actual bed, then giving them a ride back to the trail. Some stayed only a night and some stayed longer, sometimes even a full week or two.

I loved hearing their stories. What they’ve seen and what’s still waiting for them. Lots of them have sent me postcards from their stops further along the trail. McAfee Knob, Mount Washington, Katahdin. The postcards from their adventures were all tacked up along the wall behind the bar top.

“It’s a 2,200 mile trail cutting through my backyard,” I said. “Of course I want to hike it.”

“Why haven’t you?” she asked. There was no judgement in her voice. Only curiosity.

“Too many responsibilities keeping me home. The bar. Ethan.” I shrugged. “But it’s finally time. I’m heading to Georgia, where the trail starts, in April. It shouldn’t take more than five months. I’ll be back in September.”

“Five months. Wow. That’s a long walk. What will happen to Goat’s while you’re gone?”

“Jasmine will run it. I’m training her on paperwork and ordering supplies. All that stuff. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Huh. She never mentioned that. And Ethan never said a word about it, either.”

“Maybe because I haven’t told them yet.”

She stopped dead in her tracks, then whipped around to face me. “Then why are you telling me?” she demanded, her eyes wide. “You can’t expect me to keep a secret from them. I get the feeling Jasmine doesn’t like surprises and Ethan…he’s my best friend. I don’t keep secrets from him.”

“Easy, Red. I haven’t told them yet, but I will. Soon. I just want to get through the holiday season first. Jasmine will be thrilled to take over, trust me. She already believes she can do the job better, so this is her opportunity to prove it. And she likes Ethan. She won’t mind taking care of him while I’m gone.”

She stood rooted to the spot, hands on hips. With anyone else, I would have been annoyed. Hiking was a verb. I wasn’t out here to stand still. But with Bethany, it didn’t bother me. Standing still meant more time to look at her. More time to be with her. It wasn’t exactly a hardship.

Although the pursed, narrow-eyed look she was currently giving me wasn’t what I wanted.

“I can’t tell if you’re being facetious,” she said finally. “Like, ‘take care of.’” She did air quotes with her mittened hands. “Is that a euphemism or what? Because…” Her forehead scrunched as her voice trailed off.

“I know Ethan is gay, Bethany,” I said, as drily as if I had known for years instead of hours. “It’s not a euphemism.”

“Then what are you talking about? Ethan doesn’t need a babysitter. He’s the oldest twenty-five-year-old I know. I literally call him Grandpa.”

“Because shit happens. He could fall out of a tree and break his arm.” That had actually happened when he was twelve. I had been scared out of my mind. I made an exasperated grunt, turned her around by the shoulders, and nudged her forward. “Walk, Red. We’re losing daylight.”

“Ethan doesn’t do a lot of tree climbing these days.”

“He could get in a car accident. Drive into a ditch.” Let her argue withthat.

“He’s been taking the bus to New York every year to visit me,” she reminded me. “You didn’t seem to have a problem with that.”

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