Mountains Between Us Read online

  Cover image: Couple Relaxing on Blanket © Ascent Xmedia, courtesy of gettyimages.com;

  Cover design copyright © 2014 by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  American Fork, Utah

  Copyright © 2014 by Jenny Proctor

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect

  the position of Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are either products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.

  First Printing: September 2014

  ISBN: 978-1-62108-862-2

  This one is for my kids

  because they are awesome

  and totally deserve it.

  Acknowledgments

  It was a surreal experience sitting down to write the acknowledgments for my first book. But now a second book? I wasn’t sure I would ever get here. There are so many people who deserve mentioning.

  I work with an incredible team at Covenant. My editor, Samantha Millburn, is brilliant and tactful, a rare combination. I have beta readers who are beyond valuable. Sure, I’ll take credit for writing this book. But it’s good because Kimberly Vanderhorst was willing to comb through every single word—more than once. There aren’t many in this world like you, Kim. Not many at all.

  Kiesha Corn, thank you so much for answering all of my questions and for giving me insight into what life at a rehabilitative boarding school is like. DeNae Handy, Valerie Walz, Lindsay Anderson, I’m forever grateful for your willingness to read and share your opinions. Emily, I know you were swamped with other important life events while I was editing this time around, but the story was born from your willingness to endlessly hash out plotlines, and I never stopped feeling your encouragement and love. As far as sisters go, I’m pretty sure I’ve got the very best one.

  All of these people are incredible, and I’m pretty sure I couldn’t write like I do without them. But closer to home, it’s my family who allows me to pursue this dream. They are the ones who listen to my story ideas and pretend like all of my imaginary friends matter to them as much as they do to me. They encourage and uplift. They pick up the slack when I spend a particularly long night (or day) catching up on revisions or finishing a chapter I just can’t leave alone. They help me keep all the plates spinning. And that’s huge. Josh, I love you. And, kids, I think you’re all rock stars.

  Chapter 1

  Henry Jacobson watched his seven-year-old son throw rocks into the still water of the Little Tennessee River. AJ was only a few yards away, close enough for Henry to reach him in a mere moment should he step any closer to the water—still, Henry couldn’t shake the feeling his son was somehow too far away. Close to the water or not, it felt as if AJ were slowly, quietly slipping beyond his reach.

  Henry turned and looked down the asphalt path that wound through the dense green foliage next to the river. It was a beautiful summer day, warm but with enough of a breeze to keep the heat from feeling stifling. For a Sunday afternoon, Rose Creek’s Greenway Park was relatively quiet. Henry saw an older couple walking a small dog that hopped energetically between them and a family riding their bikes farther down the path. Otherwise, he and his son were alone.

  “AJ,” Henry called. “Do you want to go back over to the playground? I could push you on the swing?”

  AJ scrunched up his face in consideration. “Naw, I don’t really feel like swinging.”

  “What about your bike? I could walk beside you while you ride, catch you if you come close to falling.”

  AJ turned and looked at him, disbelief on his face. “Dad, it’s been forever since I fell off my bike. I can go really fast by myself.”

  “Ah, that’s great, AJ.” Henry was ashamed to have missed such a milestone in his son’s life. “Can I see you ride, since you’ve gotten so good?”

  “I don’t really feel like it,” AJ said. “Can we just go home now? I’m starting to get hungry, and Grandma has apple pie.”

  Henry glanced at his watch. It was just after four, a full two hours earlier than AJ’s mom expected him home. He sighed.

  “All right, if that’s what you want to do.” Henry watched as AJ tossed one final rock into the river. Close to the size of AJ’s fist, the rock made a noisy splash when it hit the water.

  “I’ll go get my soccer ball,” AJ said.

  Henry drove through town with his heart heavy in his chest. He had hoped the park would provide enough of a distraction that he and AJ could enjoy the entire afternoon together. Week after week, it was growing more and more difficult to fill the time, to find things AJ wanted to do.

  His son was only seven. Henry knew it was his fault. He was the dad. He was the only one who could make things better. But what could he do if his own son didn’t enjoy spending time with him? He couldn’t force him to have a good time. When he gave in to the impulse to try, it only pushed AJ further away. Henry stopped the car at an intersection beside the construction site for the new elementary school.

  “Are you excited about the new school?”

  AJ shrugged his shoulders. “I guess so. They’re supposed to have a field for nothing but soccer. That’ll be cool.”

  Henry had never been a soccer player, but in moments like these, when relating to his son felt like grasping at straws, he wished that he had. “When’s your next soccer game? Maybe I’ll be able to come.”

  Henry watched AJ in the rearview mirror, hoping the idea would elicit even a hint of excitement. But AJ appeared indifferent.

  “I don’t know. You could ask Mom or Grandma. I think it’s on Wednesday, so you’ll probably be working.”

  “I’m done by four thirty on Wednesdays. If your game is after that, I’ll be there.”

  “Cool.”

  AJ had mood-ring eyes, just like his father. That’s what Henry’s sister had called them when they were kids because their color seemed to fluctuate so frequently from gray to blue, then back again. Henry wished he could get a glimpse of how AJ was feeling by observing his eye color.

  If only it were so easy.

  Aside from the eyes, AJ looked very much like his mother. He had her sandy blonde hair and the same dusting of freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Henry couldn’t help but notice the similarities, and it made him grip the steering wheel just a little tighter. He wondered how much time would have to pass for the sting of rejection to fade every time he saw the woman he’d loved—even still loved—in his son’s face.

  * * *

  “Is Allison not here?”

  “She’s out with Robert.” AJ’s grandmother Lila shook her head. “I expect she’ll be back by six. I daresay she didn’t think you’d bring AJ home before then.”

  Henry wearily rubbed his fingers through his hair. He looked through the living room into the kitchen, where AJ and his grandfather were already eating a piece of Lila’s homemade apple pie.

  “He said he wanted pie.” Henry watched the expression on Lila’s face soften.

  “You look like you could use a piece yourself.” She pulled Henry out of the entryway. “Come on in and sit down. I’ll fix you up a slice, and you and I can talk a bit.”

  Henry sank into the couch in Lila’s small, familiar living room. He’d spent hours of his adolescence sitting in this room. It was where he’d kissed Allison for the first time, where they’d fallen in love over old
movies and bowls of popcorn. To his left, in front of the old fireplace, the two of them had stood in cheesy prom attire for both junior and senior prom pictures. One of those pictures still hung to the left of the big bay window behind the couch in an outdated gold frame, the paint chipping around the corners.

  Lila returned to the room, a big piece of pie in hand. She gave it to Henry, then placed a glass of milk, a napkin, and a fork on the coffee table. She moved around the table and sat down next to him on the couch.

  “Henry, how are you?” Her words were warm and sincere, rolling out with the typical softness of her Southern cadence. “You seem a little discouraged today.”

  Lila had always been good at reading his emotions. For fifteen years, she’d been asking the same question: “How are you, Henry?” She had a way of making him feel like she really wanted to know.

  “I’m good,” Henry lied. “Work is good, church is good. Things with AJ . . .” He hesitated. “I guess they’re good too.”

  “That’s not what I asked,” Lila said. “I didn’t ask about work or church or even AJ. I asked about you.”

  Henry gave her a small smile. He always appreciated Lila’s concern. It was a welcome reminder that even though his marriage with her daughter had ended, Lila, and even Jim, still considered him family.

  “You always ask the hard questions, don’t you, Lila?”

  “I just want you to be happy, dear. You know if you’re happy, it will be easier for you to have a good relationship with AJ.”

  “I do have a relationship with AJ.” Henry knew he sounded defensive and tried to dull the edges of his words. “I see him twice a week, every week. I like spending time with him.”

  “Does he know that?”

  “Of course he does. Why wouldn’t he?”

  “Henry Jacobson, if there is one mistake you should never make, it’s assuming a seven-year-old knows how you feel.” Lila gave him a pointed look, her hands folded primly in her lap. “Just make sure you’re talking to him. Don’t ever hesitate to tell him how much he means to you.”

  Henry didn’t say anything. He kept his eyes on his plate, pushing the crumbs of his pie from one side to the other.

  “Are you seeing anyone?”

  Henry looked up, surprise in his eyes. “You mean dating?”

  “Of course I mean dating. It’s been two years. You’re thirty years old, Henry. You’re in the prime of life, and you shouldn’t waste these years. Surely there’s a nice girl at your church, someone you could spend some time with. Allison is moving on. So should you.”

  Your church. The words still stung. Allison’s parents didn’t share Henry’s faith, but for a while, Allison had. When she’d walked out on Henry, she’d walked out on her faith too. Now it was his church. At least she still let AJ attend.

  Henry knew perfectly well that Allison was moving on. She’d been dating Robert Franklin, a local attorney and old high school friend of Henry’s, for nearly six months. Henry had run into them once in town, shopping at the grocery store, with AJ chatting animatedly between them. To any stranger, they would have seemed a normal, happy family.

  Just thinking of Allison dating someone made Henry flush with anger. She’d claimed she needed to live life for her. They’d fallen in love so young; she didn’t even know who she was anymore. Funny, she’d seemed fully aware of who she was when she’d jumped into a serious relationship not six months after their divorce had been finalized.

  Henry shook his head. “I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.” He stood. “I should go. Do you know what time AJ’s soccer game is on Wednesday?”

  “I think it’s at six, but let me check the schedule to be sure. Come on into the kitchen and say hello to Jim before you leave. You can say good-bye to AJ too, and I’ll box up a few more pieces of pie for you to take with you.”

  Jim looked up when Henry entered the kitchen. “I finished the book.” He leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on his substantial midsection and furrowed his brow. “Didn’t like it.”

  Henry laughed. “It was a history book. What was there not to like about it?”

  “History according to who? I was over there in Vietnam, and I remember what it was like. You can write a book about politics and maneuvering and who said what and when, but that’s not the real story. Only those of us on the ground can tell the real story.”

  Henry shook his head. There wasn’t anything wrong with the book he’d given Jim. But no book was going to be good enough until Jim sat down and wrote one himself. No other version of history was ever going to measure up. “Why don’t you tell the story, then? I’ll even help you write it. It’ll be good for you.”

  “Beh,” Jim said gruffly. “I’m not a writer.”

  “But I am. I mean, at least I teach about writing. I know enough that I think I could help.”

  “You’re a very good writer, Henry,” Lila said gently. “You should let him help you, Jim. He knows what he’s talking about.”

  Henry laughed to himself. Lila meant well, but the only writing of his she’d ever read was an essay he’d written in the eleventh grade. It had been an adequate essay, Henry remembered, but an old high school paper hardly justified her labeling him a “good writer.”

  Jim pushed his chair back from the table. “I gotta mow the lawn.” Jim ended the conversation in typical Jim fashion—just as abruptly as he’d started it. “You want to help me, AJ?”

  “Sure, Grandpa; I’ll go get my old shoes.” AJ dropped his plate into the sink with a clatter. “Bye, Dad!” His hurried farewell tossed over his shoulder as he raced down the hallway toward his room felt like little more than an afterthought.

  Lila walked Henry to his car.

  “Can you tell Allison I’ll be at AJ’s soccer game on Wednesday night? Maybe I can take him for a cheeseburger or something afterward.”

  Lila nodded. “I’ll let her know. And, Henry, don’t forget what I said. Don’t forget to take care of yourself.”

  He gave Lila a hug before climbing into his car. “I’ll try.”

  Henry knew Rose Creek was where he needed to be. Having a closer relationship with his son eclipsed any doubts he’d ever harbored on the matter. As long as it was AJ’s home, it would be his home too. And yet, as he pulled out of Lila’s driveway and drove the winding streets he knew and loved from his childhood, he wondered how a place he’d called home for so many years could feel so desperately lonely.

  Chapter 2

  “So how did Beverly take it?”

  Eliza turned away from Lexie and tried to appear nonchalant. “Fine, I guess.”

  “You guess? We’re talking about your mother. You’re not allowed to give me a three-word answer and leave it at that.”

  Eliza picked up a sweater—a spring-green cropped cardigan—and held it against her, turning toward the mirror. “What else do you want to know? She’s happy for me. She knows it’s a good job. What about this one?” She motioned to the sweater. “Should I take it?”

  “I haven’t seen you wear it in months,” Lexie said. “The color brings out your eyes though. And it’s cold in the mountains. You’ll need it.” She pulled the sweater out of Eliza’s hands and folded it, adding it to the growing pile of clothes inside Eliza’s suitcase. “So that’s it, then? She’s happy for you, and now you’re on your merry way?”

  Eliza sighed and sank onto the bed next to her friend and longtime roommate. “Not really. She was sad and a little discouraged, I think. I could tell she doesn’t want me to be so far away. The thing is, even though I’m happy about where our relationship is now and I wish it didn’t have to change, this job . . . even Mom agrees it’s too good for me to pass up.”

  “You know, just because there’ll be more physical distance between you doesn’t mean your relationship has to change.” Lexie gave Eliza’s shoulder a gentle nudge.

  Of course, Lexie was right.

  But things with Eliza’s mother still felt fragile. It was only recently they had been able to
repair the splintery remains of a relationship that for years had been fractured beyond recognition. They’d made so much progress Eliza might even say they were close. It wasn’t a typical mother-daughter relationship. They were more like good friends. But after all they had been through, Eliza would take good friends. It could be so much worse.

  “I hope you’re right,” Eliza said. “We’re going to have lunch together today, and I don’t want things to be awkward when we say good-bye. I just want everything to be okay, you know?”

  “It’s going to be fine. It has to be. Besides, there’s no turning back now. Your suitcase is already packed.” Lexie glanced at her watch. “Shoot, I gotta go. I’m meeting Jason in twenty minutes.” She paused in the doorway and looked back. “Speaking of Jason, you’re coming back for the wedding, right?”

  Eliza cocked an eyebrow. “Wedding? When did the engagement happen?”

  Lexie grinned. “It hasn’t yet, but it will soon. And when it does, I’ll say yes, and then there’ll be a wedding, and you’ll come back for that wedding. Right?”

  Eliza laughed. “Of course I’ll come back. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “Will you call me after lunch with your mom? Tell me how it goes?”

  Eliza nodded.

  She watched Lexie walk down the long hallway of the two-bedroom condo they had shared for the past three years. Lexie disappeared into her own bedroom at the opposite end of the hall, then reemerged only moments later, her purse and keys in hand.

  “I’ll be home later tonight if you want to go through the stuff in the kitchen.”

  Eliza waved from the doorway of her bedroom. “Sounds good.”

  Leaving the condo—leaving Lexie—was going to be hard. Eliza had moved in just weeks after finishing her master’s degree in social work, wrapping a new job, a new condo, and a new roommate all into one action-packed week. Working for Davidson County Child and Family Services right in the heart of Nashville, she’d been lucky to find a place so perfectly situated. But the apartment’s close proximity to her office had seemed like bonus points when Eliza realized how much she enjoyed having Lexie as a roommate. They had been instant friends.