Page 19 of Into the Mountains (Blue Grove Mountain #3)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHARLOTTE

PRESENT DAY

T wo weeks have come and gone. They’ve seen the light of day and no progress has been made with the collaboration between Elias and me.

We can’t agree on anything. We tried to nail a color scheme because in my opinion that’s where we should start, but he thinks we should start with the division of the rooms and which pieces of furniture I think would fit best in the space, because that will decide where the walls could go.

But he’s not understanding. I have to figure out if the forest green color is better suited or if we should go with lighter colors and decide on a more pistachio green palette.

A loud slap pulls me from my frustration.

“Got it again!” Ethan gloats. I swear I have never met a more competitive kid in my life. Not that I have met that many children, but if I did, I think Ethan would challenge them on who is more competitive.

Among our many disagreements and sparring matches, one thing I’ve actually enjoyed when it comes to Elias is his son.

During the weekends, Elias is able to pick up other projects or he has to make sudden changes to others and since I’m someone in town who’s available a lot and the guilt from leaving Ethan with his in-laws all the time isn’t involved, he asks me to babysit.

Or I offer. It’s a good mix of both because after the first time I babysat Ethan, I found I really like being around him.

He’s a fun kid and I think he likes the idea of having someone other than family to hang around.

This morning we ran around town, trying to find the perfect place to hide his flag from his Uncle Hudson, a game they’ve been playing since his mother died.

Hudson figured since Ethan liked hiding things as much as he did and they both needed some kind of distraction, an ongoing game of capture the flag was the perfect game to conjure.

Years later and they are still going. And I don’t think Ethan has ever lost a game.

The same thing can be said for the card game we are playing now. Egyptian rat-crew or something.

“You’ve gotta remember that when there’s a sandwich, you slap your hand down.”

The only sandwich I’m thinking of is the one I’m waiting on for lunch, because I’m starving. As if it read my thoughts, my stomach grumbles loudly.

“Sorry, E. I told you I’ve never played this game before.”

“Egyptian ratscrew is easy once you remember all the rules.” Ratscrew. I was close.

“There’s at least like fifty rules in this game. How do you keep them all straight?”

“I’ve been playing this game for years, Charlie.

Ever since I was old enough to understand.

My mom taught me and was really shocked when I caught on so quickly.

I used to beat her all the time too.” He stops talking suddenly like he just caught himself doing something wrong.

I don’t think he talks about his mom very often and if he does, it’s definitely not with people who aren’t his direct family.

“I bet she was really good at this game.” He looks at me skeptically for a second as if deciding whether or not he wants to continue talking about his mom. I wonder what happens around the others when or even if he brings her up.

“She was really good at a lot of card games. But this one was her favorite. I think she’d go easy on me a lot though.”

A smile tugs at the seams of my lips. “My mom used to do that too.”

I can visibly see his ears perk up as if hearing someone relate to his experience turned on some kind of radar. A sixth sense he didn’t know he had.

“She did?”

“Yeah, we always used to play this game called Gin rummy and I know for a fact she’d always go easy on me.”

“Why?”

I contemplate my answer for a second. Thinking of the why brings up a lot of emotions. I'm not sure I’m really prepared to face in front of an eight year old kid, but I also want him to know he’s not alone with what he’s feeling.

“I think it’s because, like your mom, she just liked seeing her kid happy. She liked seeing the big smile on my face when I won. Liked watching the victory lap I’d take around the living room and the champion song I’d sing.”

“Not much of a gloater, are you?” he teases.

“Oh definitely not. Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He returns his focus to the game and we go back and forth for a while, each slapping the pile when a double comes up.

Since my hand was first, I finally get the cards underneath, which isn’t much, but I’ll take the small victory.

We continue for a few minutes, king, two of hearts, five of clubs, two of hearts, slap! The pile is his this time.

“I think you’re right.”

“I usually am. But enlighten me.” Ace of diamonds, ten of spades, jack of spades, king of clubs, queen of clubs, ace of hearts, queen of hearts. Slap! He wins again.

“Damn.” My mouth goes faster than my brain and the curse slips out.

“You owe the jar five dollars.”

I don’t even bother arguing and fish out a five from my back pocket. One I stuffed in there this morning to pay for the coffee I planned to get when we left so I could have a caffeine boost to get me through the afternoon. I can already feel myself crashing.

“Alright, here.” I hand the money over in between my fingers. He reaches for it, but I back it away just out of his reach. “You have to tell me why I’m right first.”

“That’s not how the swear jar works.”

“I mean, I can keep this and go buy my afternoon coffee. Or you can tell me why I’m right and take the money for the jar.”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile in them that tells me he likes this playful side of people.

“Fine. I think you’re right,” he repeats.

“So I’ve heard.”

“My mom liked seeing me happy.”

“Most moms like seeing their kids happy.”

“Do you think…” He hesitates, his voice quieter. His eyes shift around as if he’s afraid people around him will overhear us. Moving closer until he’s almost at my ear, he whispers, “Do you think my dad will be happy again?”

A fissure opens in my chest and spreads to the deepest crevices of my heart. Ones I threw a patch over and thought I mended a long time ago. I never really knew how to mend things properly though and the stitches on the patch are coming loose.

The more time I spend around both of them, the more the threads are being pulled.

Tugging and begging for them to let that patch free.

The thing is, that patch is holding much more than the pain associated with Elias.

Him, my mom, my dad. It’s all wrapped up and shoved so deep into the crevice, the echo is never ending.

Ethan hasn’t moved and I’m not sure how to respond to his question.

So I just wrap my arms around him and hug him tightly.

He doesn’t move his arms to return the hug, rather he melts into me and curls his body into mine.

I wait until he’s ready to get up and by the time he does, our food has arrived.

We gather our cards and devour our food, getting lost in conversation about hobbit holes and the rules of Gin rummy.