Blood Mountain

Chapter 2

Mercy Higgins did not want to climb some ugly mountain with her father when she could be at home reading a book or working on one of her short stories. Could be at the bookstore helping Pete clean out the fiction section for the new coffee bar he was installing.

Dad needed this, however, and that would have to suffice.

The book someone had given him at work--Daddy/Daughter Bonding: Activities to strengthen a Father’s Connection with his Daughter--waited before him like it was his meal. Several skinny Post-Its stuck out from the pages.

“I know you don’t want to do this,” Dad said. She started to protest but he continued. “I know this may not be what you want to do on a Saturday, but I think it’ll be good for us. Get some fresh air. Some distance from the world. You might actually have fun.”

They had never been camping. Dad never showed any interest and she certainly had no desire to sleep in a tent on the ground. Not to mention the hiking. They weren’t prissy people; they just liked their quiet time at home. It was warm there, especially in the reading room where Dad kept the fireplace going through the winter and the walls of books sheltered her like giant arms.

Mom had loved that room, too.

“It’s fine, Dad,” she said. “I’m looking forward to it.” She held his gaze long enough for him to believe it, or at least add it to the tomb of self-denial he was perpetually building.

“It’s supposed to be beautiful tonight. Maybe a little chilly but we’ve got the thermal sleeping bags and the arctic tent. The portable grill, too. Hopefully, I’ll be able to get a fire going.” He laughed in that way that always made him sound vulnerable. It was something she liked about her dad, something she’d liked about Joel at school, too. So many men came across as cocky know-it-alls; it was refreshing to find a few who could be self-deprecating.

“I know, Dad.”

“I bought the best stuff. It’s not like we’re heading out unprepared.”

“I know.”

“It’s going to be fun. Trust me.”

About a month before she died, Mom told Mercy all the things she loved about her husband. She said them slowly, breathing shallowly between words. When Mom started on the physical traits, Mercy had steeled herself against the expectation of graphic sexual references because sometimes in those last days Mom had forgotten what she was saying, gotten really vulgar. Instead, Mom said it was Dad’s smile that always moved her heart. So sweet and inviting. And those dimples.

Dad’s smile now was no less sweet but carried a weight of desperation. The beard he’d grown had covered his dimples and his face had thinned.

“You’re really sweet, Dad.”

“No pity on your old man. This is for us.”

When the waitress took their order, they both asked for more food than they had intended, like they knew they would need it.

Beyond the parking lot outside the window was Route 51, which led straight across the county to New Jersey in the west and onward to New York City in the east, and on the other side of the road, almost close enough to touch, waited the foot of Blood Mountain. Clouds obscured the peak like it was something secretive. Or dangerous.