Her Beautiful Mind Read online

  It’s time to start this journey. The sooner I make it to Neels Gap, the sooner I’ll see her again.

  The weight of the backpack pulls at my shoulders and back, but it’s no match to the weight of guilt I carry. I ignore the pain, knowing her pain was so much worse than mine. With purpose and determination, I take my first steps northward on the Appalachian Trail.

  I’m going to fix this, I tell myself. I’m going to make things right. We’re going to be okay.

  Chapter 27

  His Pain

  Date: Sunday, March 16

  Starting Location: Springer Mountain, Georgia

  Destination: Hawk Mountain Shelter

  Total Trip Miles: 7.6

  It takes over four hours to hike from Springer to Long Creek Falls, a distance of less than five miles. It is, without a doubt, the hardest thing I’ve ever done, at least physically. I stop repeatedly to catch my breath, shift the pack around, and simply sit. Walking uphill is almost impossible, and the downhills are even worse. The weight of the pack either pushes me forward or pulls me backward. How anyone can think this is fun, enjoyable, or worthwhile is beyond me.

  I hurt. Everywhere. My feet are so tender and swollen I can barely take another step. I swear my back must be broken, but it’s my shoulders that are the worst. The weight of the pack seems to be resting solely on them, and I wouldn’t be surprised to learn Ariella, or Emma, or maybe even Susan, has a voodoo doll of me somewhere and is busy torturing it with long, red-hot needles to the shoulders.

  Shaking my head at the ridiculous thought and image, I huff to myself. “Dear Lord, Hudson, the pain is affecting your mind now.”

  Long Creek Falls is a beautiful, secluded spot. The water tumbles over a series of ledges into a nice pool, deep enough for swimming, and is surrounded by rocks, perfect for sitting. The torture device on my shoulders falls with a thump onto one of those rocks when I shrug it off. Briefly, I worry I might have broken something but don’t seem to have enough energy to care.

  Shoes and socks come off next, and I groan at the sight of large blisters forming on my red, swollen feet. Into the icy water they go until they’re so numb I can barely feel them. At least, it helps with the pain.

  For some time now, I’ve been trying to ignore an increasingly uncomfortable rubbing in my groin. With no one around, this might be a good time to check out what is going on down there. As soon as I drop my pants, it becomes very obvious why hikers don’t wear denim in the woods. Body sweat has soaked into the hard, bulky seams of the jeans and my silk boxers are bunched around my crotch. Everything down there is raw and inflamed. “Oh, fuck it,” I mutter to myself, pulling off my shirt and wading into the icy pool. Maybe the cold water will numb my whole body.

  To call it cold would be an understatement—it’s icy, freezing, and blissfully numbing. When I can catch my breath again, I duck my head under, scrubbing my hair for a minute before rising with a gasp and a sob. I’m shaking. I want to blame it on the icy water, but I realize I’m close to crying. Maybe it’s the sleepless nights, maybe it’s the worry, maybe it’s the physical exhaustion, or maybe it’s the lack of food and water. Hell, maybe I’m a weak, wimpy, city boy who’s in way over his head out here in the woods. I don’t know, but I do know for the first time in a long, long time, I’m on the brink of tears.

  The thought of twenty-five more miles like the last five is terrifying. “Get a grip,” I scold myself. “There are hundreds of hikers, some twice your age, out here hiking the whole thing. And you want to quit after four hours? Man up. Use your head. Get some help. There must be something you’re missing.” Shaking my head because I’m talking to myself again, I start toward the shore.

  There’s a small bird hopping around on my discarded backpack. It cocks its head, watching me with a small black eye while I approach. Instead of flying away when I get closer, it hops over to the bottom compartment of my pack, pecking at the old canvas material. Maybe the pack smells like food to it, but the thunk, thunk of its beak hitting the canvas indicates there’s something else in there. An idea forms as I stare at the source of my torment, and I hear Randall’s question in my head.

  “Oh, you didn’t, you wouldn’t, you couldn’t have done something so devious, could you, Crow?” But even as I speak the words, I know he has.

  I reach for the pack, unzipping the bottom compartment. Rocks—big ones, little ones, even gravel—fall out. Staring at the pile, I don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or curse. Instead, I sit and begin going through each of the compartments on the pack.

  I find a small tent, a new top-of-the-line, down sleeping bag, and a lightweight, sleeping pad. There’s a valve at one end, and when I open it, the pad begins to self-inflate. A side compartment holds a soft, plastic water bladder with a drinking tube and an in-line filter. In the larger, middle compartment is a food bag, a first-aid kit, and a stuff bag with extra clothing. At the very bottom is a pair of hiking shoes with thin, wool socks tucked inside them and supplies for blisters. They’re a whole size larger than I normally wear.

  The last item I find is some kind of rolled up webbing. There’s an envelope attached to it, and inside is a letter from Liam.

  Hudson,

  What you have in your hand is the belt to the pack. It attaches at the bottom. (I’m sure you’ll be able to figure out how.) It shifts the weight of the pack from your shoulders, which are probably hurting like a bitch right now, to your hips. I hope you’ve also found the rocks, if you haven’t, please empty the bottom compartment before you do any permanent damage to your back. I’d hate for my little cousin to take care of your invalid ass for the rest of her life.

  And speaking of asses, Emma will have mine when she finds out what I’ve done, so after you leave, I’ll be calling Randall with a heads up to give you some help when you get to Hawk Mountain Shelter. I hope you’re smart enough to check these supplies and get rid of the rocks before you’ve gone that far, but if you haven’t, then maybe you needed the pain to remind you to be more aware of everything and everyone around you, and that it’s okay to ask for help. Or then again, maybe you’ve been too self-centered in your upper class, privileged world to care about anyone else. I don’t want to believe that’s true. I hope it’s not.

  After Ari told me a little about what happened in New York, I threatened to find you and kick your lily-white uka all over these hills. I wanted to teach you what real pain is. Guess I’ll let the trail do my work for me.

  Now, eat something. Fill up the water bladder and be sure to hydrate. Change your clothes. (Chafing hurts, doesn’t it. Ha!) Doctor your feet.

  Ari should be at Dicks Creek Gap on Tuesday. I’ll be there to meet her midmorning and bring her home with me, hopefully by the afternoon. If what you told me is true, you two have a lot to talk about and some serious business to take care of.

  In the meantime, enjoy the trail and the forest. The weather should be nice for the next few days, and it’s a wonderful time to be hiking.

  Liam

  P.S. If I find out you’ve lied to me, I’m still kicking your ass all over these hills.

  Holding Liam’s letter in my hands, I survey the gear and supplies strewn haphazardly around me. Everything I needed to make the last five miles a pleasurable experience was right there on my back. Food, water, decent clothing, and a hip belt for the pack were just waiting to be found. Yet, here I sit, practically naked except for cold, wet boxers, blistered feet, sore shoulders, and an empty, growling stomach. The whole situation is ridiculous. The chuckle that escapes me is followed by another, and then another, until I’m laughing hysterically. I laugh until the tears run down my cheeks, until I’m so exhausted I have to lay back on the rocks to catch my breath.

  “Well played, Liam Crow,” I whisper. “Well played.”

  Taking his advice, I dress in the appropriate clothing he left for me, take care of my feet, fill the bladder with water, a
nd start rummaging around in the food bag for something to eat. Cheese, crackers, and an apple disappear almost instantly. I only slow down after several handfuls of trail mix.

  Much to my surprise, my little companion has stuck around, curiously watching me from a nearby bush. When I brush a few crumbs from my pants, he darts down quickly to peck them up. I edge a few more his way and watch while he devours those, too. I recall something Ariella once told me when I found her feeding birds on the cabin’s porch one morning. She pointed out these small gray birds with their dark eyes, calling them juncos, and explaining they were her grandmother’s favorite birds. My new friend looks just like those. When I finally pack up and prepare to leave, he flits back to his perch in the bush and begins to sing. I listen to his song as I hike north.

  The next three miles pass quickly and, thankfully, with far less pain. The trail doesn’t change much. Ups, downs, more ups, more downs. Liam was right, the weather is perfect, and the forest is awakening from its long winter sleep. It’s a wonderful time to be hiking.

  ~***~

  Randall is waiting for me when I arrive at Hawk Mountain Shelter. He smiles knowingly at my change of clothing. “How long did it take you to find the rocks?” he asks.

  “Long Creek Falls.”

  “Damn. Five miles? You must have really been hurting.” He laughs at my grimace, but it’s a good-natured laugh, followed by a huge grin. “Well, let’s get you fed and set up, okay?”

  He pulls the gear from my pack, briefly explaining what each thing is and how it’s used. The shelter is full, so he leads me to a small camping area close by where we set up my tent, inflate my sleeping pad, and roll out my down bag. In the clothes bag, he finds woolen tights and a long-sleeved pullover to sleep in, rain pants and a rain jacket, two more pairs of socks, and another pair of moisture-wicking, boxer briefs. “Top quality stuff,” he nods approvingly.

  Then, it’s back to the table and a lesson on using the small camp stove, filtering water, and cooking dinner. We sit and visit while I eat, and he tells me a little about himself. He’s open, friendly, and easy to like, plus he doesn’t tease me too much about today’s hiking fiasco.

  I find out this is his third year to work as a ridgerunner, and when hiking season is over, he works part-time for Liam and takes classes at a nearby community college. He wants to be an accountant.

  “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a numbers guy.”

  “Most people don’t, but I like numbers and order and figuring things out. I have a distant cousin who’s a math genius. Went to MIT when she was like fifteen or something. Got her PhD at twenty on some papers she wrote about Chaos Theory. Not like I understand any of it,” he adds laughing. “But she’s kind of a hero to me and a lot of people around here.”

  While he continues talking, I consider his words about Ariella. I’m sure she has no idea the influence she’s had on this young man or the respect people have for her. It’s one more reason I’m glad I made the decision to move our company to the area, and one more thing I never told her. My regret list keeps getting longer and longer.

  Although I try, I can’t hide my sleepy yawn. He chuckles when I try to apologize, telling me it’s been a hard day, and I should get some sleep. He suggests I take some pain medicine before turning in and reminds me to sign the register. Once again, he checks to make sure I know how to use my gear and if I have any other questions.

  “I do have one. Liam left me a note saying he was going to call you. I didn’t think cell phones worked out here.”

  “Most of them don’t,” he explains. “But I have a special one for the job, mainly for emergencies. He called me on it. You can usually get a weak signal on the top of most of the mountains. It’s still really sketchy at best, though, and the weather can affect the signal, too.

  “Good night, man,” he adds before ambling off to his camp.

  I watch him walk away. He’s a good kid, easy natured but determined. He’d probably make a good employee when we get the company running again. I refuse to even consider any other possibility.

  The shelter register is sitting on a small shelf on one wall. I take it to the table, flipping through it, looking for Ariella’s entry. Her small, neat note is dated the 12th. She spent the night here, choosing to camp in her tent instead of staying in the shelter. The entry closes with a short mention of a nap at Long Creek Falls, and a friendly junco who sang her on her way. She’s signed it “Ella,” and I realize someone has given her a trail name.

  I wonder if they chose “Ella” because it rhymes with Ariella or if it’s a shortened form of Cinderella. Is she looking for a new Prince Charming because the one she thought she knew in New York turned out to be an evil troll?

  “Get a grip, Calder,” I mutter to myself, knowing full well how ridiculous my thoughts sound.

  Picking up the pen, I add my own entry next to hers.

  March 16, 2003

  Learned a valuable lesson today. I’m not as strong or as smart as I thought I was, and asking for help doesn’t show weakness. I rested at Long Creek Falls, too, and a little junco reminded me of you. Could it have been the same one? Someday we’ll go there and listen to his song together.

  I hesitate, not knowing how to sign it. I consider “Rocky” in honor of Liam’s punishment and the difficult beginning of my hike but decide against it. Finally, I sign it, Hud. It’s a nickname I hate but Ariella used it at Springer, and I’ll use it until she can give me another one.

  Thinking of her letter, I flip through the rest of the notebook but find nothing else in her writing. Another yawn reminds me I desperately need some rest. After placing the register back on its shelf, I make my way to my tent and welcome the relief of dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 28

  His Tears

  Date: Monday, March 17

  Starting Location: Hawk Mountain Shelter

  Destination: Campsite just past Gooch Gap

  Total Trip Miles: 18

  “Hudson. Hey, you awake in there, man?” Randall’s voice rouses me the next morning.

  After my gruff, “Yeah,” he continues. “Hate to wake you, but it’s getting late, and you need to hit the trail if you’re going to get some miles in today. I have to leave in a few minutes to go back to Springer, so I need to know you’re okay.”

  “Getting up,” I groan, my throat dry and gravelly. The sun is beating down on my little tent, and it’s hot, I’m hot, my sleeping bag is hot. Crawling out of the tent is difficult but standing is almost impossible. I have to lean on my hiking poles just to maneuver myself up. The painful moan that escapes me is absurdly embarrassing.

  Randall’s anxiously watching me. I expect some kind of snarky remark but see only concern on his face. “Privy first,” he instructs. “While you’re gone, I’ll start packing up your stuff and find something in your food bag for breakfast. We need to get some food, lots of fluid, and some ibuprofen in you.”

  With a nod, I hobble toward the outhouse. Moving helps, but I still hurt … everywhere.

  He’s moved most of my gear to the shelter table and is boiling water for breakfast by the time I return. After I change clothes, he starts loading everything into the pack, patiently explaining where to place everything to balance the load. He offers to take the clothes I was wearing yesterday to his car on Springer, an offer I gladly accept. Then, while I eat, he opens the guidebook and goes over the description of the trail, locations for water, and possibilities for spending the night.

  The next shelter is seven miles away. I need to cover at least eleven miles today if I want to reach Neels Gap tomorrow, which means I’ll probably be camping tonight. When he thinks I’m ready to start hiking, he prepares to leave. During March and April, he spends most of his time at Springer, greeting hikers who are beginning their hikes and stressing the importance of “Leave No Trace” hiking.

  Shaking his hand, I tell him ag
ain how much I appreciate his help. With a last, “Good luck,” he shoulders his small pack and heads south on the trail. His long, easy strides carry him from view within minutes.

  I feel strangely emotional as I watch him leave. All my life, I’ve heard, “Boys don’t cry.” We’re taught to suppress our emotions, to remain stoic and in control at all times. As if our masculinity depends on our ability to not show sorrow or pain. Ten days ago, I lost control of my life and my plans. I’ve been on an emotional roller coaster since then.

  Maybe it’s being outdoors away from all the trappings of civilization except for the bare necessities of life that has me feeling so vulnerable. Maybe it’s the guilt. Or then again, maybe it’s because I just plain hurt. Whatever the reason, I’m sad to see him leave. Sitting here isn’t going to get me to Neels Gap, though. Swinging my pack around to my back and adjusting the straps and belt like he taught me, I grab my hiking poles and head north.

  It’s an unseasonably warm day. The forest is mostly hardwoods with very little leaf cover, and soon, my shirt is drenched. At my first snack break, I zip off the lower legs to my pants, leaving me in shorts. It helps some. The heat and the physical movement do wonders for my sore muscles. Soon, I’m walking freely down the trail, still sore in places but no longer stiff.

  The physical release of hiking seems to do strange things to my head. Although I’m aware of the trail and my surroundings, all I can think about is Ariella. My body hikes, but my brain thinks. Over and over, I consider everything that happened in New York, trying to examine every word, every conversation, every incident that would have given me a clue about what Gia was doing. Nothing new comes to mind, however. It’s the same thing I’ve thought about for the last ten days.

  Thankfully the FBI had been investigating her for some time. When Agent Reynolds tracked me down at my parents’ home where I was living and questioned me about my alleged involvement in her Ponzi scheme, I was finally able to understand some of her strange actions over the last two years.