Her Beautiful Mind Page 27

  “Why?” I finally whisper.

  Staring at the ceiling, he sighs deeply before reaching up to rub his face, only to be stopped by the swelling. When he finally turns to look at me, I can see hesitation and regret on his face. “This is going to sound really elitist and snobbish, but I promised to tell you the truth, so here goes. You remember we met at your eighteenth birthday party?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was looking for an idea to use for my graduate project.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you let me build a business model based on your theories.”

  “Yes.”

  “We saw each other from time to time and corresponded when I had questions but nothing more. We were both busy with graduate school and our papers. I’ve told you I was intrigued. However, you were so much younger, and so … different.” He glances at me, an apologetic look on his face, but I wave him on.

  “I never thought the business or our friendship would go beyond a school project or a casual acquaintance. Then, four years ago when it became obvious this could be more, Dr. Albright took me aside and warned me to be careful with my feelings and business dealings with you. He was concerned you wouldn’t fit into my lifestyle and people in my social circles would think I was taking advantage of you. He didn’t want you to get hurt.

  “I tried to follow his advice. Tried keeping you separated from the rest of my life. I dated women from the social groups I was expected to date from. Did the traveling, appearances, and events, everything my parents required of me. That didn’t work out so well, but I did make sure no one could ever say I was cheating you. The business is all yours. I work for you.”

  I don’t know how to answer his truthful confession. Gia’s words about my suitability for Hudson repeat in my head as I gaze back at his worried face.

  “Ariella? Say something, please.”

  “When I went to your condo and saw Gia, I argued with her that you wouldn’t cheat me out of the business. I told her you weren’t that kind of person. But there were two things she said that convinced me she was telling the truth.

  “The first was that I wouldn’t fit in your society. She said you needed and deserved a woman who could help your career. Someone who knew how to act, how to dress, knew which fork to use. A woman who could speak to people without looking like a frightened mouse all the time.

  “She’s right about that. I will never be comfortable around many of your family’s friends. I can learn how to dress and which fork to use. I’ll never be a frightened mouse again. But I won’t fit—I never will. You need to understand that if you want any kind of future with me. It would hurt too much if I ever found out you were embarrassed by me. I refuse to change who I am and where I came from.”

  He’s shaking his head by the time I’m finished. “No, no,” he argues. “None of it is true. You could never embarrass me. I swear I don’t care about social standing or someone to advance my career. None of it’s important to me.”

  “I’ll never live in New York City again,” I warn him.

  “I don’t want to either,” he counters. “In fact, I thought maybe we’d talk about moving to Georgia or maybe North Carolina. The business could be done anywhere, and I wondered if you might like being closer to Liam and the rest of your family.”

  “I’d like that,” I admit with a smile but quickly sober when I remember what else I have to ask him.

  He must see the seriousness in my face because his smile slips away and a worried frown takes its place. “You said there were two things,” he begins before I stop him.

  “Yes, and this is difficult for me to talk about. I want the truth from you, all of it. I can’t trust you until you tell me what I need to know.”

  He nods, acknowledging how earnest I am.

  “You left a mark on my neck when we made love in the shower the last morning. Gia saw it. She became extremely angry and said some things about your prowess in the bedroom. Then she mentioned you liked to mark your conquests, and I probably had a love bite over my heart. How did she know? How would she know what you’re like in bed?”

  His face pales even more as he listens to my words. “Oh, God,” he mutters to himself. “That bitch. That fucking bitch,” he curses, staring at the ceiling.

  “Hudson,” I repeat, rising from the chair. “You told me there was no one else for a long time. I will not be lied to.”

  “Wait,” he demands as I start to leave. “I didn’t lie. I haven’t touched anyone else in over four years. I couldn’t, not after I knew I loved you.”

  “Then how did Gia know those details? Did you have a relationship with her?”

  “I wouldn’t call it a relationship exactly.”

  “Hudson,” I warn.

  “I was seventeen,” he finally says. “Seventeen and horny as hell. I’d kissed a few girls, even did a little groping in the back seat. But not much more—besides watching some porn in our dorm rooms. My parents were pretty strict about dating and appropriate behavior. Going to an all-boys school means there aren’t a lot of girls around.” He glances at me, hesitating until I nod for him to go on.

  “I’m sorry. This is difficult for me, too. It was eleven years ago, and I’ve tried to forget everything. Anyway,” he begins again. “It was spring break my senior year. Our parents took Kathryn and me to Europe for a skiing trip. Gia and her family were there, too. It’d been awhile since we’d seen them. She’s Kathryn’s age, three years older, and never had much to say to me. Mom didn’t like her—said she was too wild, but my younger self thought she was attractive and intriguing.

  “The families ate dinner together one night. When we were leaving, she slipped me her room key. I snuck into her room later. She answered the door completely naked, and it was very obvious what she wanted. I didn’t say no.” He stops again, and I watch him gather his thoughts, knowing this is as difficult for him as it is for me.

  “I spent every night with her. She, uh … She liked it rough, really rough.” He glances at me, worried I’ll be disgusted, but I just nod, and he continues. “She’d tell me what to do, and, well, there was a lot of biting and some … Shit, Ariella, I can’t,” he yells, hitting the bed with his fist.

  Hudson faces away from me, breathing heavily. When he’s more composed, he turns back to me.

  “I was completely infatuated, thought I was in love.” He laughs ruefully. “I begged her to wait for me. Told her I’d join her at college. We could get an apartment and be together. She just laughed. Said I was a pretty good lay, but I needed to grow up a lot. I’ve hated her ever since and never tried to hide it. Kathryn found out and blacklisted her. I’ve wondered if this was all an elaborate plan to hurt me and my family. It would be like her to do that. The woman is fucking mental.

  “I’m sorry you got caught up in all this,” he adds after calming down. “I thought it was all behind me. I would never want you to be hurt by my past actions.”

  Moved by his difficult confession and his heartfelt apology, I bend over his bed, laying my head gingerly on his chest. He wraps his arms around me, hugging me to him while one hand slowly rubs up and down my back. “I know that was difficult to remember, but thank you for telling me,” I whisper before placing a kiss on his cheek. We stay that way for a long time, enjoying the pleasure of being so close again.

  “Ariella?”

  “Hmm?”

  “In the last letter you wrote at Plumorchard Shelter, you said you had a journey to make. You said you’d like me to make it with you. I want that, too. Can you … Will you let me be your companion on the journey?”

  I raise my head, smiling at the love I see in his eyes. “It might be a very long journey,” I warn him. “It could last fifty, sixty years.”

  “Fifty, sixty, a hundred, a thousand years wouldn’t be long enough. I love you, Ariella. You and that beautiful mind of yours.”

 
; “I love you, too, Hudson. But I have one last question for you.”

  His smile disappears, and his eyes widen with panic at my words. “Tell me.” I grin. “What’s this about rocks not being your friend?”

  Chapter 36

  A Future of Wonderful Possibilities

  Date: September 11, 2015

  Starting Location: Asheville, North Carolina

  Destination: The Future

  Total Trip Miles: Just Beginning

  Years ago, I stood on the summit of Springer Mountain and stared at the vista before me. Spring was slowly creeping its way into the valleys below, but winter still gripped the mountaintop. I gazed at a future that seemed as bleak and cold as the wind that tossed the dead leaves at my feet and nipped the chilled skin on my face.

  Devastated by what I thought was Hudson’s personal and professional betrayal, I’d escaped to the mountains of Georgia to deal with the ruin of my life and to hopefully find some small bit of peace.

  When I met Dreamer on Springer’s summit, she’d told me Prince Charmings were nice to have around, but I was a strong, confident woman who was capable of making her own dreams come true. I hadn’t believed her at the time, but hiking the trail brought back the real me I’d lost in New York.

  It gave me more than just my vanished self-confidence. A loving husband, two amazing children, a wonderful extended family of good friends and business associates were all part of my life because of the Appalachian Trail.

  Now, standing in the doorway to our bedroom, watching that loving husband, I have to wonder if I could actually time travel, would I go back and tell that sad, younger version of myself that everything was going to be all right? Would I let her know how her hike would forever change her life? No, probably not, I think to myself. That journey was hers to discover and I have my own waiting for me.

  Smiling, I make my way into the room and sit beside Hudson on the end of our bed. He glances up at me with a grin before resuming his activity. Hudson is trimming his toenails. It’s such an ordinary thing, this little piece of personal grooming, but it’s always struck me as intimate, too. Something you would only be comfortable doing around a spouse or longtime lover.

  I remember the first time I watched him cut his nails after we’d been living together for a few months. Although he’d tried to persuade me to share an apartment with him when we first moved our business to Asheville, I resisted. I wanted to reset our relationship, to start over and let it develop in a more normal way. I wanted to be wooed.

  We began dating. He taught me ballroom dancing; I taught him to two-step. I made him homemade meals; he took me to fancy restaurants. Hudson gladly gave me the hearts and flowers, wine and candy I wanted. We explored the area around our new home, and then—when his leg was properly healed and strong enough—we began doing short hikes on the Appalachian Trail.

  “What is that beautiful mind of yours thinking?” he asks, interrupting my musing.

  “About the first time I watched you trim your toenails.”

  My dear husband frowns at me for a moment, searching his memory for something he’s probably forgotten. “Remind me, please?”

  Taking the clippers from him, I stand, turning to face him and stepping between his now open legs. “Do you remember this?” My lips trace the outline of his jaw, then ghost over each eyelid. “And this?” A peck to the tip of his nose. “And this?” I kiss him—deeply, thoroughly—only pulling away when I need to breathe.

  “Well, I’m not sure that I do,” he teases. “Maybe you should remind me again?”

  “Oh, you!” I laugh. “You had finally persuaded me to share an apartment. It was a Sunday morning. We were lying in bed, reading the paper, you sat up and began trimming your toenails, and that’s when I knew.”

  “What did you know?”

  “That …” Pausing, I try to find the words. “That our relationship had survived its difficult start. We’d left our winter behind us and entered a spring full of wonderful possibilities.”

  I can see the love in my husband’s face as he smiles at me, and I know my smile matches his. Throat tight, I run one hand through his chestnut curls, watching his eyes close in pleasure as I lightly scratch his scalp. At forty, Hudson is still a handsome man. Our active lifestyle has kept him lean and fit, and he regularly works out in our home gym.

  “Is that why you gave me these?” he asks, opening my other hand that still holds the clippers.

  “No.” I chuckle. “Those were to spare you the horror of losing another blackened toenail.”

  Laughing, we both remember his panic at finding one of his nails turning black after a weekend of hiking. I’d warned him his feet might swell and to make sure his nails were short and his shoes big enough. He ignored me and learned a painful lesson. At our wedding on Granny’s porch two years later, I gave him the clippers engraved with the date. He carried them from Springer to Katahdin on our honeymoon hike.

  Hudson takes them from my hand, running his fingers over the numerals. “I wonder if anyone else has ever received engraved nail clippers as a wedding present.” He laughs at my grin. “Such a unique gift.”

  “From such a strange and weird mind,” I add.

  “No!” He doesn’t let me demean myself. “You know how I feel about labels. You are amazing, wonderful, and maybe a bit unique at times, but always beautiful, and never, never strange or weird.”

  Hudson is laid-back and easy-going as a father. The only time he’s ever lost his temper with our daughter was when she came home from kindergarten one day and called her two-year-old brother a weirdo because he refused to talk. He’d yelled at her, and then sent her to her room in tears. Later, after he calmed down, they’d had a long private conversation. I never found out what he said to her, although I suspected it might have been something about my bullied childhood. It made a lasting impression because she’d never used derogatory labels again and was always quick to defend anyone she thought was being harassed. She became her little brother’s staunchest protector and defender.

  Before I can answer, he pulls me down for another kiss, another deep, thorough kiss that leaves me breathless again. With a quick flip, he has me on my back, his weight pressing me into the mattress.

  Soft, feathery kisses make their way down my neck while his hands slip their way under my shirt. “How much time do we have before our guests start arriving?” he whispers into my ear.

  “I don’t think—”

  “Mom! Dad!” Cori’s loud voice echoes down the hallway. “Siler needs your help.”

  With an exasperated sigh, Hudson rolls off me and sits up but not before whispering that this conversation will resume later. With a smirk, he stands and adjusts his clothing just before our daughter bursts into the room.

  “He got into the stuff on the bookshelves in the library and some of it fell off.”

  “Cori, what have we said about using inside and outside voices?”

  His eight-year-old mini-me has the grace to look apologetic for a fleeting second. “Sorry, Dad,” she manages to mutter before her younger brother follows her into the room.

  “It is a physical impossibility to get into stuff on a bookshelf,” he says, frowning at his sister. “And one book fell off, not some,” he continues before turning to Hudson. “Sorry, Father.”

  “No problem, buddy,” Hudson reassures him.

  “What do you have there?” I ask, motioning to the large book he’s trying to carry. “Cori, help your brother.”

  She takes the heavy book from his arms, and once again, I marvel at the differences in my two children. Coraline Dobbs Calder didn’t cry when she was born—she screamed. She was loud, rambunctious, and full of energy. It was months before she slept all night. Hudson and I existed in a semi-zombie state for weeks until he insisted we hire a night nurse. I resisted, afraid it meant I was a bad mother, but the prospect of a f
ull night’s sleep, and the argument we would be rested and energized to spend all day with our new daughter, did the trick. Even after Cori started sleeping all night, Mrs. Morris stayed on. Four years later when Siler was born, she became a trusted nanny to our two children.

  Siler was the complete opposite of his sister. Shy and retiring by nature, he inherited my dark hair and eyes. It was those eyes that stared at me as I held my son only minutes after his birth. Those eyes told me raising this little boy would be completely different from raising his sister. It wasn’t without worry, however. He rarely cried, and although able to communicate his needs with looks and gestures, he didn’t speak until he was two.

  Hudson worried about him, but I knew he didn’t need to speak—Cori did all his talking for him. Then one day, he spoke—in complete sentences, with proper grammar, and a stubborn refusal to use contractions. Each word was clear, distinct, and pronounced with a slight English accent. We could only guess he picked it up from being around Daniel so much.

  “Is that an old photo album?” Hudson asks after taking the book from Cori.

  “Yes, Father,” Siler answers. “Can you remind me who some of these people are?”

  Crouching down to his level, my husband studies the serious face of our son. “You worried about tomorrow, Siler?”

  “A little,” he admits.

  “It’s okay to be nervous, and you know you don’t have to do this. Everyone will understand if it feels too big or too scary.”

  “But Mr. Daniel and Mr. Ron asked me to be the ring bearer.”

  “Yes, they asked because it’s a special day for them, and they want you to be part of it. That’s why they won’t be upset if you decide you don’t want to.”

  “Because they love me?”

  “Yes. It’s your decision, son.”

  “Can we look at the photos first before I decide?”

  “Sure.” Hudson settles on the floor, hefting the large album onto his lap. He smiles when I slide off the bed and sit next to him.