Her Beautiful Mind Page 3

  Now here he is, sitting across from me at a picnic table outside of the Walasi-Yi Center where the AT crosses a mountain road in the middle of nowhere Georgia. The mirth on his face and the laugh he’s barely controlling tells me he’s having way too much fun with my confusion. Before I can think of a clever retort, however, he glances over at my dilapidated backpack and discarded shoes.

  “Whoa, Ari,” he exclaims, reaching over to haul the remains of my gear onto the tabletop. “What happened here?”

  He examines my makeshift repair on a broken shoulder strap. I’ve sewn it together with dental floss and wrapped it in duct tape to reinforce it, but I’ll have to replace the complete strap soon. I’m hoping I can get one at the hiking store here, but the pack is old and I may have to special-order one—if they even make them anymore.

  Before I can stop him, Liam has all my gear spread out on the table. I watch him examine each piece, shaking his head and muttering about the heavy, out-of-date, worn-out, get-yourself-killed-in-the-woods contents of my pack. His glare when he finally looks up lets me know he is not happy.

  “How old is this stuff?” he demands.

  I answer with a shrug. “This hike was a last-minute decision. I didn’t have time to shop for anything new, so I picked up what was in the cabin before getting a ride to Springer.”

  His glare morphs into a stare of disbelief. “Are you telling me this is the same gear we used as kids? Good Lord, Ariella Coraline, what were you thinking?” he questions as he continues to examine everything on the table. The fact he has double-named me is not lost on me. He’s seriously pissed.

  He picks up my old down sleeping bag, shaking his head when he realizes the poor shape it’s in—most of its loft and filling have disappeared over the last fourteen years. Although I’ve managed to stay warm for the last three nights, it won’t be enough when I enter the taller, colder mountains of the Smokies. “You could get yourself seriously hurt, or even killed, by taking off into the woods unprepared like this.”

  “Liam, stop. It’s only been three days, and you know damned well I can survive in the woods alone without any gear at all if I have to. You and Granny made sure I could. Besides, I was planning to replace most of it here. It’s way too heavy to lug it all the way to Maine.”

  As soon as the last word is out of my mouth, I know I’ve made a mistake. My cousin’s eyes narrow at me as he considers what I’ve just revealed.

  “Maine? Isn’t this about the time your company was supposed to be presenting the new security system to that big banking company? Why would you leave Hudson and New York for six months at such a crucial time?”

  Liam knows Hudson. He met him when we visited for his and Emma’s wedding. I was hesitant to bring him with me, but he wanted to see where I was from.

  Gradually over the years, I shared some of my childhood memories with him: stories about Gran and my cousin, Liam; descriptions of our cabin and the woods surrounding it; legends from my Cherokee heritage; and anecdotes of life in the hills of Georgia. He surprised me by being interested in something so foreign to his upbringing. I was afraid he would find the people and the area boring and backward, but Hudson enjoyed himself very much. His innate good manners and friendliness charmed everyone, including my cousin and his very taciturn family.

  During our visit, Liam and Hudson spent hours discussing business models, branding, marketing, human resources, stock options—all things foreign to me. The numbers I understood but not the human aspects of starting and maintaining a business.

  Hudson was enrolled in Harvard’s MBA program when I met him. Dr. Albright, my mentor and a long-time friend of his family, wanted us to meet and discuss the practical uses of my theories as a foundation for a new computer security program. He was looking for a project for his final thesis, and creating a start-up business plan for what would eventually become our company was exactly what he needed.

  Liam and Hudson stayed in touch after our visit. I wasn’t sure how much or how often. So, I’m not surprised he knows of our plans to offer it to Banca Italia Internazionale. I am surprised he knows it’s happening now.

  I’m not sure how to answer him.

  My face must show my discomfort because Liam is staring at me intently. I stutter and stammer, my throat closing on the words I need to explain what happened. Liam quickly averts his gaze, understanding how difficult it is for me to speak when people are looking at me. Reaching across the table, he takes both my hands in his. He gently rubs the tops of them before urging me to take a deep breath and start over.

  “Ariella, sweetheart, what’s going on? Why are you here and not with Hudson? What happened to the meetings and the presentation to that banking company?”

  “It’s over, Liam. Everything’s over. It’s all fallen apart. He accepted a position with Banca Italia. I’m not part of it anymore. It’s all … it’s just all gone. He’s gone.”

  The scarred tabletop in front of me is suddenly very interesting as I study the names carved over the years into its weathered surface, unwilling to look at my cousin when I think about what else happened between Hudson and me.

  “I don’t understand.” Liam’s voice is sharper, more insistent now. “I know you’re business partners, but I also thought you two were a couple.”

  “We were … I mean, I thought so, too. He spent the night, and we … well, you know, we … umm.” My cheeks are burning with embarrassment when I glance up at Liam, my natural reticence making me unable to confess Hudson and I had sex.

  I’m met with an understanding smile. “It’s okay. You’re a big girl now. You’re allowed to sleep with the man you love.” His teasing tone turns into a chuckle when he confesses he’s surprised we waited this long. “I could tell you loved the guy when you were here for the wedding, and I think he felt the same. So, no need to be embarrassed.”

  He gives my hands a reassuring squeeze before releasing them but hesitates when I’ve returned to examining the tabletop again.

  “Ari? Ariella, did something happen? Oh, my God, did he hurt you?”

  My head snaps up at Liam’s angry shouting. “No, not physically. It’s just—”

  “What? What happened?” he interrupts.

  Taking a deep breath, I face my oldest, dearest friend. “It’s just … the next day, I found out he’s engaged to Gia, Vincent Cattaneo’s niece, and she’s been living with him in his condo for the past two years.”

  Liam’s suddenly slack face betrays the same shock I felt upon learning of Hudson’s betrayal.

  “Banca Italia is establishing a new international division that will be in charge of all their computer systems, worldwide. It’ll be based at their headquarters in Italy, and Hudson is going to be the president of the division. Gia will be transferring to the headquarters with him as head of their Human Resources department. His employment offer was contingent upon him bringing our new security system with him.”

  Fresh out of words, I watch Liam’s face morph from concern to bewilderment to anger. “But can’t you stop him? Don’t you own the company together? How can he possibly take it with him unless you agree?”

  Shaking my head slowly, I confess Hudson’s ultimate deceit and my ultimate naïveté. “Susan, our lawyer, found a loophole. She drew up the papers to prevent this from happening and gave them to him. He was supposed to bring them to me to sign. Instead, he came to my apartment with my favorite Chinese take-out and a bottle of champagne. We toasted what I thought would be a successful sale the next day, and then we ended up in my bedroom. He never mentioned the papers.”

  Liam’s face mirrors Susan’s when I said those same words to her.

  Hudson had just finished his summation of the benefits of our system when Vincent stepped up to the microphone and made the announcement about his appointment. Applause filled the meeting room as we watched him escort Hudson, Gia, and the other Italia executives off the stage.
Susan turned to me, frowning with confusion when she asked if I’d known and agreed to this. I shook my head, clearly as confused as she was. When she questioned me about the papers and I explained what happened the night before, she was just as bewildered and shocked as Liam is now.

  I watch pure wrath overtake Liam’s face.

  His lips are clenched, and his nostrils flare. His eyes narrow in rage, and his hands ball into fists. For one brief moment, I’m reminded of the ancient warrior blood that still runs through his veins. Letting loose a stream of curse words that would make a sailor blush, he pounds his fist on the table between us.

  “I’ll kill him, Ari. So help me, I will. I’ll hunt the damned motherfucker down and I’ll drag his upper crust, lily-white uka all over these hills. I’ll teach him what happens when he backstabs one of us. I’ll teach him what real pain is.”

  No words leave my mouth as I stare at my infuriated cousin. I can only wonder how much angrier he would be if I confessed that Hudson had also told me he loved me.

  Chapter 6

  Wine & Candy

  Date: Friday, March 14

  Starting Location: Campsite five miles past Woody Gap Road

  Destination: Neels Gap

  Total Trip Miles: 30.7

  By the time I’ve gathered my gear and hoisted my backpack, Liam has finally ended his rant against Hudson. I’m headed toward the entrance to the hiking store when I hear him call after me.

  “Hey, where are you going?”

  “I need to buy gear, I need a decent meal, and I really, really need a shower. There’s a hostel in the basement, so I’m hoping I can score a bunk there and maybe take care of everything else while I’m here. Come on, maybe you can help me?”

  “Ariella Coraline Dobbs. I’m not about to let you sleep in the basement. You can stay with Emma and me.”

  This time, I stop and turn to face him. “Liam Spencer Crow,” I triple-name him in return. “You live on the other side of Gainesville, almost ninety minutes away. If I go home with you, you’ll just have to bring me back up here tomorrow, and I’m sure you have work or something more important to do than haul my ass around.”

  By the time I finish, Liam is rolling his eyes and shaking his head. “Oh, cousin … don’t you ever read your emails?”

  Now I’m confused and shaking my head. “I don’t know …”

  Placing his hands on my shoulders, he turns me to face the building once more before pointing toward the large sign over the entrance. It’s new; the words “Mountain Crossings” lettered in simple, bold script over a panoramic view of hazy hills in the background. But it’s the smaller letters at the lower right edge of the sign that capture my attention. “Liam and Emma Crow, Owners” they proclaim to everyone who passes through the newly painted door.

  “You … you and Emma bought Mountain Crossings?” I can’t contain my squeal of excitement. “When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “About six months ago, and I did in emails—you know those messages you get and are supposed to read, but never do? Come on,” he urges, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and leading me through the door. “Emma and I live in the apartment in the back. There’s a guest room with a shower and a tub where you can wash the hiker stink away. Emma has a hot meal waiting for you. After you’ve settled in, and maybe taken a short nap, we can work on some new gear for you.”

  I’m happy for my cousin and his wife. Owning one of the premier outdoor sporting goods stores in the South is the perfect opportunity for him to put his business degree to work while fulfilling his dreams of encouraging and promoting ecologically sound outdoor recreational opportunities for everyone.

  Most hikers take three to five days to hike the thirty-two trail miles from Springer Mountain to the road crossing at Neels Gap—plenty of time for them to realize hiking the Appalachian Trail is not some “walk in the woods.” Instead, it’s hard work.

  It’s steep, lung-busting uphill and never-ending downhill switchbacks. It’s too much heat or too much cold, gear-soaking rain, and skin-blistering sunshine. It’s muscle cramps, and headaches, and gas from eating freeze-dried meals. It’s snakes, bugs, and mice chewing holes in your pack at night. It’s mile after mile of boring tree trunks and awe-inspiring views that surprise you at the top of the next ridge.

  It’s terrible and wonderful, torture and bliss.

  Many of the hikers who stumble into Mountain Crossings are questioning their decision to spend time and money to pursue what their families and friends have already told them is a ridiculous daydream. They’re suffering from sore hips, shoulder strain, and lower back pain from carrying packs that are too heavy with muscles that have had too little preparation. The staff at Mountain Crossings can help them lighten their packs, share advice on staying well fed and hydrated, and encourage those who are considering quitting by offering a bed and a shower—either in the basement hostel or in one of the nearby cabins. They can arrange a ride into town for a hot meal, laundry, or a few days recuperating in a motel. For those who have decided to quit, they will help arrange transportation to the nearest bus depot, train station, or airport. It’s still a business and a service but performed with respect and care. It’s the perfect fit for my cousin.

  Several hours later, after a long soak in a hot tub, a two-hour nap, a steak dinner complete with baked potato, salad, and apple pie for dessert, Liam, Emma, and I sit on their back deck, watching the sunset, sipping a glass of wine, and catching up with all the local gossip and news. I learn the driver of the shuttle service I took to Amicalola Park, where Springer is located, is Emma’s second cousin. Apparently, he recognized my name and called Emma to tell her I was on the trail. She and Liam had been expecting me, which was how he was able to surprise me earlier in the day.

  I also find out Liam and some of his friends have been checking on Gran’s cabin, doing minor repairs, and keeping the grass and weeds cut back. I was pleased to see it in such good shape when I stopped by to pick up my gear. Since her death, I’ve only been back a few times a year. Visiting is difficult; I miss her so much.

  By some unspoken agreement, we don’t mention Hudson or anything about New York and what happened there.

  As the evening darkens and the temperature falls, Liam builds a fire in their outdoor fire pit. We drag our chairs closer to its warmth and wrap ourselves in worn, colorful old quilts, lapsing into companionable silence as we watch the stars appear in the dark Georgia sky above us.

  There is something mesmerizing about the flickering flames. I can feel their calming influence settling into my mind, easing away my anxiety and fears about the future. I feel my kinship to the people sitting beside me, to the extended family living in these hills, to the ancestors who came before me. The patterns of our connection form and reform in my mind, numbers and formulas defining the relationships. They link me to the people, to the land, to the past, to the future … to the whole of nature.

  Loud laughter from the basement hostel startles me from my musing, reminding me of where we are. Emma leans forward, refilling our empty wine glasses, and Liam begins to describe some of the interesting characters who have passed through since hiking season started in earnest.

  The Appalachian Trail goes right through the middle of the Walasi-Yi building. In fact, there’s a white blaze painted over the open-air breezeway that connects the visitor’s center on one side to Mountain Crossings on the other. Every hiker who makes it to Neels Gap stops here, most to resupply or get something to eat or drink. The smart ones stop for a day to rest and take advantage of the opportunity to let Liam or his staff evaluate their gear and help them lighten their packs.

  Hikers seem to fall into several broad categories.

  There are the more experienced veterans of the trail, some younger, some older, who have winnowed their packs to the bare essentials, carrying only what they need to survive, knowing in most locations the
y are only a day’s distance from a road or outside help should an emergency occur. They’ve arranged their lives so they can spend months in the woods, more at home here than in the confines of the cities they are trying to escape. Many of them have become legends of the trail, their names and exploits spoken of with awe and respect.

  Section hikers often come to the trail every year, saving their vacations to spend a week or two hiking selected sections of the trail. Sometimes, they pick the most scenic or the more easily accessible segments. Or, they start at Springer or at Katahdin, working their way south or north as they systematically chip away at the more than 2,100-mile length, returning to start where they ended the previous trip. It takes determination and sheer stubborn grit to maintain the dedication to return year after year.

  There are day hikers and weekend hikers. Adults and children who visit the trail to walk for a few hours or camp overnight in the woods, picking the perfect day and season to enjoy nature. Many times, this is their only opportunity to experience the forest in its ungroomed, natural state. I like to think many of them, especially the children, will one day come back to spend longer, more extended time in the woods.

  Then there are the newbies. Young or old or in-between, who, for one reason or another, have decided they want to spend five or six months walking in the woods, sleeping on the ground, eating copious amounts of carbs and still losing weight, or maybe drift from one trail town to the next, from one party to the next. Maybe they’ve seen the movies, or read the books, or know someone who knew someone who hiked the whole thing and had the time of their lives. For some, it’s a great adventure before settling down; for others it’s an escape from the strangling confines of a mundane life that threatens to swallow their very soul.

  The newbies are the ones who benefit most from Liam’s expertise. They’re the ones he persuades to send home the cast iron skillets and the three-pound first aid kits, the seven changes of clothing, and the three massive hardback books they’ve brought along to read. Without naming names, or getting too personal, Liam keeps us in stitches, laughing as he describes the strange things he’s found in backpacks recently. When he mentions three pounds of M&M candy, my mind flashes back to the entry in the trail journal on Springer.