The Mountain Between Us by Cindy Myers Read Free Book Online

truck—hadn’t been parked in its usual place outside the Dirty Sally when she passed on her way home.
    â€œOut.”
    Just like that, the wall was up—the one Olivia had always been good at putting between herself and her mother. Lucille knew better than to fight her. She turned back to the mirror and tugged at a stubborn curl over her left eye. “There’s frozen lasagna if you want to fix that for your and Lucas’s dinner. Don’t wait up for me. I might be late.” The smugness she felt in saying these last words was probably immature and unbecoming, but it felt good nonetheless. How many times over the years had Olivia said those words, leaving her mother home to worry and wonder?
    Not that Lucille expected her daughter to worry, or even wonder. She doubted Olivia cared much about her mother’s social life.
    â€œIf you need anything, call me.”
    The words, the ones she herself had spoken countless times—almost always to Olivia’s back as she walked out the door—startled her. She studied her daughter’s reflection in the mirror for any sign of sarcasm but saw none. She swiveled the stool around again and stood. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “Gerald’s a nice man.”
    â€œThey all seem nice at first.”
    She recognized the cynicism, too—one part her own despair after her marriage to Olivia’s father, Mitch, crashed down around her and one part the result of Olivia’s own tumultuous relationships with the men in her life. “When you’re young, it can feel that way,” she said. “Getting older makes you a little more forgiving.”
    Olivia straightened, arms uncrossed. “Forgiveness is overrated.”
    She left the doorway, her footsteps making a faint, shuffling sound as she retreated down the hallway to the stairs. If Lucille had thought Olivia would listen, she’d have told her forgiveness hurt less than holding a grudge. But she knew sometimes holding a grudge was all that held you up. After Mitch left, the anger was all that kept her going sometimes—the desire to prove to him how much she didn’t need him. It had been years before she realized he hadn’t been watching, that he’d stopped caring long before she did.
    Whatever D. J. had done, he’d hurt Olivia badly. Lucille liked the serious young man, and Lucas practically worshiped him, though Olivia could scarcely stand to look at him. But when she did, Lucille recognized the longing there. Her love hadn’t yet burned out. Lucille remembered the words D. J. had said when they’d met—the night Lucas was trapped in the French Mistress Mine. How he’d loved Olivia the first time he saw her.
    It was a foolish, romantic notion—that love could bloom from just one glance, like a spark setting a forest fire. But it was an idea Lucille wanted to believe in, for Olivia’s sake and for her own. She was tired of being cynical and scoffing. After so many years alone, she wanted to believe in the possibility of love.
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    Olivia watched the red convertible pull away, her mom in the passenger seat, laughing at something the silver-haired man behind the wheel had said. Honestly, a convertible! Could this Gerald character be any more of a cliché?
    â€œWhere’s Grandma going?” Lucas joined her at the window, watching the retreating car. He’d shot up over the summer, until he was almost as tall as she was. Soon he’d overtake and pass her. His father had been tall. Still was, she guessed. She hadn’t laid eyes on him in eleven years and didn’t care to, but if he’d died, someone would probably have notified her.
    â€œShe’s going on a date,” she said.
    â€œA date?” Lucas’s eyes widened behind the round glasses.
    She turned and headed for the kitchen. Lucas followed. “Who’s she going on a date with?”
    â€œA guy named Gerald Pershing.