Last Summer(36)

“There, there.” Aunt Kathy patted her back. “Tell me, Ella. Why did you break your mommy’s statues?”

“Be . . . be . . . because,” she stuttered. Ella swiped off tears and, wiping her hands on her shirt, tried again. “Because . . . I don’t know.” She shrugged a little bony shoulder.

Aunt Kathy pursed her lips. “I think you do know but are afraid to tell me.”

Ella looked at her dirty sneakers. They used to be white. Now they were gray. She twisted her shirt in her hands.

Aunt Kathy tucked a finger under Ella’s chin and lifted her face. “You can tell me. But you must be honest. Honesty is the best policy.”

Ella wasn’t so sure about that. She’d overheard her parents’ last conversation. It was what her mother had said that devastated her father, so much that he not only got them killed but almost killed Ella and her brother.

So yes, Nathan’s right. Ella does blame her mom.

Burning pressure forms behind Ella’s eyes. She blinks rapidly. “I haven’t talked about them in a long time.” From what she can recall, she hasn’t spoken about them since she told Damien during their first year of marriage. The fact she’d told Nathan can mean only one thing. They’d grown very close last summer.

“I know. You mentioned that to me, too. For what it’s worth,” he adds, offering her a handful of trail mix, “you aren’t to blame.”

Ella frowns. “I don’t blame myself. My mom was clearly at fault.”

“I’m not talking about your parents.”

“What then?”

His gaze dips to her midriff and back up to her face. Clarity swoops in like the hawk riding the air currents above them. Yes, she does blame herself for the accident she had last November. Nathan doesn’t have the right to convince her otherwise. He doesn’t know everything.

Neither does she.

Ella grimaces. Time to redirect the conversation. She doesn’t want to talk about her problems anymore. She wants to talk about him. Or them. Yes, that’s a good starting point.

She brushes nut dust from her hands and motions to the recorder. “Mind if we get started?”

“Sure.”

“On the record,” she begins. “What did we do last summer? My editor told me you took me backpacking.”

Nathan opens his mouth, then promptly shuts it.

“I did,” he acknowledges when Ella circles her hand, eager to get the interview rolling. “We met up June seventh. It was eight months after Carson’s death and my head was still in a bad place. I’d been hiking a section of the PCT, the Pacific Crest Trail. You can access it near here. I guess you could say I had an epiphany of sorts. I needed to tell someone my side of the story. I called Luxe Avenue, offered the exclusive, and they sent you. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t believe me.” He smiles, amused.

“I believe you. I mean, my editor did say we went backpacking. I like hiking. Day hikes, like what we’re doing.” She thumbs back at the trail. “I can’t picture myself on a multiday excursion.”

“You were desperate for the story.” He tipped back the water canister and took a swig, smiling around the rim.

“We hiked for what, five days?”

“Something like that. Next question?”

Ella wants to ask what they did the other nine days. But when he glances at his watch she remembers she’s pressed for time.

“All right. Back to your parents.”

For the next few hours they talk, delving further into his relationship with his father. When he asks, she shares stories about her childhood, surprised she feels so comfortable with him. She talks about growing up with Andrew and her time spent with Grace. She doesn’t know if she’s repeating what she told him last summer, but Nathan doesn’t say anything. He listens intently. He empathizes. Ella finds the more that she talks, the more she wants to share.

At some point, Nathan unwraps sandwiches, roast beef and mustard on rye, and they eat lunch. Around two o’clock, he looks at the sky and suggests they head back.

He shoves off the rock and starts packing up their trash. Sensing movement, Fred and Bing yawn and stretch, downward dog–style. Tails swishing, they approach Nathan. He scratches their muzzles and hooks on their dog packs. Recharged and ready to hit the trail, the dogs pace.

Pushing off the granite surface, Ella stands and groans. Her muscles follow suit, complaining.

Her thighs burn. Lunging forward, she warms up her muscles for the return hike.

Nathan comments on her stretching. “How are the legs?”

“Stiff. I think I was a little overconfident when I agreed to this.”

“You were hungry for the story,” he teases.

“Always.”

Arms raised, she leans right, stretching her side. Scarred ligaments in her lower abs spasm. She hisses through the discomfort.

Nathan looks at her sharply. “You’re hurt.”

“Just sore. Do you have aspirin in that treasure bag?” She nods at the daypack. He continues to stare at her, his gaze more inward than focused on her.

“Nathan?”

He blinks, rubs his eyes, and drags a hand down his face. “Aspirin. Yeah, I do.” He drops the pack on the ground and rummages through the pockets.