Within a Man's Heart (10 page)

But, despite that dark asterisk floating back and forth through my spirit, I still enjoyed myself at Gina’s that day. We had begun a relationship. No, it wasn’t an unadulterated, all-is-perfect relationship. I was still in a psychological quagmire. Half of me wanted us to have no boundaries. I wanted badly to go the distance with Gina. But that other half
; my damaged, stubborn half, wouldn’t have any part of it. And that frustrated me to no end.

As time went on, when alone at my place, I sometimes had talks with that prohibitive side of myself. But it wouldn’t desist. I couldn’t get it to back off one single step. Not even the few times I hollered myself hoarse inside my cabin.

Nevertheless, Gina and I still saw quite a bit of each other throughout the summer. We got together at least once a week, and though I made a vigilant effort to keep a safe distance between our hearts, we always had a good time. One time we drove to the top of Mount Washington—that magnificent mountain visible from Gina’s home. Other times, on Saturday mornings, she insisted we drive into Conway to look for garage sales. Each time we took her truck because she was hell-bent on finding me a few things I’d need in my new rural life. She thought it would be a huge waste of money for me to buy everything new, and she was a hundred percent right. I got super deals on a terrific riding mower, a snow blower, wheelbarrow, axe, chainsaw, and a bunch of other things she said I’d need. The only two things Gina allowed me to buy brand new, and insisted that I get, were a pair of L.L.Bean boots, like her Uncle Wally’s, and a nice warm jacket. After we ordered both online, she guaranteed me that once winter set in I’d be thanking her.

Although the tinge of love I first felt the day of the library incident steadily grew deeper, I remained vigilant in my efforts to keep some space between us. It was one of the most difficult things I’d ever done. Each time we got together it became harder and harder, but I managed. I could be wrong, but I don’t think Gina caught onto me until the day we drove to the top of Mount Washington.

It was mid-August, and other than a few fair-weather clouds scooting by in the breeze, the sky was as deep a blue as one could imagine. I was driving; and the higher we climbed up Auto Road, the closer we got to the clouds, the harder the wind blew, and the cooler the air became.

“Wow,” I said glancing down at the V
olvo’s dashboard thermometer, “Would you believe it’s only fifty-one degrees up here?”

“Hate to say I told you so.” Gina came back. “
Now
you know why I told you to bring a jacket.”

“Yes Momma!”

“Don’t be funny, city boy,” she said, as she jutted her delicate chin my way and gave me a cute little tough-guy look.

Smiling now, I glanced ahead through the windshield
; then to the right again. Looking out past Gina this time, I said, “This view is incredible. Just look at those rows and rows of mountains. They spread out there as far as you can see.”

She looked out there and said, “Told you you’d like it up here. This is the highest mountain in the Northeast—six thousand, two hundred and eighty-eight feet to the summit. We’re just about there now.”

“You’re a real bundle of knowledge,” I said, as I let my gaze linger a little longer than I should have. But Gina didn’t. She turned her eyes back to the road before I did, and it’s a damned good thing she did.

“OH MY GOD, CHRIS!” she suddenly shrieked, scaring the bejesus out of me, “LOOK OUT!”

Her scream was so loud and terrified that jolts of hot adrenaline shot down both my arms. Even before I could jerk my head back around to the windshield, my fingers clamped down on the steering wheel like miniature vices. High as I was sitting in the SUV, I couldn’t see over the hood, but I damn well knew my right front wheel was mere inches from going off the road. There was no guard rail and absolutely no shoulder next to the road—only that six-thousand-foot drop.

With Gina’s screams ringing in my ears, the front right tire suddenly crashed down as if it had sunk into an impossibly deep hole. Just as quickly
, a loud, frightening crunch came from behind that wheel. Then the right front end of the Volvo bucked up like a crazed stallion, lifting completely off the road. In one short, chaotic second all that happened; and the force of the jolt threw my left shoulder into the door next me. Neither Gina nor I had a clue what was going on. Glancing out at the range of mountains like we had been when approaching it, we had no way of knowing that a big chunk of asphalt had broken off the road and tumbled off the mountainside.

Even before the front wheel slammed back down onto the road’s edge again, Gina let out a wail so loud that she sounded like a banshee warning of not just one but
two
imminent deaths. A nanosecond later, with her smack in the middle of that grief-stricken howl, the back wheel did the exact same thing the front had. It dropped, and there was another heart-stopping CRUNCH, but this time something else happened—the entire SUV
listed—
toward the drop. I snapped my head to the side, glancing out Gina’s window. Far as we were now leaning over, I could see more of the ground below—closer to the side of the mountain. I thought that was it. We were going down for sure.

This final, ill-fated moment seemed to stop in its tracks.
Everything freeze framed. Time, our indescribable fear, the entire world—all of it felt as though it were standing deathly still. But somehow, I reacted. I did the only thing I could. I jerked the steering wheel. I pulled it hard, and I mean
hard
. With the force of my shoulder and all my weight behind the yank, the vehicle suddenly stopped listing. It was just about tilted to the point there could be no righting the vehicle, another inch or two down and inertia would have kicked in. Gina, me, and the SUV would have all gone the same way that broken piece of road had.

With me still leaning to my left, and the steering wheel turned all the way in the same direction, the Volvo suddenly began to veer back to the left. I’d done it. I’d kept us from going down. In a flash we were back on the road—but not safely.

“WATCH OUT!” Gina hollered out this time.

I had cut the wheel so sharply that we swerved over the road’s center line, into the oncoming lane. And something was there! A big white van had rounded a curve just ahead and was only two car lengths away from us. The van’s driver swerved as far over toward the mountain as he could without scraping it. As I yanked the wheel to the right this time, I couldn’t believe what was happening. Neither could poor Gina. She didn’t scream because this time she only had enough time to gasp.

For the second time in only three or four seconds, somebody or some thing seemed to be watching over us. We just missed the van. But the madness
still
wasn’t over. With the loud, angry blare of the van’s horn now adding to the chaos, the Volvo was out of control again. I tried to straighten it, but it swerved and swayed like a wee-hours drunk. This time I thought for sure we were finished. For what seemed like a long mile, but was really only about fifty feet, I jerked that wheel back and forth. I didn’t dare to hit the brakes. I knew I had to ride it out until it slowed down some. Then, somehow, I yet again righted the vehicle. And this time I had her back on a
straight
course.

Gina fell onto the back of her seat, let her head bounce off the headrest one time then slowly said, “My good God
. . . thank you, thank you, thank you.”

I was surprised as hell when she didn’t jump all over me for making such a mindless, near
-fatal mistake. Most anyone else would have. Instead she just sat there, deep in thought, her eyes lifted toward the blue sky at the top of the windshield. As my composure slowly returned, I wondered what she was thinking about. But I didn’t ask.

Minutes later, still not believing what we’d been through, we reached the crowded parking area atop the mountain. Still driving ever so cautiously, I idled through two rows of parked cars, found an empty spot, eased the Volvo in, and the two of us got out slowly. My legs weren’t what I’d call wobbly, but they were tentative. It seemed like it took more effort than usual to make them do what I wanted them to—as if I were stepping out of an airplane after a hair-raising, hellacious flight. And I knew Gina had to be feeling the same way.

People were walking all about on the sprawling observation deck. There had to be a couple of hundred visitors taking in the breathtaking scenery. Most were scattered along the railing, gazing out at the rows of mountains that seemed to stretch to the end of the earth. Some visitors had dogs on leashes; most had cameras. Still not saying much, Gina and I walked toward the far end of the deck where there were fewer people. When we reached the railing, we leaned against it and again said absolutely nothing. With the cool, blustery wind pushing our hair in every conceivable direction, we just stood there, looking in awe. The panoramic view was nothing short of amazing. I felt like we were high above a vast green sea, watching its smooth, verdant waves rolling to an impossibly distant horizon.  It was one of those rare breathtaking visions that stay indelibly branded in the minds of all that see it. A site that could easily, if only temporarily, convert an atheist into a believer.

Standing there side by side, it was Gina who eventually broke the silence when she said, “I don’t know how many times I’ve been up here, but I never tire of this place.”

“I can see why.”

“Look over there.” she said, pointing to a particular mountain off in the distance. “That’s Mount Monroe.” Then slowly sweeping her outstretched arm and finger at several more, stopping at each peak as she named it, she said
, “That one’s Mount Franklin; that’s Eisenhower; and that one over there is Pierce. I don’t know them all, but that whole area out there is called the Presidential Range . . . for obvious reasons.”

“Hmmm. Interesting.”

Gina then slid her arm around my back. It was the first time she’d ever done it and the second time in twenty minutes that I’d been traumatized. Right away that sick, tormented, guilty part of my mind kicked in again. We continued to look at each, but neither of us said anything. We didn’t have to. Her gesture and the serious look in those magical silver eyes, were saying plenty. It was as if they were asking me, “Are you ready, Chris? Can we take what we have to the next level now? I’d like that . . . very, very much.”  But that unrelenting dark side of me refused to hear it. Instead it made me feel like celebrant priest about to cross a forbidden, sacred line with a female parishioner.

Nevertheless, I managed a smile. It was a small smile, but the best I could muster. I was not happy because at that precise moment something that had been muddled in my mind for a long time suddenly became all too clear. I could see a road—a road to the future. I hated the direction it headed in, but I knew I had no choice but to take it. It was a
path
in all reality, and it was narrow. There was only enough room for one person to take it. I now knew for sure that what I had suspected since Elyse’s death was true. It was inevitable. I would never again be able to give all of myself to anybody. And the gloom from this cruel, dark revelation dripped from my words as they tumbled from my mouth.

“Can we go now, Gina? We have to drive down from here
. . . I want to get it over with.”

Not saying a word now, delving even deeper into my eyes, she lifted her arm from my back. A moment passed before she said in a defeated tone, “Sure
. . . let’s go.”

Neither of us said much during the drive down the mountainside or the rest of the way home. Lost in our own thoughts
, we only spoke occasionally. The few, insignificant words we uttered were attempts to break the uncomfortable silence; but they didn’t do much. They never led us into a meaningful conversation. Our moods were too solemn. And by the time I dropped her off at her place, they hadn’t improved.

Although I had hurt Gina Elkin, wounded her badly, we continued to see each other for the next four weeks. But things weren’t the same. Both of us were being tentative in all our actions and seemed to scrutinize every move we made. With me knowing I had to soon end our relationship, I in particular watched everything
I said and did. As each week passed, I wanted more and more to get away from the damage I’d inflicted on Gina. I knew that the longer we kept seeing each other, the more my final goodbye would hurt her. But I couldn’t just walk away. Not quite yet. I loved her far too much. And that love did nothing but deepen every time I saw her. That’s why instead of just keeping some distance between us as I had all along, I widened that space a little more each time we got together.

Of course
, Gina knew something was up, but she still didn’t know exactly what. She didn’t know now
how
my heart had been broken in New York. She didn’t know how it happened or who was involved. But with my plan to end
us
already in place, I saw no reason to burden her with all the painful details. The only thing I needed to tell her was that it would be best for both of us if we went our separate ways. And that’s exactly what I was going to do one sunny September afternoon when she insisted she come over to show me how to cut firewood.     

Although I’d felt like a bumbling, fumbling idiot more than a few times since moving up to Mountain Step, I can’t begin to explain how inadequate I felt that day—having a
woman
teach me how to use a chainsaw. But, in my own defense, the only other time I’d ever even picked up one of those contraptions was the day we found the used one at a garage sale.