Emilie Richards - One Mountain Away

“How did the memorial service go?” Charlotte asked, before Analiese could think of a way to say what she needed to.

“The best services leave people feeling better because they can start to put the life and death in perspective. I think we began that yesterday. The stories about Minnie went on almost an hour. There was a lot of laughter. That’s always good.”

“I never met her.”

“I didn’t think you had.”

“When Falconview realized we had to have her property, I sent other people out to talk to her. They brought back reports. They did all the legwork. I only saw the house once, just before it was torn down. I never saw…” She shook her head, staring at the pool. “Do you ever look back at your life and wonder how you could have been so wrong when you were so sure at the time you were right?”

Analiese didn’t know what to say. She had known Charlotte Hale for nearly a decade, but this was not the same woman.

She realized something personal was called for. “You know I used to be in television news? I can’t tell you the number of times I pushed people to reveal something on the air that I knew would come back to haunt them. I told myself the public had a right to know the truth. That’s what we always told ourselves, but when I look back on it now? It doesn’t seem to help.”

“You’re being kind.”

“I’m being truthful.”

“I have so many regrets.”

Analiese felt as if she’d stepped into another dimension.

Charlotte turned to look at her and saw her confusion. “And now you’re wondering if Charlotte Hale’s been the victim of body snatchers.”

“No, I’m thinking that I’m glad I’m sitting here with you. Being here today won’t be one of the things I regret.”

Charlotte sighed. “I’m dying.”

For a moment Analiese wasn’t sure she’d heard her right. She leaned forward and rested her fingertips on Charlotte’s arms. “What do you mean?”

“Maybe I’m being dramatic. I have leukemia, an acute form, which means the news is very rarely good. I got sick a couple of months ago—in fact, I nearly died. The doctors say it’s still theoretically possible I won’t die at all. Not from leukemia, anyway. But even the most optimistic say it would have improved my chances to make an earlier diagnosis. I let myself get right to the point of no return because I was too busy to pay attention to the way I felt. Too busy changing the Buncombe County landscape. Too busy making money and trying to get the world to see things my way.” She smiled a little. “Too busy to wonder why I never recovered from what I thought was a drawn-out winter cold.”

“I am so sorry.”

“You and me both.”

“But you could beat it?”

“I did a serious round of chemo at Duke and I’m in remission, waiting for my strength to improve and my counts to go up high enough to start the next phase. But while the bone marrow looks good, the counts don’t, so my doctors are being cautious.”

“How did you pull this off without people knowing?”

“I told anyone who mattered that I was in Europe with a group of investors, then off to Saint Martin on a well-deserved vacation. Trust me, chemo was no vacation.” She touched the top of her head. “I didn’t lose too much of my hair, so that was a bonus, and I could afford a good haircut and products galore to make it look thicker. I’m trying to gain back some weight.”

“Why didn’t you tell me then? Was there somebody…?”

“To help? No, you’re the first person I’ve told, and maybe the only one for a while. The last thing I want is anybody to feel sorry for me. I don’t want anybody trying to be nice because they don’t want to feel guilty when I die.”

Analiese already felt this secret weighing her down. All the things she knew that might help wouldn’t, not unless Charlotte was willing to let people know she needed their support.

“Why are you telling me?” she asked at last.

Charlotte laughed a little, and to Analiese the sound seemed real, not a bit forced. “You mean you don’t think I need you to absolve me of all my sins?”

Analiese smiled in response. “I would, if that were in my power.”

“I know. You take your job very seriously.”

“I’m afraid it’s a serious job.”

“Especially at moments like this one.”

“Not my favorite part.”

“Do you feel burdened?”

“Who’s helping whom?”

Charlotte was quiet for a moment, as if she needed to put her words in order. “You know, if you were some kindly older man, with thirty years of ministry behind you and a beatific smile—”

“This would be easier,” Analiese finished for her.

“That’s actually not what I was going to say. No, I was going to say this would be impossible.”

“Really?”

“Here’s the truth, and I’ve given it a lot of thought. No matter our differences, I know I can trust you. And I know you’re going to give helping me your best shot. You’re going to be sensible and thorough, and you’re going to dig deeper than somebody who thinks he has all the answers at his fingertips because he’s too tired to look for more.”

“That may be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about my ministry.”

“And now you’re waiting for the punch line.”

“Something like that.”

Charlotte set her glass on the table and wiped her hands against her beige capris. “I should die more often. It makes for great repartee.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“I think you mean that.”

“I think so, too.”

Charlotte was silent again, and Analiese sat quietly.

“I said I have a lot of regrets,” Charlotte began at last. “Here’s one of my biggest. When I heard the diagnosis, in the moments right before I zoomed off to Durham? I felt such a rush of relief.” She had been looking out at the pool, but now she turned. “Even though I was terrified, I thought, ‘It will be good to die and get this over with.’”

Analiese realized her concern must have shown, because Charlotte hurried on.

“I would never, never take my own life. You have to understand that. But when I realized living a long full life was probably out of my hands? I just wanted to close my eyes and wait for the end. My grandmother used to tell me death was the last mountain we have to climb, and just before she died, she opened her eyes and looked toward the window in her bedroom as if she were viewing a miracle.”

“That must be a good memory.”

“When the doctor told me my diagnosis? I thought about that day and about the look on her face, and I found myself hoping that she hadn’t really been looking at the gates of heaven, that there really wasn’t anything waiting for any of us except eternal sleep. That’s when I realized what a loss my life has been.”

When she didn’t know what to say, Analiese knew not to say a thing. She was almost certain this was not the moment for reassurance, although it felt wrong not to give it.

“I have to change things,” Charlotte said at last. “I realize whatever time I’ve been given, whether it’s months or years, I can’t die knowing I’ve made so many mistakes and never tried hard enough to set them right. I realize dying’s not about what comes next, because no matter how great or poor our faith, we really can’t know what’s waiting, or at least I can’t. For me it’s about what came before. The impact we had. The love we gave. The hearts we left intact…” She cleared her throat, and her eyes filled with tears. “Or broken.”

“I hope you aren’t saying that you’ve done nothing important with your life until now. Because you’ve given generously in many ways.”

“Too often for the wrong reasons.” Charlotte held up her hand to stop Analiese from continuing. “I realize nothing’s that cut and dried. I’ve done things because I knew they were important and right, and sometimes they were. But I’ve done so many things that seemed right and were terribly, terribly wrong. Like moving poor Minnie off her land. And here’s how I know. When I found out I was dying, I realized there wasn’t one person in the world who would really care. That I’ve lived fifty-two years, and while some people will feel conflicted, or even a little bit sad, no one will really miss me. Not because people are cruel, but because I haven’t given them a reason to.”