Final Rights (4 page)

SIX

1927

Harland Freeman waited for his opportunity. It
materialized on a Thursday afternoon at the end of English class. Ellie Vance
rose from her desk at the final bell, knocking her books onto the floor.

Mortified,
Ellie stooped to pick up her books just as Harlan Freeman approached. Their
eyes met as he reached down to help.

Ellie couldn’t help it.
She actually swooned for a moment—not enough for Harland to notice, she
thought, but she recognized the swoon for what it was, and she felt both
excitement and shame.

He’s out of my
league.
Of all the thoughts running through Ellie’s mind, this one stood out. With only
one disappointing date under her belt during her entire high school experience
thus far, she knew most boys fit in that category. Harland Freeman and boys
like him most definitely did not give Ellie Vance and girls like her a passing
glance. But in that moment she allowed herself the dream as he held her gaze,
looking deep into her, it seemed.

“Let me help, Ellie,”
Harland boomed. When Harland spoke, he never did so quietly, never did so with
any indication that what he said varied at all from exactly the right thing to
say at the moment.

“It . . . it’s okay, Harland. Uh, don’t
bother . . .” Ellie couldn’t control her stammering. Dark and deep, Harland’s
eyes seemed to convey something Ellie had not seen before—the hint of interest
she so often hoped for from boys but never felt. Confusion clouded her
thoughts. Harland Freeman could not possibly be interested in her, could he?

“Gotta’ run. I’m late for practice!” he
bellowed as he dropped her books into her arms. “See ya later!”

Ellie’s heart raced a bit when she heard
that.
See ya later. Does he
mean that? No, of course not—just something to say.
But as she gathered her books and herself
back together, she felt a little glimmer of hope building deep inside her.

Apparently Harland did
mean it. Two days later, he approached her as she stood at her locker at the
end of the day.

“Hey, Ellie!” That booming voice again, this
time calling out to her. “I’ll walk with you, okay?”

“Uh, okay, uh . . . sure.” Ellie faltered as
she took in the full force of Harland’s dark eyes looking squarely at her. “I’m
just going home.”

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go through the
park.” He nonchalantly took her books and headed toward the door. Ellie
followed, half a step behind at first, amazed that she, Ellie Vance, had him,
Harland Freeman, for an escort.

As they left the school building, Harland
called out to some of his friends who stood in a huddle under the trees at the
entrance. He waved brightly. Ellie felt very proud in his company and to be shown
off to his friends like that. She barely registered the smirks on their faces
as she and Harland passed.

Harland strolled through
the park with her. She remained in disbelief that he found her interesting, but
he jabbered away as they walked along, and Ellie let herself feel the warmth of
his presence flowing over her.

“I’ve been noticing you for a while, Ellie,”
he said as he looped her hand around his elbow. The slightest touch from him
sent delicious, unfamiliar chills through her body and she longed for more.
Though Ellie continued to glow after his announcement, he said little more
about her.

The rest of his chatter was about
himself—about the current baseball season and his team’s chance of taking the
championship; about what he had planned for himself after graduation, what he
would become in the future. Maybe business, perhaps politics . . . but whatever
path he chose, Harland Freeman seemed sure a wonderful life awaited him.

Ellie preferred to believe he shared all
this with her because he wanted her to be a part of it. Thrilled, scared and
tongue-tied, she had lots of questions for him, but none of them would form
fully enough for her to ask. She answered most of them for herself anyway, at
least her version of what life as Harland Freeman’s girlfriend—maybe even his
wife!—would be like. Ellie and Harland living happily with plenty of friends,
all of whom celebrated their love along with them. The years of their life
unfolding, filled with stories about how they met, how they watched each other from
afar before finally becoming a couple, how they dated and courted and fell in
love and . . .

But Ellie knew she was
getting ahead of herself. In this moment, she enjoyed just walking through the
park with Harland Freeman, listening to him talk, soaking up the warm sunshine
and cool breeze on her skin. When he asked her to sit with him for a while, she
believed this moment would stretch into a lifetime.

They sat under a huge
old tree for an hour, Harland talking about himself and his dreams, Ellie captivated
and silent, drinking in the essence of him and imagining her life with him. He
finally wound down and walked with her the rest of the way home.

“See ya later,” he said.
No promises. No requests. But Ellie had heard that from Harland before, and he
had, in fact, come back to see her later. He would this time, too. She held
tightly to her fragile certainty as she watched him depart.

And the next day, her optimism proved to be
correct. “How ’bout we get together after practice, Ellie?” he asked as they passed
in the hall.

“Yes, of course, I’d love to.” She beamed
back at him, aware of the curious glances from nearby classmates.

“Great! Meet me in the park, okay? Under our
tree? About six o’clock?” His dark eyes sparkling, he smiled that smile of his,
the one with all the teeth showing, the one that set her heart to racing.

“Yes! See you then!” Ellie barely contained
her excitement. She and Harland Freeman meeting for an evening together—almost
a date! Ellie Vance had an almost date with Harland Freeman!

She arrived at the designated spot in the
park right on time. All primped and preened, she looked as pretty as she
possibly could. She wore her best dress. Not her fancy dress, but her very best
everyday dress. She had touched Lily of the Valley perfume behind both ears and
between her tiny breasts. Not that Harland would notice, but she wanted to be
the best Ellie she could be for their first date.

Harland bounded into the park almost fifteen
minutes late. Nearly frantic by the time she saw him taking the steps two at a
time, she heard his reassuring apology and melted a bit.

“So sorry, practice ran
late. Coach is putting me in first string! Can you believe it? First string!
Just in time for the big game! Johnny sprained an ankle in practice today. Damn
sad luck for Johnny, but damn good luck for me! I may be the luckiest man in
town just now!” he said, and then he leaned down and gave Ellie the first
passionate kiss of her life.

She burst into tears.
All her dreams flooded into view. Even for an optimist like Ellie, this turn of
affairs seemed almost beyond belief. It transported her to a new place, and all
her hesitations and worries melted. This boy—this man—mesmerized her! Harland,
a real man who loved her! Euphoria engulfed her.

Harland quickly spread
out the blanket he had tucked under his arm and pulled Ellie onto it. He
wrapped his arms around her and kissed her deeply. She responded in kind. She
did not know where her passion came from. She had not experienced it before,
but she went with it. She explored his body with her hands, just as he explored
hers. She pushed into him when he pulled her closer, and when he rolled on top
of her, she surrendered to his insistent hands and mouth.

As the sun slowly
descended in the western sky, the shadows deepened under the spreading tree
where Ellie and Harland were locked in embrace. Ellie lost all sense of time,
all sense of the world around her, all sense of herself except for the
captivating, all-encompassing, unrelenting passion she felt for Harland Freeman.
When he moved his hand to her thigh and then up a bit higher, Ellie felt her
own warm wetness. Terror gripped her, then quickly passed as she felt the
delicious waves of . . . what? Nothing she had felt before, but she somehow
knew it . . . sexual passion, lust. Unavoidable. Different from romance, more
powerful, more dangerous, more luscious, more unforgiving. But she went with
it, she went with Harland all the way to where he wanted to go and when he
finished, she lay back dazed and exhausted.

Harland rolled off her and laughed out loud.
He laughed boisterously. He brushed his hair back off his sweating forehead
with a hand rake and let out a deep, audible sigh. He patted Ellie’s hand
before reaching down to zip up his pants.

“Ellie, my dear, that was quite something!”
he said, the jovial tone still evident in his voice. “Quite something, indeed!”

Ellie tried to bring herself back to the moment. Her body still quivered
from the tension that had built while Harland gratified himself with her.
Ecstasy, not satisfaction. Although confused, she recognized the difference.
She wanted more, and shame for her desire filled her. Shame for that and for
having done what she had just done with Harland Freeman. She tried to reassure
herself. Harland loved her, and their happy life together awaited. He must love
her or he would not have wanted her or taken her the way he just had.

“Oh, Harland, that was so . . .”

“Yeah, great!” Harland got up and began
tucking in his shirt and straightening himself up. He reached for Ellie and
pulled her upright too as she hurriedly put herself and her own clothes back in
order. He gave her a quick embrace, picked up the blanket and said, “You can
get back home okay, can’t you? I have to go.” A self-satisfied smile formed on
his handsome face, but it did not invite Ellie in.

“I, well, I . . .” Confusion reigned. Didn’t
they have so much to talk about? Surely he wanted to stay with her as long as
possible.

And then she returned abruptly and fully
back to the moment. Her body still reverberated from the encounter, but her
mind returned to sharp focus and awareness. The romance and mystery of Harland
Freeman evaporated, and Ellie knew what had
really
just
happened. Her stomach turned and she thought for a moment she would throw up.

“Yes, well, I . . . yes. I’m fine, Harland.”
Ellie said this with conviction as she gathered herself up emotionally just as
she had done in the past when something bad happened. She closed down the
festering passion that clawed at her, shut off her dreams of the future with
Harland and set about solving the problem of how to forget about him entirely.

Some problems simply cannot be solved, but
Ellie didn’t know that yet.

“Okay, see ya around.” Harland threw a
casual wave in her direction.

Ellie watched as he turned away and headed
back up the path to the street, using not his normal walking gait but that
swagger she had witnessed occasionally from boys who had just faced and won
some kind of challenge.

Harland’s words echoed through Ellie’s mind.
She knew exactly what the difference in his choice of words meant. “See ya
around.” Not “See ya later.” Ellie quelled her tears, set her shoulders
straight and walked herself home.

The
following days tortured Ellie. She did not expect to see Harland except in
passing in the halls. She did not expect that he would seek her out or give her
the wide-mouthed, all-teeth-showing smile, or that he would gaze at her again
with a sparkle in his deep, dark eyes. But even though she did not expect
anything at all from him, it still shocked her when she overheard him bragging
to his friends.

“Even easier than I thought! Just a walk
through the park, a little bit of talking . . .” When she heard the sniggering
and congratulations of Harland’s friends, she ran to the bathroom to throw up
again.

Strong and resilient, Ellie knew she could
hide her shame. She could go about her life in a fairly normal fashion, keep
her grades up and spend time with her family and friends. She could move past
feeling like Harland’s Conquest and get back to feeling like Almost-pretty
Ellie Vance who had plenty going for her in other ways. Under most
circumstances, Ellie knew she could still live a happy life.

But Ellie soon realized normal circumstances
had finally escaped her. She did not have the luxury of time to mend from the
damage done to her by Harland Freeman and her own damn optimism.

Ellie was pregnant. Ellie Vance needed a
husband, and she needed a husband now.

SEVEN

2004

Cally wanted to go home. She sat in the snarl of Los
Angeles traffic, headed to a meeting that could catapult her even farther up
the corporate ladder, and she wanted nothing more than to turn around and go
home.

A reluctant success.
That’s how she thought of herself. She had
fallen into her career by accident, starting out as a receptionist in a
prestigious LA public relations firm right after she graduated from college.
The job allowed her to pay the bills while she cast around for something she
really wanted to do. Over twenty-five years later she found herself at the same
firm with a fancy title, a coveted corner office and a reputation as a driven
powerhouse with ethics.

Ethics were not a requirement for a good
publicist, but Cally placed personal integrity at the top of her list of the
Ten Most Important Things in Life. Depending on her mood, her circumstances and
the angle of the moon, her list changed with some regularity, but integrity
never drifted from the top, always followed closely by honesty and
dependability.

Cally showed up for other people. Whether
they recognized it or not, beneath her fierce precision and demand for
excellence, she cared deeply about people. She put her own needs after the
needs of her clients and the company more of the time than she cared to admit
to herself or to anyone else.

But it was all catching up to her. She
questioned whether she wanted the recognition and the added responsibility that
would come from seeing the name of the firm changed to include her. Pearson,
Graystone and Thornton. It had a ring to it, but the price would be high and Cally
was really, really tired. She would talk to Laurel tonight. Maybe they could
clear their schedules enough to take some time in the mountains.
That would be good.
She inched along in traffic.
That may be just the right thing.

“We
should take a vacation,” Cally announced later at dinner.

“We were just on vacation.” Laurel seemed
preoccupied. Cally noticed how she avoided eye contact and how her usual
radiant smile was gone.

“I know, but I’ve been feeling really tired
lately, and I was thinking maybe we could go to the mountains. It would be
rejuvenating.” Cally watched as Laurel pushed the food around on her plate.

Something’s up. And I don’t want to know
what.
The thought had
barely formed when Laurel began speaking again.

“I don’t think I can do
that, Cally.”

“You can finagle it,
Laurel. I know you can get the time off one way or another. It would just be
for a long weekend. The Tetons are beautiful this time of year.” Panic caught
Cally unaware and she started second guessing herself:
The Tetons are beautiful
any time of the year, but it’s November. It will be too cold and too wet. Maybe
they’ll be shrouded in clouds and fog . . .

“Cally, this isn’t
working.” Laurel let out her breath in a long sigh.

“What isn’t working?”
Cally stalled. She knew exactly what Laurel was talking about. This discussion
had occurred at least four times in the two years since Laurel had moved in
with her.

“This. Us.” No
elaboration needed.

“Laurel, we’ll get
through it. We always do. Some time in the mountains would help.” Cally looked
around as she said this, willfully pulling away from the painful conversation.

She scanned the
beautiful condominium, now much nicer than it had ever been when Cally lived
there alone. Laurel’s sense of style had turned a plain box done in neutral
colors and bland furniture into a rich tapestry of color and texture. Cally
loved the change, and though other areas of their relationship had never
blossomed with the same vibrancy as their home, Cally was comfortable with
Laurel. They had a good life together.

“Not this time,” Laurel
said. “I’m leaving.”

Cally refocused. Her
mind revved into overdrive and her body stilled. She felt a creeping sensation,
as if being slowly encased in ice, starting at the top of her head and moving
down over her face, to her shoulders, her heart, her stomach, all the way to
the tips of her fingers and her toes. She felt like she was going to freeze to
death.

I have to do
something. There’s time. I’ve got to do something!

But she couldn’t move.
Fear always had this effect on Cally. First, the dreadful, freezing
immobilization and racing thoughts. Then decisive action when she kicked into
gear and took charge of everything around her, hyperalert to all the details.

The iciness suddenly
lifted, and Cally didn’t waste a second. “That’s ridiculous, Laurel,” she said.
I wish
I could say please, please don’t leave. I love you so much.

Laurel’s face hardened
and her neck flushed. Her eyes flashed rage and Cally realized the magnitude of
her mistake.

“Really? Ridiculous?
It’s ridiculous I would leave you, or it’s ridiculous I would want to be happy?
Which is ridiculous, Cally?”

“I didn’t mean it that
way, Laurel, honestly.” Cally tried to backpedal. “I meant we shouldn’t . . .
give up. We have a good foundation. We shouldn’t give it all up.”

“I’m not giving up,
Cally. I’m moving on.” Laurel’s anger disappeared, quickly replaced with
resolve.

Cally continued to fight
the inevitable. “What does that mean, Laurel? How is leaving not giving up?”

“I’m not going to get
sucked into one of your philosophical discussions, Cally. This isn’t a matter
of semantics.”

Laurel’s strength is beautiful.
Cally’s love for this woman surged to the
surface of her awareness. “You’re incredibly beautiful!” Cally blurted this out
before she could stop herself.

“What? You are a piece of work, Cally.”

“Okay, wait . . .” Cally tried to regain
some control. “What I meant was . . .”

At that precise moment,
something extraordinary happened. A vast hollow space opened inside Cally’s
body and from within it came a clear voice. “
MAKE THE CHANGE NOW
.” The words filled her,
shaking loose all her ingrained beliefs and creating a new internal landscape.
Suddenly she saw everything from a different perspective.

She didn’t like the thought of losing
Laurel, but Laurel herself was not the issue. Laurel represented what sat at
the core of Cally’s longing. She represented home and belonging. She
represented a resting place, a place of nurture and safety where Cally might
someday feel at peace.

It’s all my
imagination. That’s all it is.
Cally recognized the past two years as her desperate
attempt to fabricate something special with Laurel. Regardless of her wishes
and her effort it had never existed with Laurel or any partner she had ever
been with. She had experienced what she craved so strongly only once in her
life a long time ago in another place, and she knew in that instant she wanted
to go home. Nothing else mattered, regardless of what she would find there.

“You’re right, Laurel.”
Cally realized how easy this acknowledgment had become.

Laurel saw the softening, the coming to
resolution sweeping over Cally like a warm breeze.

“That’s the Cally I fell in love with,” she
whispered as tears filled her eyes.

Cally knew she had changed since she and
Laurel first met. She used to be soft, accessible, and responsive to all the
nuances of the new romance. They had played together, spent long hours talking
about important and inconsequential things, walking in the woods, lying on the
beach, dining in quaint restaurants and taking long drives up and down the
coast. But their life together had slowly changed. They had fallen into the
comfortable trap of a familiar routine. The magical sex which had drawn them
together originally had become a rare occurrence. Cally knew Laurel longed for
the missing passion and suspected that as much as she loved Cally, she believed
she had to leave in order to open that door again. Cally also knew the truth of
Laurel’s conviction. The passion between them would never reignite.

“You’re right.” Cally looked at the woman
she loved and knew the end of their relationship was really a good thing, for
both of them. “When are you leaving?”

“I’ve rented a place in Venice. I’m taking
time off work and I’ll be out by the end of the week.”

Leaving Los Angeles had been surprisingly easy. Laurel’s
move proved uneventful once the initial drama of the break-up passed. They told
their friends. Cally helped with the packing and liked the cute apartment on
the beach Laurel had found for herself. They would remain friends, which
pleased Cally greatly. When she returned to the condo alone, relief filled her.
She had the place to herself once again. Now she could move on, too.

The next day she asked
for a sabbatical. Pearson and Graystone were both shocked, each believing
Cally, a publicity dynamo, had no life outside of the office. They reconsidered
their plans to include her as a partner, and after some wrangling through the
details, Cally left with the promise she could return to her job in three
months. Her huge bank of accrued sick and vacation time ensured she would
receive full pay for more than two months. Cally had a sizable retirement fund
as well as cash savings and a fluid portfolio of stocks and bonds that earned
dividends in up markets and down markets alike, so the continuing paycheck
seemed like a bonus for taking care of herself, maybe for the first time in her
life.

She packed some clothes and personal items
into the Subaru Outback and headed east. Now, two weeks later, she could almost
touch home. She had taken the scenic route. She stopped wherever she pleased
along the way—small towns with not much to offer, hot spots like Sante Fe,
Albuquerque and the Grand Canyon. A few days in Sedona had been plenty for her
and left her wondering why so many people seemed to think of it as a mecca. The
red hills seemed burnt with little of anything green to be seen. Once she hit
the long, dusty, hot stretch of interstate highway through Texas and Oklahoma,
she interspersed her favorite music with long periods of quiet time and only
essential stops for gas, food and sleep. The trip gave her plenty of time to
think, to dream, to reconcile and to sort out her life.

She found the rolling green Ozark Mountains
soothing after the long flat stretch through the plains. She took a detour to
Hot Springs on her way through Arkansas and knew she would return someday to
explore the town in depth. History fascinated Cally, and the little town had
plenty of it to offer.

The urge to rush to her destination and the
desire to meander through the mountains competed for control of the trip. Cally
did a little of both, pushing hard one day, poking around the next, steadily
working her way east. When she reached the Tennessee/North Carolina border, her
pulse grew faster and getting to Asheville as quickly as possible won out. The
exit to Harmon Den beckoned strongly, but she kept driving. Her
great-great-grandmother’s maiden name, on her father’s side, was Harmon. She
wondered if long-lost relatives lived in Harmon Den.
I’ll have to go back there, too.
And she pressed on.

She reached the Pigeon
River Gorge at dusk. Here I-40 snakes through the mountains along steep
inclines and declines, forcing traffic to slow down. No more cruise control
along straight flat stretches for hours. Instead, every curve offers a new
vista, each tunnel opens to the unparalleled beauty of the undulating Great
Smoky Mountains. The curvy highway becomes narrow with retaining walls on both
sides in places, producing the sensation of sliding through a long chute. Patches
of light fog softened everything—sound, light, even the pavement it seemed to
Cally. She turned off the air conditioner, opened all the windows and breathed
in the wet, heavy air, filling her lungs with the freshness of the muted
emerald mountains. Huge plumes of fog rose like smoke from the valleys around
her, stretching into an evening sky streaked with bands of gold, pink and
purple.

She had yearned for these mountains ever
since being taken from them as a child. She knew now all the vacations to the western
and European mountains over the years had been attempts to go home, but only
these soft, ancient, voluptuous, rolling green mountains filled the longing in
her soul.

Knowing she would arrive in Asheville within
a day, she had made reservations the night before at the Princess Hotel. She
found her way there and checked in, noticing as she did the magnificent wooden
mantel in the sitting room and the welcoming fire burning in the hearth.