We Dream of Mountains

He saw the girl, Mac, the next morning while he was coming back from his jog. She was sitting alone on the beach, smoking a cigarette and just looking at the water. One arm was wrapped around her body as the wind blew her hair. He thought for a moment that he should just jog on, but stopped to talk after he noticed her wiping her eyes. Girls like that shouldn't cry.

"Hey," he said, practically shouting so he wouldn't startle her. It looked like rain again, and the ocean churned at the implication.

She stood up quickly, obviously startled either way, and threw her cigarette away in a conveniently located trash can. The two of them met somewhere in the middle, still not fully off of the beach and onto the asphalt path he'd been jogging on.

"Steven, right?"

"Yeah. How are you?"

She let out a short chuckle, as if the issue was one better left undiscussed.

"I am. How are you?"

'Better now,' he felt like saying. He'd thought about her practically all night, wondering what it was that she had to be running from to end up all the way up here. Just seeing her put him at ease. She couldn't have been running from anything; no one would hurt a girl with a face like that. It'd be as senseless as hurting an animal.

"I'm alright." They looked at each other awkwardly for a moment, without saying anything. He could usually talk with neighbors about anything, knowing their politics and family history, but she was a blank slate.

"You jog then?" she finally asked.

"Yeah, pretty much every morning. Even in the rain."

"Good habit. I always meant to take it up for Tink, but I couldn't get into it."

"I'll bet she doesn't mind. I have a Saint Bernard that can't stand it."
Mac probably didn't notice, but Steven was highly aware that he'd said 'I', and not used the customary 'we'. He wondered if it was too late now to slip his wife into the conversation. He decided it was.

The two started walking away from the beach and back onto the path, heading back into the neighborhood.

"You might be right. If it doesn't involve a tennis ball, she's not really into it." He laughed, knowing that his dog was the same way. Mac glanced at her watch, but seemed content this time to stay outside.

"What are you doing out here so early in the morning?"

It was Mac's turn to laugh. "Exploring. Got a little lost because all of the beach signs look the same."

"The gates are painted differently, though."

She laughed again. "God, I didn't notice that. That's so embarrassing."

"Well, it's only your first week or so, right? You'll get it."

"How long have you lived here?"

"Since I was born. I grew up in that house, there." He pointed a little ways away to a tall brick townhouse. He and his wife hadn't moved too far away from his parents, since they were sick when they got married. They'd stayed in the house long after his parents had both passed, and his brother moved in.

"Goodness, I was itching to get out of my neighborhood growing up. Can't imagine living just down the road."

"Well," he began, then laughed lightly. "It isn't all bad." The two of them laughed together for a moment, before he realised that they were at the street she needed to go down to get home.

"Do you know where you're going?" he asked her.

"Um, admittedly no, but I'm sure I can figure it out."

"Nonsense," he said shaking his head. "I'll walk you."

She smiled, giving an affirmative murmur, and he led the way.

"I'd have never gone down this street," she admitted a few minutes into it.

"Then you'd have gotten lost."

"It wouldn't be the first time," she laughed. "When I came up to look at the property, I got lost and ended up in Durham."

They both laughed, since Durham was rather far away, but it was cut short by her coughing.

"Alright?" he asked.

She nodded, still coughing. When she finally stopped, she shook her head and took a deep breath.

"Can't stand this time of year. Does my immune system right in."

That shocked him. She'd already picked up some local accent and dialogue. He wondered how long she'd really been here.

He led her down a few more streets, in silence, and then finally arrived near where she'd said her house was.

"Should be down here, right? Anything look familiar?"

She looked closely at all of the houses, then nodded.

"Is it bad if I don't know?"

He laughed. "Probably not. One day you'll get it."

They walked down the street, with her looking closely at the houses to deduce familiarity. Towards the middle of the long road, she stopped, pursing her lips in displeasure.

"It's definitely this one," she said, meaning the street. For a minute he looked at the house they were standing near, confused. James Howell and his wife had just moved back from London, and he couldn't think of why they would move out.

"Thank you for helping me," she said, turning to look at him. "I should really be going, but it's been nice seeing you again."

"Right," he replied, admittedly taken aback by her harsher tone. "It was no problem, I hope to see you again." He cringed inwardly for a moment, hoping that he didn't sound to eager. But she gave him a relaxing smile, and a short wave, and walked down the street.

He watched as she approached a tall brick townhouse with a blue door, peering inside of a red Honda that was parked beside it. Finding it empty, she jogged through the unlocked door, and closed it.

The entire thing was odd, and didn't sit quite right with him. Though he really wanted to go pound on the door, demanding to know the details of her life, he refrained, knowing that it would be inappropriate. He sighed, then turned around and jogged back to his own street, refraining from turning back until he'd nearly reached his house. Then he stared at the neighborhood behind him, and went in, deciding not to tell his wife about the jog.

He could already feel himself sinking into something that wasn't good, but wanted to hold whatever it was off as long as possible.