Chapter 10
By the time I’ve finished dinner with my parents and helped my mom with the dishes, it’s only about forty minutes until sunset.
I have two choices. I can head home now and get there a little after dark, doing the majority of the driving while it’s still light out, or I can hang around the area and watch the sunset from one of my favorite places on the mountain.
I don’t mind driving in the dark, so it’s an easy decision.
I point my car toward the Chickamauga and Chattanooga National Military Park and drive until I reach the parking area for Signal Point.
There are a few other vehicles in the lot, so I’ll either have company at the viewpoint or these cars belong to hikers trekking to other locations along the Cumberland Trail.
The sky overhead is already beginning to change, although I can only see the evidence through the thick branches of the trees towering above.
The stroll down to the lookout isn’t far, about a hundred yards or so on a paved walkway with less than twenty stairsteps.
It doesn’t take too long to reach the stone half-wall and informational placard that I could recite in my sleep.
It’s hard not to look out at the Cumberland Plateau sweeping before me and the Tennessee River that is cutting its way through the heart, dividing the landscape and creating two distinct mountains, and not contemplate all that has happened on the land beneath my feet.
I make my way down the final steps and lean my forearms against the stone wall.
Raccoon Mountain rises from the other side of the river gorge, slowly growing and then leveling out in a flat plateau.
The trees are thick and lush, most of them still sporting green leaves, but a few are starting to take on the orange hues of autumn.
By the time November is in full swing, the mountainside will be an amber glow of gold.
The sound of footsteps echoes behind me, pulling my gaze to cast a quick look over my shoulder. I straighten and turn, giving the newcomer a bemused smile. “How is it that in all these years we’ve never run into each other, and now we’ve managed the feat twice in one day?”
Julien grins, shaking his head. “Wish I had an answer for you. Though the truth is, I rarely come home except around the holidays. I see my dad every day in the office and take my mom out to lunch often enough.”
He stops next to me, hands in the pockets of a pair of gray sweatpants, not a speck of mud in sight. “I’d ask if you come here often, but that sounds like a terrible pick-up line.”
I laugh, then stop and cock my head. “Wait. How would someone pose that question in the context of actually wanting a sincere answer and not be in danger of the other person construing it as being hit on?”
Julien’s forehead crinkles. “I . . . have no idea.”
“What if the person asking wanted to know so he or she could stay away from said place because they didn’t want to run into the other person?
Or maybe it’s their first time there and if the other person frequented the establishment often, the asker would then have a positive review on the location. ”
One side of Julien’s mouth tips up in a grin. “Do you always overthink things like this?”
I shrug before turning back to the valley in front of us.
The last curve of the sun is dipping below the opposite mountain.
Instead of setting the sky on fire, the strokes of color are gradients of yellow, darkest near the horizon then lightening ombre shades that eventually blend into the soft blues of twilight at the apex of the sky.
“In case you actually were wondering, no, I don’t come here all that much. Maybe a couple times a year after visiting with my folks. I hiked some of the trails with friends when I was in high school, but that feels like a lifetime ago.”
“What brings you out tonight?”
I nod at the panoramic view around us. “The sunsets are always magnificent from here.” I turn toward him. “What about you? I see you managed to wash away the swamp monster. Didn’t feel like rushing home after that?”
He snorts a humorless laugh. “I probably should have, but no. I had some gym clothes in the back of my car, so I stayed. I’d hoped Dad and I could finally have a civil and open conversation about Squire and the future of King Publishing.
His future and mine. But like always, he shut me down before I even had a chance to present my case.
Accused me of forgetting and turning my back on my grandmother and what a wonderful woman she was and said that only a heartless and ungrateful grandson would let her memory be erased by shutting Squire’s doors.
He then used that argument to justify why he hasn’t retired.
Why I need this test he’s given me to prove my fitness and loyalty to the company and family. ”
“Oh, Julien. I’m so sorry.”
He’s looking out at the view. Focusing on it, though his gaze looks even farther off than the valley below us.
“Grandma used to bring me out here to search for arrowheads when I was little. We never found any, but as we searched, she’d tell me the history of the place.
Even before the Civil War, Native Americans used this point to communicate with fire and smoke signals.
Grandma was a churchgoing, faith-filled woman, and she’d remind me that I always needed to be on the lookout for signs and signals from God, like the warriors and soldiers did on this mountain.
“After Dad’s accusations . . . I don’t know.
Maybe I just wanted to come to a place that reminds me of her.
Convince myself that Dad’s wrong, that I’m not disrespecting my grandmother’s memory, and it’s only his pride and misguided emotions talking.
And . . . I don’t know . . . maybe see if God would give me some sort of signal.
A sign to know that I’m doing the right thing in all of this. ”
“It is only his pride and misguided emotions talking. And I’m not a divine sign or anything, but I do think you’re trying to do the right thing.”
Julien meets my gaze, his eyes sad. “Thank you for saying so.”
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t believe it. I remember your grandmother. She was always very kind to me and my parents. Something tells me this—your dad overworking himself, the tension and harsh words between the two of you—isn’t what she would want her legacy or memory turning into.”
He sighs. “You’re right. She wouldn’t. But I just don’t know what else to do. How do you convince someone who won’t even listen to you?”
I’m not sure what the right thing to say is, so I don’t say anything at all. Instead, I stand there, hoping the fact that he isn’t alone is enough right now. After a few minutes, however, there is a question that’s burning in my mind.
“Can I ask you something?”
He looks at me, and the look is permission in itself.
“Why have you stayed at King all these years? It sounds like you’ve been working your tail off for a long time to take over the business, yet your dad keeps coming up with excuses to remain at the head of the table.
Wouldn’t it have been easier both professionally and personally if you’d left to work for another publishing house a long time ago? ”
“Maybe,” he concedes. “But it honestly never even entered my mind. You have to understand, working with Dad hasn’t always been this dynamic that it is now.
I remember a few times as a child when he kept me home from school and brought me to the office instead.
I’d sit on his lap during meetings, and he’d talk about how it would all be mine someday.
Like a birthright. That it was a privilege and a responsibility.
“Don’t get me wrong, he’s always been hard to please and had impossible standards that no one could dare to live up to, but for the most part, he was a good mentor and teacher.
It’s only been in the last—oh, I don’t know—five to seven years, I guess, when we all started to really press him about retirement that he began pushing back the way he is now. ”
I nod, reminded of my own parents waving off my concerns about their retirement, not wanting to discuss the details and logistics.
“Anyway,” Julien continues, “I can’t imagine working anywhere else.
King Publishing is in my blood. It’s a part of me, and I love it there.
Besides, if I walked away, I wouldn’t just be walking away from a job.
I’d be abandoning my father when he needs me most. He isn’t usually such an unreasonable man, and I just have to keep hoping and praying that one day he’ll wake up and listen to everyone—me, Mom, the board, his medical team—and realize change is necessary.
And I have to pray that day comes before he does irreparable harm to his health.
And the only way to do that is to keep showing up.
Keep presenting the conversation until one day he finally listens. ”
“And if logic doesn’t work, then your simultaneous plan of proving yourself by accomplishing the near-impossible task of turning around a dying children’s imprint in record-breaking time, which was presented as an appeasement measure and which he probably more than half expects you to fail at but also probably desperately wants you to succeed, will have to go off without a hitch. ”
Julien releases a wry chuckle. “I think you’ve got a handle on things.”
“Easy peasy,” I say, hoping to lighten some of the weight that seems to be pressing down on his shoulders.
He chuckles again, but this time I hear the genuine humor in the sound. “Lemon squeezy.”