Emerging from the trees, they saw the granite dome of Kaaterskill Mountain rising before them. Surprisingly, the normally crowded summit was devoid of hikers on this September Saturday. “Can it be? We’ve got the top to ourselves,” exclaimed Tori .
“Talk about luck!” Greg added. Inside, he hoped it was something more: a good omen for his fast-approaching summit moment with his wife. He’d planned the outing around his pitch to Tori to restart their marriage. Choosing a venue was a no-brainer. They both loved hiking, and a Kaaterskill climb would remind Tori of the day he popped the question on an Adirondack hike, and she said yes. He’d spent long hours preparing his reconciliation proposal, fine-tuning the language and tone. Tori knew nothing.
She had moved out seven months earlier after four years of marriage. She couldn’t take any more of their bickering and recriminations, she said. Greg wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t having any fun either, but he’d resolved to stick it out.
Alone in the kitchen the night before her departure, his mind began ticking off their issues – from buying a bigger house to washing the dishes – before realizing he’d done it umpteen times already. Going through it again was a waste of brain power; it wasn’t going to change anything.
On move day Greg backed the Civic out of the driveway before 7 a.m. and headed north, leaving his home to Tori and her helper friends. In the evening he returned to half a house, his wife gone. When he would see her again, Greg wondered as he ate his frozen pizza. Someday in the supermarket aisle seemed most likely.
He never anticipated the answer to his question, which came within a week – an email from Tori inviting him to dinner at her new apartment the following Tuesday. His ex inviting him to dinner? He could think of plenty of reasons to decline the invite, starting with the fact it was Tori who walked out. But it was a night out, and she wanted to see him. So just go, he told himself.
From the moment they hugged hello in Tori’s doorway, Greg felt at ease. “So, this is my place,” she said, launching her tour. His gut cramped a couple of times at the sight of familiar objects – photographs, a throw pillow – in this new setting.
With their differences neutralized by separation, conversation flowed easily as they dined on Tori’s chicken piccata. Sensitive topics from the past and questions of the future had no place at the table.
Afterward, they sat on the couch listening to music from Tori’s jazz collection. To the mellow sounds of Keith Jarret, she leaned into Greg and he put his arm around her. This was not in the plan, but he’d take it. Yes, he would surely take it.
It was almost 11 when he rose to leave. “Well, I guess I’d better be on my way,”
Tori tugged at his sleeve, pulling him back down. “Do you have to leave right now?”
He knew that sly grin, the arched eyebrow, and had no desire to resist. “No … I can always be persuaded,” he said. They kissed, soft and long, before Tori took his hand and led him to the bedroom. That evening inaugurated what Greg considered their PS (post-split) relationship. They got together every so often for the same regimen of dinner followed by sex. No questions asked. Ironically, it was the best part of his new life, if only a small part.
He spent the rest of his non-working hours home alone. The emptiness of 72 Turner St. gnawed at him. He longed for Tori’s presence; their dinnertime conversation, her groggy “Morning” when she appeared at breakfast, her welcoming “Hi” when he returned from being out. He realized that having Tori there to fight with was better than having no Tori at all.
Two months into their separation, Greg began thinking about reconciling with Tori and resuming their life together under one roof. If they were doing so well now, why not give their marriage another shot. If only from a financial standpoint, it didn’t make sense to continue living separately if they didn’t have to. And especially if they didn’t want to.
He waited a while hoping that Tori, as the one who walked out, would broach the subject. But she didn’t. Did she fear reconciliation wouldn’t work? Was she satisfied with their limited PS relationship? It was time to find out.
****
The Saturday forecast called for plenty of late-September sunshine. Greg texted Tori around 6 p.m. as he prepared dinner, How about a hike tomorrow? Kaaterskill?
She responded within seconds, YES!
They met in the parking area, both in hiking shorts and long-sleeve t-shirts. They were on the trail by 10, climbing at a moderate pace, pausing for views and wildflowers. Tori told him about her new boss. A real pain in the ass. Greg related his plans for an October hike in the White Mountains with his buddy, Pete.
“Óoh, that sounds nice,” said Tori.
By lunchtime a few more hikers had arrived on the summit. Still, they had no trouble finding a good lunch spot with long views to the south and west. As they ate their sandwiches, Greg admired Tori’s long legs. Just the way he’d been admiring them for years.
Now, Tori was biting into her apple. Time to start. “Got an idea for you.” he said. Tori paused mid-bite and her eyes turned to face him.
“What do you think about getting back together, living together again. It seems like we’re getting along a helluva lot better now. Maybe we just needed a break.”
Tori’s reaction took him by surprise. “Are you proposing to me again, Greg Wyatt?” she said with a smile
He returned the humor, “Well, it was a loaded question then, and it’s a loaded question now. But what better place to talk about it than a sunny mountaintop.”
Tori paused, her expression turning pensive, “Sure, I’ve thought about it. No question we’re doing much better than before. But living together again? I’m not so sure about that. What if the same old issues came back?’
Greg had his answer ready. “I don’t think they will,” he said with his eyes on Tori. “I think we’ve learned. We know to give each other space and cool down our arguments.”
“Do we?” she replied, brushing away a lock of chestnut hair. “Maybe you’re right. But I just don’t think I’m ready yet. I’ll think about it. Maybe someday…” her voice trailed off.
****
High clouds spread across the sky as they descended the mountain. At one point, Tori stopped and pulled a fleece out of her daypack – an orange fleece that Greg recognized from years ago. Was she wearing it the day he popped the question?
In the parking lot Tori tossed her pack into her car, then paused a moment watching her husband, “You know what? Let’s think about this some more; what we talked about today.”
Greg could barely control his elation. “Good idea. Let’s do that.”
“We can talk about it on Thursday,” Tori continued. “You’re still on for dinner?”
“You betcha. See you at 6.”
As he got into the car, his wife spoke again, “Greg?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re funny.”
He glanced over. Her grin was wider than Kaaterskill summit. It stayed with him all the way home.
Stephen Brayton is a retired journalist and communications consultant. Besides The Raven’s Perch, his short stories have appeared in The Fictional Café, CommuterLit, and Flash in a Flash. Steve is a director of his hometown historical society in suburban Boston.
