by Jo Noelle
Chapter 9
Jenna Brennan
The sky’s still dark. Not even a hint of morning. I’ve been lying awake all night, reliving so many good memories of Cole and regretting the mistakes I’ve made with him.
Starting from my first year visiting Uncle Walter, the narrow, rocky beach was our kingdom. Maybe it had been Cole’s before I came, but he allowed me in. That seems like the kind of thing he’d do. We crossed swords there for hours, training to be pirates so we could join the crew on the Black Pearl. I always wondered how my mom found the people she wanted to marry. My eleven-year-old heart thought I’d found mine on the beach.
I remember saying, “We’ll find the treasure chest,” and thinking, then we’ll get married.
Cole’s eyes sparkled with hope. “I’m going to buy a boat with my half of the treasure.”
I kick my legs out of the twisted blankets, then smooth them over me again.
In the summers that followed, one of us always had a fling when the other wasn’t dating. Until two summers ago.
I throw off the covers and sit up against the pillows. When is morning? Ugh, three more hours.
It seemed like the stars aligned, fate stepped in, or maybe it’s like Shakespeare said, that we were actors to play a part, and we finally fell together.
Memories of the taste of his kiss, the smell of body wash, holding each other close … If I told myself the truth, it’s what I had dreamed of for half my life … but I blew it with Cole.
I slide deeply into my bed and pull the covers to my chin. I’ve been so busy making sure I’m not my mother that I’ve never stepped back to figure out what I want. When do I reclaim my own past instead of using Mom’s to define my future?
Two years ago, Cole said he loved me. He said he wanted us to spend our lives together. What would have happened if I had trusted him and loved him back? The thought tears at my chest. I know now that I was scared of myself, not him, and I ran away.
A warm tear rolls down my cheek. I didn’t know my own mind then, or even now. But I do know that I want Cole in my future. I want to see where it goes if we commit to each other. We both came from parents who were a hot mess. But we also both had Walter.
Two years ago, I thought I’d doom every relationship, not knowing how to do the healthy kind. But I know how to with Cole. We have roots, deep roots of friendship. It’s so built up inside of me that I feel like I’ll burst if I don’t say it now—I want what he wants. I hope he still wants us to be together. Vibrating with excitement, I can hardly wait to see him.
He might not feel the same today as he did then or even as he did last week, but it’s a risk my heart tells me to take. I regret the mistakes I’ve made and the time we’ve lost. I’ve got to tell him now—today.
Cole didn’t come to breakfast. I need to talk to him before I lose my nerve.
While Walter and I shelve supplies in the laundry room, the walkie-talkie crackles with Cole’s voice. “Walter, you’d better come down to Apple Blossom and bring Jenna.”
What’s happened? Cole didn’t sound like he was in pain. Does he just want to show us something?
Cole meets us on the path, pacing back and forth as I step out of the golf cart. His arms wrap me tightly as Walter continues past us into the cottage. My words come out in a rush. “We have to talk, Cole. Maybe now’s not good … but I want to talk about us … and our future—I mean, if we could have one. I’m presuming a lot … and I’m hoping for even more. I’ve been thinking about us all night.” I take a deep breath. If Cole doesn’t feel the same way I do, I want to have everything settled before the end of the contest.
Cole relaxes his arms to look into my face, then pulls me to his chest again. “We’ll work it out, Jenna.” His hand caresses my hair as we stand there for a moment, then says, “Let’s go.”
Continuing down the path, Cole says, “There’s a problem with the cabin, but it can all be fixed with a little time.”
It surprises me to see Walter just standing in front of the Apple Blossom’s open door. He hasn’t stepped in. I push beside him and walk through the doorway. Shock slams me full force.
Everything not nailed down or screwed into the wall has been stolen. Everything. A sudden coldness flashes through me as I walk through the rooms and take a mental inventory. My stomach drops. The artwork—all of it—in every room is gone. No TVs. The microwave was still in the box—must have made that easy for them. All the bedding, kitchen supplies, and chairs—stolen.
I remind myself to take a breath—concentrate on breathing. My limbs feel weak, and it’s hard to walk. In addition, they damaged several walls and broke all the windows upstairs in the new screened-in porch that would have been installed later today.
“How—how did this happen? And when?” I feel like the cottage—gutted.
Walter walks back over to the door. “As far as I can tell, there was no forced entry. They just walked in and took whatever they could.” He sits on the floor.
I feel as dazed as Walter looks. I can only imagine how he feels to see his cottage damaged. People trespassed on his property, his home. The pain I feel is probably nothing compared to his.
Cole combs his hand through his hair. “I worked on the Willow until about one this morning, and I was up again at six. It must have happened between those times.”
A deep feeling of fear drops to the bottom of my stomach. “It was about nine o’clock last night when I left. I—I don’t remember locking up.” Does anyone ever remember doing something automatic, like locking doors when you leave? It had been a long day of painting trim in the bedrooms and kitchen. I … forgot, and … it’s my fault. It’s all my fault, and I’ll fix it. Like Cole said, it’s fixable. I can do this. A week or two of long hours, and it will be ready. It has to be.
“We should postpone the end of the contest,” Cole suggests to Walter.
“No.” My voice sounds harsh, louder than I thought it would. “It’s all cosmetic.” I’m glad the appliances weren’t being delivered until tomorrow. “I just need to clean it up. I’ll be ready.” This might make me lose, but I’m not going to quit. I’m not leaving Uncle Walter or Cole with a mess. Resolve tightens in my back, making me feel stronger.
“I’ll get to work.” My eyes sting as I turn away from the door and walk back to Walter’s house, brushing tears from my cheeks.
I want to throw myself on my bed and stay there for a few days, but I can’t lose it now—I have too much to do. Instead, I flip open my computer and begin looking up invoices. That part’s easy. I just reorder exactly what I had before.
The paying part hurts, though. I’ve already budgeted and spent the amount Uncle Walter gave me for the project, so I’m raiding my savings to make up for the loss. I know insurance will probably pay for it, but I also know it will take a long time to settle. It’s okay—I’ll pay now and get reimbursed later.
After working for two and a half hours, I’ve revised all the timelines and budgets for the affected rooms, and submit the last order I’ll need. And I’m broke.
My mother’s face fills my mind. If you get married and let a man take care of you, you’ll never be broke. Then trade up as soon as you can.
No. I’ll have my paycheck tomorrow, and the wages for the next two weeks. I’ll have to live paycheck to paycheck for a few months to build up a cushion—I’ve done it before. Maybe I need a leap of faith—to close my eyes and use my heart to figure out what to do.
Walter knocks on my door then pokes his head in. “You doing okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. How about you?”
“It’s just stuff, Jenna. We’re all fine.” He leans against the wall. “I’ll get you a new prepaid credit card tomorrow so you can reorder what you need.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve already reordered everything. You can pay me back when the insurance company settles with you.”
“That’s generous.” He holds a slip of paper toward me. “This postag
e receipt was left in the mailbox. Guess we weren’t around to sign for some important letter.” When he hands it to me, he leaves and I grab my key to head to town.
Everyone knows a registered letter is never good news, but I can’t imagine what it would be. I’m not expecting anything. I haven’t won anything. I haven’t even gotten a traffic ticket. When the post office clerk hands me the letter, my stomach drops. The return address has the logo for Falcon Peak Lodges in Idaho.
Good news comes registered too, doesn’t it? Maybe this is my employment contract to sign—maybe they sent it instead of having me sign it when I get there. I quickly walk to my car before I rip open the end. At the beginning of the summer, this was the only plan I had. Now it’s the backup. Cole is plan A.
“Dear,” skip, skip. “We regret …” The letter suddenly feels heavy in my hands. “We have decided to go a different direction and withdraw the employment possibility. We wish you all the best in your future career plans.” I throw the letter onto the passenger seat and lay my forehead against the steering wheel, taking deep breaths.
Even though I’ve decided this isn’t what I want most, it hurts to be fired before I even show up. It’s the principle. It feels terrible to be rejected.
