“Maybe one day, I’ll believe that.” Like when my kids stop blaming me for their father leaving.
“I hope you do.”
In my bed later that night, I lie alone as angry, frightened tears release. Every day, every hour, I’ve been suppressing all the anguish so no one sees the terror I’m truly feeling about making this enormous step in my life. And like a bad movie, I keep hearing the words hurled at me by Mitch’s lover.
“No wonder he fell in love with me. What’s so special about you?”
And through those early months, when I tried to repair my marriage instead of ending it, I never questioned that. What was so special about me? I was a waitress, a high school graduate, a relatively pretty woman who had married her high school sweetheart. I was a mom, albeit a damn good one.
And here was this smart, tough woman willing to put her body between herself and my husband without a thought, in more ways than one.
What answers did I have as those accusations were hurled at me? Memories of how still I stood in my own living room as Sheila lashed out at me play out like a bad movie in the dark recess of my mind.
My right finger dances over the indentation of where the rings I wore for sixteen years used to rest. Breaking my revolving thought process, I frown. Of all the things I’ve dealt with over the last ten months, I can’t seem to fix this—removing the final brand of Mitch Borneman from my skin. How long until I’m finally rid of him except in the capacity of our children’s welfare?
Flopping over onto my back, I struggle to put my future into perspective as I have so many nights since Mitch reneged on our custody agreement. “So much suffering, for what?” I whisper aloud in the empty darkness. But I’ve asked that question so many times, I know I could fall down a rabbit hole trying to figure it out. And all the hurt and lies will just carry me backward and not where I need to be.
Moving toward the future. Stronger. And ready to handle what Elise and MJ need.
My hands smooth over my stomach where I had my C-section with MJ. I dance my fingers along the faint scar there.
I have to figure out a way to harness this fear and pain into something positive. I have to embrace our move as a chance to step away from the negativity that surrounds my thoughts, my decision making. This is a chance to forge a new life away from the daily deception I’ve shouldered.
But how? A wave of terror washes over me. Pressing my hands hard against my abdomen, I begin to rock as tears fall, burning a path down my cheek.
I was so young when I married Mitch, I don’t know if I ever had a chance to meet Meadow Jones before I became Meadow Borneman. And I’m slowly discovering, she’s not quite who I thought she was.
I’m not the quiet docile woman I thought I was. I have a temper and well of untapped strength. But what about control? Rolling onto my stomach, I catch my forehead into my hands. What if I drive the people I love away from me because the Meadow I’m becoming isn’t the person I’ve been for the last thirty-nine years?
My lips curve reluctantly as images of Rainey, Brad, Maris, and Kara flash through my mind. God, I don’t have to worry about them, at least. Between the four of them, I’m not certain who’s leading the charge to shore me up more. But I do know one thing: I’ll never really be without them, no matter where I am.
But what will happen to me if I go?
As my eyes drift shut, my breath starts to even out. Yes, losing the comfort of my life—our lives—will be devastating, but maybe we’ll find something to salvage if we walk away now on our own terms.
By leaving, we’ll avoid turning as dark as the Alaskan nights. If we go, there’s hope of breaking through the dirt covering us and finding the sun again.
My lungs seize before they let out a long sigh as I fall face-first onto the pillow, exhaustion winning out finally. Tomorrow’s another day to look for the sun.
Days later, I’m driving in my rental along the two-lane highway in Montana after departing Alaska midday. The road to the guest house is dark, but I’m not surprised. It just adds to the comforting solitude I’ve been enveloped in since I left Jennings’s pilot, Jasper, at the airport an hour ago. He assured me he’ll be over tomorrow with the rest of my things.
I just want tonight alone with the bag of Arby’s I snagged before leaving Kalispell and heading along the north side of Flathead Lake. I turn off Montana Highway 35 and follow Covington’s directions to get me to the gate. After punching in the code, the gate swings open.
“Well, Meadow. You managed to keep your shit together long enough to get here. That’s one accomplishment down,” I congratulate myself as I pull through the gate. About a hundred yards ahead, I press the brakes and watch in the rearview mirror for the gates to close behind me. “Now, the turnoff for the guest house should be right about…here it is.” I let out a relieved sigh.
The three-bedroom guest cottage has what Covington described as an “obstructed lake view, Ms. Borneman. But I do believe it will be quite lovely for you and your children even if there are renters in the main residence. Yes, there’s a path leading to the main house, but it’s hidden very well unless you know where it is. More often than not, it will be easier to drive over.”
I groan aloud remembering another thing I have to do. “I need to buy a car before these rental charges kill me.” Then as a particularly nasty bump in the lane jars me, I gasp, “Or this road does. Whoa. Definitely need to get another SUV here. Otherwise that would be hell on a…oh, my.” I slam on the brakes as my first view of the cottage comes into view. Entranced, I fold my arms over the steering wheel, and for the first time since I left Rainey sobbing in Juneau, a smile breaks out across my face.
Jamming the car into park, I scramble for my phone. I pull up my notes and read, “‘Much like the main house, the cottage is framed by natural log pillars. You’ll enter into the living area which has a glass overlook into an expansive tree line instead of Flathead Lake. I believe you’ll find plenty of privacy and happiness here, Meadow. It is an exquisite property—even if it is only the guest cottage.’ Well, Mr. Covington, I think you may be the master of understatement.” Tossing the phone onto the seat, I drive forward into the circular drive and park.
Having already memorized the code, I quickly turn off the car and climb out. Deciding I’ll come back for my bag, I want to make certain the utilities are on. I dash through the cool night air to the numeric keypad—making a mental note to change the code—and quickly enter. The alarm sounds, and I turn that off as well.
Then I flip the lights and realize dreams can come true.
Quickly, I lift my phone to check my signal. Grateful I listened and switched carriers before I moved, I call Rainey. Before the first ring ends, she answers. “You made it. Is it wonderful?”
Voice warbling, I answer, “It’s absolutely beautiful.” Then because I haven’t cried since I left Rainey a few hours ago at Juneau International Airport, I christen my new home by sitting down in the foyer and do so while I babble to my sister about everything I can see. A while later, I tell her, “I guess it’s time to go get my bags and my dinner.”
“You haven’t eaten?” she screeches.
I shake my head when I remember she can’t see me. Yet. Cable is supposed to be connected tomorrow morning, and then I can take her on a virtual tour. “We’ve been talking for so long, my phone is getting angry with me.”
“It’s a good thing Brad’s not here, or he’d be angry too.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“Because I haven’t let you talk with him. He’s worried about you as well, Meadow.”
Looking around, I let out a happy sound. “I think you both can stop worrying.”
And maybe, for just a moment, I can too. Spinning in a small circle, I try to take in everything in one glorious whirl. Even though I’m all alone, I feel like I’m being embraced in a long-overdue hug by the log cabin and earthy decor.
It’s a perfect omen.
Meadow
I swear there’s s
omething to be said for being organized.
Yesterday, I awoke early, disconcerted due to the different view out my window. It wasn’t a bad one with spruce-fir trees interspersed with low-lying clouds. For a while, I lay in my new bed staring out the picture window as the clouds raced over snow-tipped mountains.
Then the cable company called letting me know of their impending arrival. Quickly getting dressed, I made coffee from the pods available in the little stand next to the Keurig, when Brad called to talk about the certified pre-owned SUV dealership I planned on visiting later that day. We were interrupted twice by the doorbell ringing—first Jasper with my boxes that he flatly refused to let me carry in, and second, the cable guy.
After a quick lunch in Kalispell, I asked Jasper to drop me off at the car dealership. “Are you sure you don’t want company, Meadow?” he asks doubtfully as we pull up.
Spying my electric-blue RAV4 parked in front, I grin. “There’s no need for you to stay. That is unless you want to learn something about buying a car?”
“I’ve got a lifetime of getting screwed over all stocked up, but thanks for the offer,” he drawls.
We both laugh. Impulsively, I lean over and give Jennings’s hotshot pilot a quick hug. “Thank you for everything.”
“It was nothing.” He smiles. And when he does, I can see one day, he’s going to turn some woman’s world upside down. Thank God, I’m immune to the Y chromosome right now.
With a quick wave, I slide out of the rental and head for the front entrance to be greeted by several people at once. I ignore them until I spy a man dressed in a long-sleeved flannel shirt and khakis. “Mr. Wesson?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Meadow Borneman. I believe that’s my RAV4 you’re holding out front.”
He holds out a hand that reminds me of the paws of a Kodiak back home. Capturing my hand, he pumps it up and down. “So we did. Would you like to take a test drive?”
“I would. And while we’re driving, let’s see what kind of deal you’ll be willing to cut me if I pay cash.”
Without losing my gaze, he drops my hand. “How about I ask…”
“No, sir. Just you and me. After all, this was just a goodwill down payment and—” I purse my lips. “—you’re not the only dealer in the area. However, if you’re not interested…?” I let the unspoken question dangle between us
He sputters. “Now, that’s just ridiculous. Why don’t we go for that ride and talk some numbers?”
I suppress the out-and-out grin that wants to break out across my face. After all, it’s too soon to celebrate. I’ll do that once I decide this really is the car I want to be driving and I take it off the lot. But once his back is turned, my lips do curve a bit. The devil’s in knowing the details before you face your adversary.
Boy, did I learn that lesson this past year.
Today, I’ve been familiarizing myself with the area after making an early morning grocery run. I’m driving the gently used RAV4 up to the gate when the hands-free rings. The display shows Covington’s number. “Mr. Covington, sir. What can I do for you?” My voice is filled with exuberance and excitement.
“Ms. Borneman, I need you to come to the main house immediately. Something terrible has happened.”
Instead of taking the first turn to head down the bumpy lane toward my cottage, I keep straight on the path. “I’m on the main road now.”
“I know. Your code came up when you came through the gates. Oh, thank goodness. The police just pulled up to the gates; I have to open them.”
“What?” I can hardly breathe as I slowly navigate my new car along the road.
“Just come in through the front door. You’ll understand soon enough.” Before I can ask what happened, he disconnects the call.
I check my rearview mirror, and sure enough, there’s an official vehicle closing in on me fast, lights flashing. With nowhere to pull off on the tree-lined lane, I roll my window down and wave to the officer and receive acknowledgment when he passes me by.
In less than a minute, we’re both pulling into a wider part of the road. I pull to the side to either let him pass me or park behind me. And the pit in my stomach grows as he races past.
What on earth could have happened?
Then I slam on my brakes in shock as I get my first impressions of the cabin. “Oh, God. It’s breathtaking.”
I’ve seen pictures, of course, but they don’t do justice to the two-story waterfront mansion on the Flathead Lake shoreline. As I move at a crawl, my head is at an almost unnatural angle as I try to capture both the magnificence of the home that seems to sprout up from the natural surroundings organically as if woodland fairies designed it instead of one hell of a talented architect. Multiple arched rooflines give way to sections of glass overlooking the driveway, allowing for easy views of the mountains. A tingle runs through me as I anticipate what I’ll see outside the backside of the house, knowing the owners own almost two miles of the coveted shoreline.
Pressing down the accelerator, I pull up behind another heart-stopping shock since I turned the bend a few moments ago. Sliding out of my car, I approach the vehicle warily, afraid if I breathe on it too hard, it’s going to disappear. “Oh, God. Is that a Shelby? It can’t be real.”
A distinguished man in his late fifties holding an iPad comes down the steps. “It was a gift from my father, Ms. Borneman.” He holds out his hand.
“Mr. Covington. A pleasure to meet you in person, though I was looking forward to it being under better circumstances.” I take his firmly and shake it. “What happened? Why are the police here?”
Russell Covington always appeared more youthful in our online interviews. Now it appears stress is adding years to his impeccable bone structure. He’s visibly shaken. “Mr. Covington?” I prompt him again.
“Meadow—if I may?” After I give a quick nod, he continues. “Please call me Russell. After you see what I’m about to show you, I think you’ll understand we’re about to get to know each other very quickly in a very short time.”
“Did something happen?” I ask as we ascend the stone steps.
He doesn’t reply. Instead, he pushes open a ten-foot door that is a grander version of my own. I almost gag at the stench that emanates. “What on earth is that smell?” My voice comes out nasally as I’ve reached up to pinch my nostrils closed.
Russell covers his face with a handkerchief he whipped out of his pocket. The police are milling around taking photos. “The entire place has been vandalized. We’re just not certain by whom. The last time I have an entry on my log for someone entering the property was the cleaning service.”
“And they’re reputable?” I question.
“Extremely. In the fifteen years I’ve been running the company, there have never been any issues with them.” He rattles off a few of their other customers including a nearby four-star resort Russell advised me to recommend for some of our potential guests who might want to book with us in the future but, “are unable to due to our properties being already reserved.”
“I agree. It seems highly unlikely they’d do something like… Oh, is that tile inlaid?” Instinctively, I move closer to get a closer look, but Russell holds me back. “Oops. Sorry. I’m a former cop’s wife. I know better. That kind of work is a labor of love though.”
“The owner certainly agrees with you.” With a heaving sigh, he admits, “This was Mr. Wilde’s fear about using his family’s retreat in the first place. We’re not talking about broken dishes, Meadow. This is a desecration of his family’s sanctuary that he rented to very select individuals.”
“Yes, it is.” No matter how much graffiti decorates the walls and cabinets in the kitchen, it still can’t hide the woodland beauty of what was. “Has Mr. Wilde been notified?”
“Just before I called you. He’s demanding a copy of the police report be sent to the man who coordinates his personal security—a man named Calhoun Sullivan.” My face must show my confusion, and Russell continues. “I don’
t know the man, but Mr. Wilde trusts him implicitly.”
I whip my phone out of my pocket and begin to take notes. “Of course. Do you have this Mr. Sullivan’s contact information available?”
“Mr. Wilde said he’ll make it available once the police have finished. Then, we have a limited time to restore the house, Meadow. I need that to be your focus since you live on property.”
“Of course,” I respond without hesitation.
“No, Meadow.” Something in his voice catches my attention. “I need this to become your sole project. I will continue on managing the other properties, but I can’t do that and be managing a restoration of this magnitude. And frankly, I don’t quite know where to start. During your interview, you said you’d supervised some remodels including some areas of your home. You also indicated you helped restore the diner’s interior in the off-season.”
“By hiring people, Russell,” I stammer. “Nothing of this magnitude.”
“Then hire who you need to. The police are doing everything they can. You’ll have a corporate card and access to a special corporate account for this with an equivalent to what the insurance funds will be by the end of the week. What else do you need?”
Spinning in a circle, I know I could make a million and one arguments about why I can’t do this, but there’s really one answer why I have to.
It’s now my job to.
Facing Russell, I find the determination deep down and give him the reassurance he needs. “I need a list of general contractors you trust. I’m too new to the area to make that kind of decision alone.”
“You’ll have it by the time we’re done here. Also, I’m having your computer and a tablet delivered to your home. Anything you need to buy, save the receipts.”
Return by Land (Glacier Adventure Series Book 2) Page 5
