by Katie Cross
For sure.
Then again … what did it matter? He’d already seen my underwear.
A metal contraption slid into the middle of the room, squeaking in protest. “I brought you a cot.” He smiled, pressing the folded ends into a waist-high bed, his bronzed muscles flexing with each movement. I swallowed, forcing my gaze back to the rusty cot before he caught me ogling.
“That will be far more comfortable than the floor. Thank you so much.”
He straightened, assessing the bare windows and open hole in the ceiling. “These cabins aren’t exactly built for luxury.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
He chuckled, one finger held up. “Just a second. There are a few more things.”
He disappeared back outside, reappearing seconds later with a long, round dowel, a hammer, and eight nails between his teeth.
“Makeshift closet,” he said around the nails. A minute later, he’d nailed the dowel across the south back corner, creating a bar for me to hang my clothes. He stepped back, surveyed it, and nodded in satisfaction.
“I have some extra hangers in my cabin,” he said, stepping to the middle of the wall and grabbing another nail. He drove the last four nails into the wood at eye level, each one a foot apart. “Some extra pegs for towels and stuff. Without cupboards, these will come in handy. I’ll come back tomorrow and make you a shelf by the windows.”
“Oh, wow. Thanks! You’ve got this wilderness living down, huh?”
“I’m a regular Tarzan.”
“I can’t wait to see you talk to the animals then.” I eyed the open windows. “You wouldn’t be hiding any extra drapes in your loincloth, would you, Tarzan?”
He laughed. “No, but I do know where some old pillowcases are hanging out. Want me to grab them?”
“Oh, I don’t mind doing it. Where are they?”
He waved it off. “I’ll be right back. Mind if Atticus stays?” He gestured to the dog. I raised an eyebrow.
“Atticus, huh? Are you a loyal fan of To Kill a Mockingbird?”
A little blush misted the apples of his cheeks. “Harper Lee and I are basically best friends.”
I laughed. “Yes, please leave him. I love dogs.”
Once he departed, I reached down to pet Atticus while staring at the modifications. The room already seemed smaller without Justin in it. Shaking my head, I thrust the cot against the far wall and tossed the pad and sleeping bag on top. The silky material slid through my fingertips like cool water. Atticus stared at me from the floor, his head cocked to one side. I nodded to the cot.
“Wanna?”
With a graceful leap, he jumped on top, circled the sleeping bag, and sprawled out, tail twitching. I ran a hand through his thick, smooth fur and rubbed his ears. He groaned and leaned into it.
“You’re a handsome devil.”
By the time Justin returned, I’d started to unpack, flinging a jacket, a towel, my hiking boots, and my tennis shoes on the nails in the wall. He entered with two pillowcases draped over his shoulder and a handful of wire hangers he set on my new closet dowel.
“Feels like home already,” he said.
“I think I’ll be a modern-day Laura Ingalls Wilder.”
He chuckled, pulling two small nails from a pocket and wielding a hammer in his right hand as he strode to the first window.
“So,” I asked, sitting on the cot next to Atticus. “How’d you find this handsome guy? He’s gorgeous.”
“I didn’t. He found me.”
His response hummed with an undercurrent that I didn’t have the courage to wade into. If he’d wanted to tell me the story, he probably would have.
“And you met the twins in Costa Rica?”
A rueful grin found its way onto his attractive lips. He chuckled. “Yeah. A while ago, actually. Eight years, I think? Mark got into a bar fight on the beach, and JJ was a little too drunk himself to be of much use. I stepped in to help them out.”
“Did you know them at the time?”
“Nope.”
“You helped them out anyway?”
“Yep.”
I wondered what he wasn’t saying. Atticus rested his head on my thigh with a sigh. I buried my fingertips in his thick fur.
“And you became friends after that?” I asked.
“I guess they developed man crushes on me they can’t get rid of.”
I tilted my head back and laughed. He patted two nails into place at the top of the window, obscuring it with the white pillowcase, and moved to the next.
“Your brothers said you’re a nurse,” he said. “That’s nice of you to leave your job to help them out here for free.”
A worm of nervousness wriggled in my chest. I hadn’t exactly told the twins the truth about losing my job when I’d mumbled something about extended leave and changes at the hospital. The pity on Bitsy’s face when I’d finally confessed the truth to her hadn’t motivated me toward total honesty with the twins.
“Uh, yeah.”
Justin stepped back, studying the makeshift drape, and nodded in satisfaction. “That look okay?”
I straightened. “Fantastic. Thank you so much.”
“No problem. Let me know if you need anything else.” His eyes shot to the hole in the roof. “I put a piece of plastic over that earlier today and plan on fixing it before camp starts. Do you need anything else tonight?”
Nathan admitting how wrong he was for dumping me. A functioning job that pays well. And a real pillow.
“No,” I said with a smile, rising to my feet. “This should be good, thank you. I’ll sleep much better.”
His gaze lingered on me for half a second before he gave me a thumbs-up. “All right. Well, have a good night, Meg. Atticus, come.”
Atticus trotted away with Justin, fading into the night. Sighing, I sank onto the cot, and it creaked under my weight.
A new summer of being single, spending time with my brothers, and enjoying the mountains stretched out before me. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad here at Adventura. I could survive a summer without taking extra shifts or placing IVs. Running the kitchen would be easy. Besides, Mom was coming tomorrow. I could hash all of this out with her. Talk about Nate. My desperate job loss. As if I were a kid again, Mom would make it better.
I flopped back on my bag with a contented sigh.
Ah, mountain life.
Chapter 4
Somehow
Rain drummed on the kitchen ceiling early the next morning. A chill drove through my hoodie and deep into my bones. An old pair of rubber gloves squeaked against my hands as I stood in front of the pantry, bleach bottle at my side. I shoved my sleeves higher on my arms.
“All right, you moldy monster. Make my day.”
The pantry door groaned open. I waited in vain for an attack of killer mold or a rancid blast of air. Instead, a beam of light illuminated a shredded bag of sugar on the floor. When I pulled a chain hanging in the middle of the pantry, nothing happened. I set a lantern on a shelf, spreading light through the cramped, L-shaped room. A tub of weevil-infested flour had fallen over, and tiny tracks ran through it. Generous piles of mouse droppings littered the floor.
“You are a brave woman, Megan Bailey, venturing into that pantry alone.”
I whipped around. A wiry, lean woman with muscular legs stood just inside the kitchen, balancing a laundry basket filled with bottles of cleaning solution and new rolls of paper towels on her left hip. I grinned.
“I learned it from my mom.”
“Sounds like a crazy woman.”
“You should meet her.”
A wide smile bloomed on Mom’s face. Her warm caramel-brown hair shimmered with streaks of gray as it swung around her shoulder blades.
“Oh, Meg. It’s so good to see you.”
She set the laundry basket aside, closed the space between us, and enveloped me in her powerful arms. I pressed close, inhaling the tangy scent of home from her running jacket.
“I’m so relieved to see y
ou,” I breathed, pulling away. “I have so much to tell you. I don’t even know where to start. And thank you for helping me clean. This kitchen is … well … you know.”
“Anything for my favorite daughter.”
“Only daughter,” I quipped.
She winked. “Same thing.”
She pressed a hand to my cheek with a warm smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Lines ran like canyons from her eyes down her too-thin cheeks. Weariness clung to her like she hadn’t slept in a week.
I put a hand on her arm.
“Mom, is everything all right?”
“All those lowlanders come up to the mountains in the summer and have heart attacks, so I’ve been pulling extras this week. You know how it is.” She released a rueful sigh. “Flight nursing always keeps me on my toes.”
“Did Dad come with you?”
“No.” An edge of tension cut through her voice. “I … think he’s at work. Anyway, I brought you an extra cooler with ice. The fridge isn’t working yet, is it?”
While she jabbered about rags and cleaning supplies, she flitted around the kitchen like a manic bee, never settling. She unloaded a bottle of window cleaner and degreaser onto the island, then set them next to the grill. With a tut, she transferred them to the windowsill.
“You sure everything’s okay, Mom?” I asked, watching her search for a place for the garbage bags. She set them on the counter, then moved them to the grill and reached for something else in the basket. Then she thought better of it and went back for the bags.
“Fine! So, listen. I bought this vinegar-based cleaner—”
“Mom, wait. Before you unload everything, tell me what’s going on. You’re so jumpy you’d make coffee nervous.”
“I’m just tired.”
“But—”
Her shoulders tensed. “Nothing,” she snapped. “Nothing is wrong. Just leave it alone, all right?”
I shrank back. She pressed a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes, leaning against the cluttered island. The muscles in her jaw tightened. Her shoulders stooped.
“I’m sorry.” She met my worried gaze. “I shouldn’t have snapped. I really am tired. Just … leave it, Meg, for now. Please? I’m not ready to talk about it.”
My heart leaped into my throat. It. So there was something going on.
“Okay. Sure. Let’s talk about, uh, something else.”
In silence, we fell into our separate duties. I shuffled back to the pantry, broom in hand, and swept up the sugar and flour. Mom stayed at the sink, staring out the window. Time stood still. Only the scratch of the broom on the floor broke the quiet. Just when I thought I couldn’t stand another second, I felt a tentative touch on my back, light as a butterfly wing.
“Meg? I’m sorry.”
I turned around to find her slumped against the wall, her head tilted back. Her eyes sparkled, as if she was holding back tears. I leaned on the broom handle.
“It’s all right, Mom. Bad days come and go.”
She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s not that. I just … I’m frustrated with your father.”
My throat tightened. “Is everything okay?’
“It’s fine. Your father and I are fine. He’s fine. I’m fine. It’s all just fine. We’ve been fine ever since you guys left the house. Whenever I ask him, he says he’s fine. He never asks me, so I just pretend that I’m fine. We just live in a big, damn circle of fine.”
A rangy laugh bubbled out of her. She thrust away from the wall, snatched a brown bag from the basket, and yanked out a box of baking soda.
“You wouldn’t believe how many years you can live on being fine. How many years you can tell yourself that everything will be fine even if you don’t believe it. Or maybe you do believe it, because if you don’t, you can’t imagine what it would mean. So, it’s easier to just be fine at any cost. Until, one day, it’s not. And you realize you’ve been lying to yourself all those years.”
I reached out and put my fingers over hers. She stilled. A hand rose to cover half her face. The mania in her motions calmed, and in its place settled a bone-deep weariness.
“Oh, Meg,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to burden you. I’m just … struggling.”
“Mom, it’s okay.”
She fell against me with a little cry, like a terrified kitten. I wrapped my arms around her, paralyzed in shock. What could I even say? Mom and Dad having marriage problems?
“Are you fighting?” I finally managed, sounding hoarse. She pulled away, sniffling, using her knuckle to wipe away tears.
“Yes. We have been for a while. It’s worse when we’re together.”
“Are you apart?”
“Not yet. Not officially, anyway.”
My thoughts fractured into thousands of glittery shards. What did this mean? How had it happened? Did the twins know? How was Dad doing? The questions swung at me like wrecking balls. I’d come home hoping to cling to Mom, but for the first time in my life, she clung to me.
“Mom, it’s okay. Look, we’ll work this out. After all these years together, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
Mascara smeared under her right eye. She sniffled but didn’t meet my eyes. Her deadpan voice didn’t give me much hope. “I hope so, Meg. I really do.”
“Do JJ and Mark know?”
“Mark knows. I don’t think JJ does. Your father would be furious if he knew I told you. He doesn’t want to worry anyone. Please don’t tell your father or your brothers I told you. Please? It’s very important to me that … I don’t know. I just … I don’t want everyone to know yet.”
I winced. Dad furious with Mom? Sure, they’d had disagreements when I was growing up, like any married couple would. But Dad’s long-fuse temper rarely manifested itself. I pushed aside all my worries over Lexie’s impending marriage and my joblessness and the tower of bills. For now, I’d focus on Mom.
“I understand. I won’t say anything.”
“Thanks, Meg. Let’s not talk about this anymore.”
“Okay.” I set my hands on my hips. “Let’s clean this disaster up, eh? There’s no therapy quite like manual labor. Or so my mother always told me.”
A tremulous smile stole across her face, replacing the melancholy. She cleared her throat, resetting herself back to the can-conquer-all Mom I’d always known.
“That’s my girl,” she said, pressing a salty kiss onto my cheek. “Always works hard. Let’s divide and conquer. This place needs a makeover.”
Food List for Blister
Black Forest Cake. ‘Nuff Said.
Homemade bread
Spaghetti—extra points for homemade sauce
French toast
LOTS OF EGGS.
More. Black. Forest. Cake.
Pepperoni Hot Pockets. NOT meatball. I’ll fire you so fast…
Raw veggies to a minimum. Like zero.
Chicken pad thai.
Chinese food.
Greek Food. (Ten pounds of feta and a crap ton of falafel).
Sione wants a pig to roast. Full pig. Face and everything.
Constant Oreo supply. ^ But seriously
BLACK FOREST CAKE.
Note from JJ: Definitely buy fresh carrots and hummus if you can. Baby tomatoes are a win. I’ll take celery, but it’s not my favorite. Oh, and get natural PB.
The chilly June air breathed down my neck early the next morning, sending goosebumps down my arms. The heater in Mark’s Zombie Mobile proved to be as consistent as my dating history. My breath curled out in front of me in light wisps as I rumbled down the mountain roads and pulled into Pineville.
Ahead of me, pink-and-white sunbursts opened behind the mountains, stretching with long arms into the sky. When I pulled in, the Pineville Market parking lot lay empty except for three other cars, one decorated with swirls of frost. Thanks to a late night finishing the kitchen, the smell of bleach still burned inside my nose. My fingertips would never be the same after so much scrubbing.
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In my right ear, a call continued to ring.
“C’mon, Dad,” I murmured, shivering. “I know you’re at your desk. You love going to work early in the morning.”
A familiar growl made me jump.
“Sheriff. This is Jim.”
“Hey! You are alive. How are you, Dad?”
“Well, what do you know? It’s my favorite daughter.”
“Only daughter.”
“Same thing.”
Grinning, I leaned back in the seat. “Yeah, sorry I’ve missed our Sunday calls the past couple of weeks.”
“Too busy dating that Norman guy to call your father?”
“Nathan.”
“Whatever.”
I winced. Something about Nathan had pulled me into his orbit like a satellite; everything had revolved around him. I’d missed calls to my family more than once.
“Sorry. I haven’t been a very good daughter the past couple of months.”
“Don’t apologize, kid. I get it. Mark says you’re back in the state. When are we going fishing? Then you can stomp around with those big feet, scaring away everything for three miles.”
A laugh bubbled out of me. A rush of a dozen childhood memories of fishing with him in the river followed. We spoke about Adventura, repairs in the kitchen, and Mark’s current state of easy stress. The sun crept higher, smoothing into long lines of light. Not once did Dad mention Mom.
“Listen, Dad, I talked to Mom yesterday and—”
“Hold on, kid.”
The sound of his voice muffled, as if he was covering the mouthpiece. Ten seconds later, he returned.
“Listen, Meg, I gotta go. Can we pick this up later? One of my deputies needs help on a call.”
“Sure. Of course. Love you, Dad.”
“Love you too.”
The line went dead. I dropped my hand to my lap with a sigh. The repercussions of Mom’s revelation still flipped my stomach like a roller coaster. I didn’t want to think about secrets festering in the shadows of my parents’ marriage. But now that Mom had revealed the truth, I couldn’t think of anything else.
