by Unknown
I’M NOT BLOWING YOU OFF. YOU’RE THE ONE WHO IS TEXTING ME INSTEAD OF CALLING.
YOU’RE THE ONE WHO RAN AWAY THIS MORNING, AND MADE IT NECESSARY FOR ME TO TEXT OR CALL IN THE FIRST PLACE. I DON’T KNOW WHY I’M SURPRISED.
Fury had exploded in her at that. Jude had long contended that Esme had a fondness for running away from difficult situations. The stoplight had changed at that moment. She’d tossed her phone over into the passenger seat with undue force and slammed her foot on the accelerator.
She’d call him later. They’d talk when both of them had calmed down, and gathered their thoughts.
It’s not the end of the world, she’d told herself frantically. It was Jude, after all. They used to have a blowout at least once a month when they were kids.
There’s one major difference, a snide voice in her head told her as she’d gripped the wheel hard enough to make her knuckles go white.
You never slept with him before.
Everyone on the planet knew that changed everything.
So here it was, several days before Christmas, and that imagined (dreaded) conversation with Jude had never come to pass. Three months had gone by. Jude had returned to Washington D.C. and his hectic schedule at the United States Treasury. Esme had worked morning, noon, and night on designs for next year’s winter line.
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried to reach out to him, or so Esme guiltily told herself. In the past few months, both of them had tried to call the other one, but they never seemed to connect. One thing or another always seemed to get in the way. They’d sent sporadic texts, but their words never seemed substantial enough to establish a meaningful moment of communication.
With each thwarted attempt at talking, her misery had mounted. She’d thrown herself into her work as a way to cope with her discomfort. And every time she emerged from a well of focused productivity, she’d realize that another week, or ten days, or a month had passed. And she and Jude had still never discussed that flash fire that had erupted between them in that Beverly Hills hotel room.
Then, Grandpa Joe had had a minor stroke just after Thanksgiving while Esme had been on a sales trip to Milan. She hadn’t even heard about his brief hospitalization until she’d returned. She’d immediately called Beckett Lodge and spoken to Stephen about Grandpa Joe’s status. She’d been relieved to hear Joe was recovering just fine. There would be no long-term effects on his movement, activity level, or speech. Stephen had informed her that she’d just missed Jude. He’d been there for Thanksgiving and had been at the hospital with Grandpa Joe. He’d left Beckett Lodge an hour ago to fly back to D.C.
She’d called Jude right away, and finally gotten through to him. But he had seemed distracted, saying that he was late for catching his plane. Their conversation had been short and terse, not to mention highly unsatisfying. Esme was left with the unsettling feeling that he was irritated at her for not showing in Tahoe Shores for Thanksgiving.
Esme finally admitted to herself the obvious. Jude was mad at her. Either that, or he was just as uncomfortable with what they’d done as she was.
She drove herself crazy, wondering what else he thought about that wild night. A kind of numb, blind panic rose in her every time her mind touched on what they’d done. Not just about the act of having sex itself, although that was overwhelming enough.
What if in those wild, hungry, intensely pleasurable moments, they’d voided their relationship forever? That’s what really left Esme feeling sick and hollow. If she and Jude talked, if they spelled out their regret and made apologies, perhaps that imagined CANCELLED stamp she saw in her mind’s eye truly would slam down on a lifetime of friendship.
The longer they avoided each other, the longer she could hold on to the illusion that she hadn’t officially lost him.
Except now, she was back in Tahoe Shores. And suddenly, denial didn’t feel like much of an option.
Chapter Six
When Sadie pulled the car into the front circular drive, the front porch light clicked on. Ursa walked outside, her dark gold hair spilling around her shoulders and down her back. She clutched a leather jacket over her chest against the cold evening air.
“What are you doing? It’s freezing out here. You should get inside,” Esme exclaimed, vapor blooming around her mouth. But she hugged her little sister tight and planted a kiss on her cheek.
“I’m fine,” Ursa said, her tone fond, but a bit beleaguered. They all tended to worry and fret over Ursa like she was still a frail eight-year-old waif instead of a tough, dedicated clinical social worker, who dealt with cases on a daily basis that would have made even Esme balk. And the truth was, Esme had never seen Ursa’s color look so good. They’d all been a little worried about how pale and thin she was on the Labor Day weekend. But currently, her little sister looked lush and beautiful in the dim lamplight, but also…exceptionally fashionable, cool, and sexy.
“I love those jeans, and those boots are fire,” Esme exclaimed.
Ursa smiled. “I’ve found a new place to shop.”
“I’ll say you have.”
Both of her sisters grabbed her bags, leaving Esme empty-handed. They walked inside the double cedar doors, entering a high ceilinged, slate-stoned, circular great hall at the center of the house.
As it always did at Christmastime, a nearly twenty foot decorated tree stood in the bend of the staircase. Esme inhaled the divine scent of fresh fir as she unbuttoned her coat. A mixed feeling of happy nostalgia and sadness swept through her. Her father had always been like a kid when it came to putting up their two family Christmas trees. Even months after he’d passed, her mom had insisted on decorating the house, refusing to make any shortcuts.
How does she do it? Esme wondered as she stared at the massive, glowing tree and the fresh garland festooning the grand staircase.
“Where’s Mom?” Esme asked as Ursa and Sadie set her suitcase and a duffle bag at the foot of the stairs.
“She went out with Ozone to get a few things at the store. Come on, she’s been simmering a pot of wassail on the stove. She told me to give you two some when you got here,” Ursa said, waving in the direction of the kitchen.
The beloved, familiar scent of apple, citrus, cinnamon and clove filled her nose. Ilsa Esterbrook had made the mulled cider at Christmastime for as long as Esme could remember. The three sisters sat at a rustic pine kitchen table. A fire crackled in the stone fireplace next to them.
“So—” Esme said significantly over the rim of her steaming cup.
“I know what you’re going to ask,” Ursa interrupted quietly, setting down her mug of wassail on the table. “I don’t know why Mom has called this meeting. Not for certain.”
“You live the closest to her. You do have some idea what this is all about, don’t you?” Esme insisted, seeing a slight give in her little sister’s expression.
“Maybe,” Ursa admitted hesitantly.
“Spit it out, baby bear,” Esme demanded.
“Well…I was thinking, this house is so huge. With all of us moved out, and with Dad…gone…” Ursa paused, taking a swallow of her steaming drink. “Maybe keeping up this place is too much for Mom.”
A ringing silence ensued. Finally, Sadie cleared her throat.
“You think she’s going to sell and move someplace smaller?” Sadie asked. Her voice sounded calm and velvety, as usual, but Esme knew she was as stunned by Ursa’s suggestion as Esme was. This house was knitted into their very bones. It had played such a crucial part in their lives.
It’s bad enough that we lost dad, but now we have to let go of this house, too?
“Did she say anything that made you suspect she wanted to sell?” Esme asked anxiously.
“No, not in so many words. She has been talking a lot about change, though.”
“Change?”
“Yeah. Like when I acted sad about the Saderthwaits moving out, for instance. Mom just hugged me and told me that I couldn’t expect everything to stay the same. ‘Life moves on, and w
e have to move on with it.’ That’s what she told me,” Ursa said, glancing from Sadie to Esme with shining green eyes.
Sadie rested her elbows on the table and wrapped her hands around her forearms. She looked very sober. “Well, it’s not as if we could expect her to keep up this big house forever, alone,” she said, clearly striving for a tone of rationality.
“I didn’t expect her to. I don’t have any right to expect anything. It’s her life,” Esme said hollowly. “I just—”
“Never imagined anything different,” Ursa finished for her in a compassionate tone. “I guess that’s how it always is. You imagine home will always be there, waiting for you.”
“You most of all, maybe,” Esme said to Ursa. “You were born in a room upstairs.”
Ursa laughed. “Yeah, but you and Sadie and mom actually remember it, unlike me.” She glanced around the large, comfortable kitchen, her expression wistful. “It’s just that…saying goodbye to this place, well…it’d be like saying goodbye—”
“To Dad all over again,” Esme finished for her. Sadie’s arm gave an involuntary twitch. Esme reached out and grabbed her hand, feeling Sadie grip her back. For several seconds, they just sat there, listening to the crackling fire, lost in their own thoughts.
“Home is where the heart is,” Sadie quoted softly eventually. “Wherever Mom is, it’ll be home. Everything is going to be fine.”
Esme frowned, not entirely buying her big sister’s calm, accepting act.
“But where do you think she’ll go? You don’t think she’ll leave Tahoe Shores, do you?”
But she never heard her sisters’ response. The sound of the back door opening and Ozone’s scampering paws on the tile reached her ears.
“Esme?” Ilsa Esterbrook called.
“Mom.”
She hurried toward the mudroom, pausing to scratch the excited husky’s head and ears. Ozone gave a blissful whine.
“I swear he knew you were in here. He practically jumped out of the window, he was so excited to get home,” Ilsa said.
Her mom stood just inside the door holding four burlap bags of groceries, a huge grin on her face. Esme rushed to take the bags from her and set them on the washer and dryer. Four apples rolled out of a bag, one falling on the tile floor with a thud. Ozone ran over to it and started rolling the red orb around, using his nose like a hockey stick. He gave a muted bark of excitement. Esme looked at her mom. They burst out into laughter at the same moment, and hugged.
“You look fantastic,” Esme said a few seconds later, examining her mom’s radiant face. If this was the image of a fifty-six year old woman, than Esme had nothing to fear when it came to aging. Her mother’s long main of blonde hair had gone gorgeously silver. It was still lush and thick and tumbled around the wool sweater and the faux-fur collar on the rugged outdoor vest she wore—an EsmeEs design original and a gift from Esme. Sadie had inherited their mom’s high, enviable cheekbones, Esme her large hazel eyes, and Ursa her soothing air of calm and deep contentment. It was no wonder that Tahoe Shore’s residents did a double take and smiled every time they saw the silver-haired woman and the white dog walking side by side through town, or heading up one of the mountain trails.
“You look wonderful yourself,” Ilsa said, her gaze moving over her daughter’s face. “You’ve lost weight, though. You and Sadie both. You’re working too hard. I’ll have to fatten you up while you’re here.”
Her mom smelled of the outdoors, wood smoke, and a hint of Coco Chanel. For some stupid reason, Esme’s eye burned with tears. She hugged her again, pressing her face to her shoulder and inhaling the familiar scent. Maybe Sadie was right. Wherever her mom was, that would be home.
Wouldn’t it be?
When they parted, she’d mastered her unusual upsurge of emotion. She helped her mom retrieve the groceries.
“Come on,” Ilsa said, heading toward the kitchen. “You can help me get together the hors d’oeuvres for tonight.”
“Hors d’oeuvres?” Esme laughed, following her into the kitchen. “Why so fancy when it’s just us girls? And Ozone, of course,” she added when the husky bumped against her leg, angling for another ear scratching.
“Oh, it won’t be just us,” Ilsa said, setting her bags on the counter. “We’re having company over at six.”
“Grandpa Joe and Stephen?” Sadie asked, taking a bag from Esme. Grandpa Joe and Stephen were the obvious choices for guests. “Isn’t it kind of cold out for Grandpa Joe to come over?”
“Stephen will bundle him up,” Ilsa assured, opening a kitchen cabinet and setting items inside. “I told them we all could go over to the Lodge, but Grandpa Joe insisted on coming here to hear the news.”
Esme glanced around in surprise. “You mean the news. The same news you wanted to tell us?”
Ilsa nodded, a small smile shaping her lips.
“You have to tell Stephen and Grandpa Joe the news too?” Esme gave first Sadie and then Ursa an anxious glance. You were right, Ursa. She is going to tell us all that she’s selling the house and moving away. Grandpa Joe and Stephen were like family. Since they were the closest neighbors to the Esterbrooks, it made sense that Ilsa wanted to give them the news about her moving at the same time she did her daughters.
“Not just Grandpa Joe and Stephen,” Ilsa replied airily, placing a bell pepper, clove of garlic and some cream cheese on the counter. “Mat, Jude, and Z are coming as well.”
Esme froze in the act of reaching for a cutting board, her mother’s voice reverberating in her head.
“Z and Jude?” Esme heard Ursa say as if she spoke through a long tunnel.
“And Mat?” Sadie added, sounding stunned.
“The entire Bear Clan?” Ursa asked incredulously.
“That’s right. And Mat is bringing Shelly, too,” Ilsa said, referring to Mat DaRosa’s wife. She seemed blind to the fact that all three of her daughters were staring at her with open-mouthed shock.
“But why?” Esme asked, her voice sounding a little shrill. It was too much to take in. Jude was going to be here? In less than an hour? She stared down at her travel rumpled clothes in dismay. And what was wrong? Why all the drama having a meeting of family and friends? She felt a little light-headed.
“Mom, you’re not sick or anything, are you?” Esme demanded. Just asking the question made the roaring in her ears amplify. First, Dad. Then, Jude. Now, maybe her mother was going to be taken from her, as well?
Her mother glanced over her shoulder at Esme. She dropped the knife she’d been holding onto the counter and spun around.
“No, sweetie. No. It’s nothing like that. Please don’t worry. I’m as healthy as I’ve ever been. I told you all this is good news, why won’t you believe me?” Ilsa asked, crossing the room swiftly and hugging Esme. A moment later, she loosened her hold and glanced over Esme’s shoulder at Sadie and Ursa. She gave a beckoning wave. Soon all four of them were in a group hug.
“It is good news. In fact, it’s wonderful news,” Ilsa assured them, her voice muffled because her face was pressed against Sadie’s neck. “At least I think it is. I hope all of you think it is, too.”
Chapter Seven
When the doorbell rang that night at a minute or two past six, Esme was the one who rushed to answer it. Sure, Jude was always insisting that she ran away from difficult situations. But she never refused a dare for an adventure, either. Somehow, the challenge of being face to face with Jude again was so great, it had come to equate to a magnificent, dark dare in Esme’s chaotic mind.
That’s why her heart hammered in her chest like she was about to attempt a new, difficult jump on her snowboard, even though all she was doing was swinging open the front door to old friends.
“Merry Christmas, Es,” Stephen Jackson called cheerfully. He stood behind Grandpa Joe’s wheelchair, sporting a healthy-looking winter tan and looking happy. Grandpa Joe smiled too beneath the brim of the black fedora hat he always wore when he left the house.
“Merry Christmas! C
ome in where it’s warm,” Esme said, her gaze searching the faces on the front porch. It struck her like a punch to the stomach that Jude’s wasn’t among them. Stephen, Z, and Mat were all big men, each of them wearing coats suitable for a cold Tahoe night. Because of their sheer mass, not to mention her own anxiety, it’d taken her a second to realize Jude was absent. She wanted to immediately demand where he was, but then everyone was trooping inside into the warm, well-lit circular hall. Her mom, Sadie and Ursa were there, calling out greetings and taking coats and hugging. Ilsa and Sadie started handing out steaming wassail. Ilsa often offered to spike the punch with bourbon, but liquor was notably absent tonight. Esme knew that was in deference to Z’s struggle with alcohol abuse.
Esme hugged Mat DaRosa first. “It’s so good to see you,” she told him after they’d parted. She hadn’t seen Mat since her father’s funeral, so she took a moment to soak in the sight of him. He wore faded jeans and worked-in boots along with a nice button down shirt and a hip length rancher coat. He sported some sexy, dark whiskers tonight, making him look even more ruggedly male and handsome than usual. His electric, bluish-green eyes shone in his tanned face as he looked down at her.
“Aren’t you every inch the successful rancher-slash-architect,” she teased him, motioning that she’d take his coat. She knew that he’d inherited a large cattle ranch in the Carson Valley after his uncle had passed three or four years back, even if they hadn’t had a lot of time to discuss it at her dad’s service or wake. She also understood from her mom that Mat’s architecture firm remained his main focus. “Mom tells me you got the contract for the Mason Silver house in Zephyr Cove,” she said, referring to a famous billionaire technocrat from Silicon Valley who had decided he wanted a summer home at Tahoe. “And I can say that I knew you when you used to build houses out of the Popsicle sticks and pebbles and sticks we collected for you.”
