by Katie Cross
When she wiped off her cheeks again, I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close. She sagged into me for a moment, all limp and sisterly against me, until she pulled away and pressed a kiss against my cheek.
“Thank you. You’re just what I needed.” She scrutinized me. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I said a little too quickly again.
“Liar.”
“Not now,” I whispered. “Neither of us are ready for this conversation now.”
“Yes, now. Why did you refuse JJ?”
My eyes widened.
She gave me a please look. “Of course I know,” she said before I could ask. “Ellie tells me everything. I’ve worked for years to get her to trust me, and now it’s rock solid. She’s worried about you. I’m worried about you.”
“I didn’t tell you because Shane—”
She cut me off by putting a hand on my arm. “It’s okay, but it’s time to tell me now.”
Bethany had been my rock for the last five years. Not telling her about Mama and JJ and my broken heart had been eating away at me. While I was glad I could be home to help, in some ways I couldn’t get away fast enough.
Home wasn’t the same, because it wasn’t Adventura. My homesickness for that stupidly perfect office—and JJ’s smell—shook me.
“I’m afraid I’m turning into Mama,” I whispered.
She reared back. “What?”
With a weary sigh, I said, “It’s a long story, but I don’t want to do to JJ what Mama did to Dad. I—”
The door creaked open, and a familiar woman with spiraling black hair and a warm expression peered inside. A white mask covered her face. Bethany lit up.
“Jada,” she whispered. “You’re here.”
Bethany stood and embraced our town doctor. Jada moved to me next, warmth in her chocolate-brown eyes. The yellow gown that she wore over her clothes crinkled when I returned her hug.
“Lizbeth. So good to see you,” Jada said.
“You as well.”
Jada motioned to Shane with a tilt of her head. “Just here to listen and write some orders for the nurses. X-ray is concerning but not terrible. With oxygen and supportive care and time, we’ll get him out of here just fine. Okay?”
Bethany nodded with a teary smile. Her hand clamped down on mine. “Thanks, Jada.”
“I’ll let you talk with her,” I said to Bethany. “I’ll be back in the morning. Let me know if I can bring anything back.”
I gathered my things, murmured a quiet goodbye, and gave Shane a quick kiss. Visiting hours would end in fifteen minutes, and Bethany looked exhausted.
“You going to be okay?” I whispered to Bethany. Despite the years behind us, I still had a burning need for her to always be okay. For her to be safe, solid, and ready to bear everything, even if that wasn’t fair of me to ask of her.
“Of course. I’ll talk to Maverick when he gets back in here, I promise. We just . . . need to communicate our expectations better. This will all blow over. It always does. It’s all normal.”
“Really?”
She smiled and ran a hand down my face. “Of course.”
“You and Maverick will be okay?”
“Yes!” She laughed a little. “We’ve weathered far worse than this, Lizzy. Of course, you were gone so soon, at seventeen, you missed a lot of it. Ask Ellie,” she said wryly. “This is nothing.”
“Can relationships recover from difficult times?”
The question sounded so innocent and silly coming from a twenty-one-year-old, but I couldn’t help it. I didn’t know. I wanted to know.
Bethany cupped her palm on my cheek. “The bad days make the good ones that much better. It’s all part of the balance, Lizzy. It can never be all good.”
32
JJ
My windshield wipers attacked the gently falling snow every ten seconds as I waited for the Zombie Mobile to warm up in the parking lot of the grocery store. A bag of groceries sat at my side. Mostly food coloring and novelties. I didn’t really need them, but I couldn’t handle the quiet of Adventura any longer.
After Lizbeth’s departure, I’d been fortunate to land a surprising number of catering contracts, mostly for upcoming Christmas parties. When I wasn’t in the kitchen, I lived on the snowy mountain. It soothed something inside me.
But riled all the rest of me up.
Every attempt to trace what had happened between me and Lizbeth failed. It had unfolded so fast I couldn’t help but wonder if she was reeling in the aftermath too. Her attentiveness, zest for life, and expressive face had utterly destroyed me. My attraction to Stacey had felt nothing like this. In comparison, it was desperate. Lonely. Contrived.
But Lizbeth was real. She was hope. Light. Brightness.
Lost in my thoughts, I blinked when my ringing phone caught my attention. Megan’s name flashed across the screen right before I picked it up.
“Hey,” I said, relieved to talk to my sister.
“Are you brooding?”
I leaned back against the headrest and rolled my eyes. “I don’t brood.”
“Then you wallow. You must be wallowing. Mark said you’ve been an utter recluse. He’s starting to get so lonely he’s talking about a business idea with horses. JJ, you have to stop this. Mark on a horse? The world can’t take it.”
“Meg, what’s the most romantic thing that Justin has ever done for you?”
If the question took her by surprise, she didn’t reveal it. Instead, she responded as if she’d been waiting for me to ask. “He lifts weights with me.”
“That was fast.”
“It was an easy question.”
I frowned. “Really? Weights?”
“Yeah.”
“And you think that’s romantic?”
“It’s very romantic,” Megan said. “It matters to me. It’s . . . a connecting point. Time together. We both enjoy it, and then we get protein smoothies afterward. Health and boyfriend? The best.”
“That’s weird.”
“You’re weird.”
That seemed fair. “Thanks,” I said. “I was just curious. You doing all right, Meg? Justin’s been gone a lot this winter. Now I know why he’s all buffed out.”
“I’m doing great. Debts are coming down, work is good, and Justin is better.”
I scoffed. “Yeah, well, he’s hogging you. We haven’t gotten to see you enough.”
She laughed. “I was calling to check on you. Mark told me about Lizbeth.”
With a sigh, I said, “Don’t use that tone.”
“I didn’t use a tone.”
“That tone. The self-righteous one that suggests you know me better than I know myself.”
“I definitely do, even if you’re sort of enlightened.”
“I’m not enlightened.”
Megan sighed, and I felt a stab of guilt for making this hard on her. “I’m sorry about Lizbeth, JJ. It sounds like she’s having a hard time. I’m sure you really miss her.”
My throat worked as I swallowed. I did miss her. Like air, actually, and I hated that. Hated that segments from her stupid romance novels were coming to life in my world. Hated that something inside me had actually started to believe in her idea that love and romance are a force for good in the world.
Because she had been a force for good in mine. Everything I’d read about in those romance books had been utterly true. Tingles on my skin. Feeling breathless when she smiled. The desire to just be near her, even if we didn’t speak.
“Yeah, I really do miss her,” I said quietly.
“And I will concede that I used the tone, but it was appropriately placed,” she said. “Now, spill. How are you really?”
My fist tightened around the steering wheel. “Angry.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“At least you’re saying it. With Stacey, you just went totally quiet. Mark said you didn’t talk for almost a week. We had no idea what was going on in your brain.”
�
��Stacey was more of an embarrassment than anything. While I was definitely sad, I can look back and see all the signs there.”
“And Lizbeth broke your heart?”
“You know I hate that phrase.”
“I know.” She sighed. “But sometimes it’s best to state the truth explicitly like that.”
A gust of wind slammed into the Zombie Mobile, and I closed my eyes. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Sounds like she’s trying to find the middle. Lizbeth has lived in both extremes. She grew up with the utter depravity of love that’s used to manipulate. So she wove a different world, equally wrong but mentally safer. She used romance to feel safe. She’s trying to land somewhere in the middle, I think. Her ideas on romance were a little naive, J. She’s even told me about them when I’ve gotten coffee. You have to know that.”
“Well, yes.”
“This is her path. Let her be on it,” Megan said. “Sometimes, the most romantic thing you can do is just be her friend and give her time.”
“What if that’s not enough?” My fingers tightened on my phone. “What if she sees this stupid plan through and doesn’t ever come back? Doesn’t ever date anyone?”
“She might.”
“What if she’s never ready?” I asked.
“That’s the gamble of love. Be there for her, JJ. She’s gone through a lot. I’m willing to bet she comes through.”
All my hopes of Megan finding a way to fix this deflated like a bubble. She was right. I couldn’t fix this for Lizbeth. But I wanted to.
“This is new for me,” I said. I picked at a loose string on my pants.
“Very new for you. It’s . . . surprising. I’ve never seen a woman unseat you from your vow of perpetual bachelorhood.”
“Me neither.”
“She’s a good one for it.”
“Love you, Meg. Good night.”
After we hung up, I squinted at the sky. Talking to Megan didn’t solve anything, but I felt a little better. Less cooped up in my own head, at least. I put the Zombie Mobile into gear and steered it toward the canyon before the storm blew in. My thoughts whirled like the incoming storm, and they all centered on Lizbeth.
33
Lizbeth
Restless, I drove away from the hospital as I headed down the canyon toward Pineville. Leslie said she didn’t need her truck back until tomorrow, thankfully. It gave me time.
“You’re trying to be safe,” Grace had said. “You’re trying to avoid the hard stuff. The lows are the things that make the highs so worth it, Lizbeth. You’re afraid of something else, and you’re blaming it on your mama.”
What if she was right?
What was I really afraid of?
My thoughts rolled on to Shane. To Bethany’s exhaustion, her annoyance with the person she loved the most. The broken expression on JJ’s face when I told him to leave me. Pinnable rejecting my job application. My homesickness for the Frolicking Moose and Adventura. Mama’s voice wound it all together like gossamer twine. She swam through my head in loops and forced me to ponder it all.
Love is everything, Lizzy, she’d said once. Don’t ever forget that. If you find actual love like you read about in the books, you hold onto it.
Leslie’s truck carried me to downtown Pineville just as snowflakes started to fall. The little town was deserted in advance of the storm. Minutes later, I found myself parked behind the Frolicking Moose. Wind gusted against the truck, rocking it gently. Although the dark night swirled outside, I stared only at the harsh shadows of the burned shop.
For the longest time, I sat there. My thoughts scattered into strands that refused to gather into any semblance of order. Finally, I pushed open the car door, and a swirl of cool air revived me.
The back door of the Frolicking Moose was unlocked when I slipped inside. My footsteps echoed as I ventured into the main part of the shop. My chest felt tight as I studied the utterly changed interior. The inside had been gutted. The old cappuccino machine remained, scorched. Black marks marred the pantry. Soot and darkness climbed the walls, reaching upward.
I left all that behind and ascended the spiral stairs. Now that I’d come back, I felt lonely and overthrown. Like everything was shaking around me again.
The fire had run along the back wall, leaving the closet-sized office and stairs untouched. Ash and char filled my nose as I stepped onto the landing that led to the attic bedroom. I hadn’t come before now because I’d thought I couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t bear to make all this loss real. My new reality.
Well, the new reality was here. Time to woman up.
Stepping into the attic stopped me cold. The mattress was a pile of ashes on the floor. The gauzy drapes around my four-poster bed were destroyed. Flames had swept across the back wall and claimed my entire bookshelf. A few titles were scattered on the floor—probably from firemen blasting them. Most were half-burned and sooty. I reached out and caressed the edge of one that had somehow survived on a shelf.
The book toppled to the ground, unseated, with a reverberating crack.
I stared at it and thought about the words in the book. The romantic experiences I’d held onto so hard. Then my thoughts flittered to the night JJ had saved me from the cliff and to the date with Tyler. Two strongly romantic experiences that hadn’t been anything like these books.
Had the books betrayed me, or saved me?
Maybe both, or neither.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I whispered with a sudden realization. The books weren’t the bad guys here. They weren’t the reason I feared a life without the hope of romance or love. Without the dream of protection and security. A life without the possibility of being utterly and completely swept off my feet, breathless under the spell of someone else’s affection for me.
No, it was something else.
The heroines always had this moment in the books. The moment where they struggled within themselves. When outside forces pressed on them and threatened to take away everything they’d always wanted. The love interest might break into the scene at this point and save the day.
That wouldn’t happen here. I knew that. And I startled myself by not wanting it to, either.
The room felt cold as I carefully advanced further inside. The floor creaked but held firm. Only the floorboards on the far side were burned. For several minutes, I could only stare at the room, my breath puffing in front of me. Until now, it hadn’t felt real. The loss was so poignant tears rose to my eyes.
I really had lost everything.
Another book sat on the ground, half-open. I reached for it with a trembling hand. My favorite. The one I’d tucked into my back pocket and carried with me when we’d trekked from Dad’s home to the Frolicking Moose all those years ago.
Numb, I thumbed through it. Passages so familiar I could recite them verbatim swam in front of my teary eyes. Endless nights when I’d stayed up, picturing myself as the heroine. Imagining the love interest coming to find me.
Was all that wasted?
“Mama,” I whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Mama, how dare you? How dare you give me false hope? How dare you make me like you?”
A tear rolled down my cheek. I shook my head, my hand falling to the side.
“You destroyed everything you touched. You’re still destroying. I don’t even know who I am now.” My fingers fanned the smoky pages of the book, blackened along the edges. The words blurred through my tears. “I don’t want to be like you, but I’m afraid I already am. That you’ve ruined me, even though you’ve been gone for so many years now.”
I pressed my back against the wall and slid to the floor. Snowflakes fluttered by outside, thick as confetti pieces in the growing storm. A sob peeped out of me. I pressed my face into my knees and cried.
“I hate you, Mama! I hate you for what you did.”
In a desperate move, I grabbed several pages of the book. The temptation to tear each one of them in half, throw them across the room, and scream my rage was almost overwhelming
. But I couldn’t. This wasn’t the book’s fault. This wasn’t even my fault.
This was Mama’s fault.
“Put it down, Lizzy.”
The voice came from just behind me. My head jerked up. Bethany stood in the doorway with a concerned expression on her face.
“Bethie?”
“I followed you as soon as Maverick returned. I would have been here sooner, but I had to grab something from home.”
Slowly, I stood up. She shuffled into the room, a coat hugging her torso. Her eyes were more bloodshot and determined than I’d ever seen. She wore a pair of boots she’d clearly shoved on in haste.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because you are not Mama, and Mama wasn’t your enemy. Actually, she may have saved your life with all the romance she shoved into you. We have an hour to hash this out before I have to leave to feed Shane again, so get reading.”
She threw a folder to the floor in front of me. Papers spilled across the ground, harshly white in the damaged room.
Before I could ask, she kept talking.
“I knew this moment of reckoning with Mama would come for both you and Ellie, so a few years ago, Mav and I paid a private investigator to dig up everything she could on Mama. I wanted her to build a picture of Mama’s life from the very beginning.”
Oh no. This didn’t feel good.
Bethany nodded toward the papers. “Pick them up. She can’t hurt you from here.”
My hands shook as I gathered the sheaf together with soot-stained fingers. In the dim light from the window, the words were difficult to make out.
Bethany leaned against the doorframe with a weary sigh. “No need to read it,” she said. “I’ve read it so many times I have it memorized. Kat St. Martin. Born four weeks premature in a small city in South Dakota. Her mother didn’t survive the emergency C-section. She died from complications related to a drug overdose minutes after they pulled Mama out.”
Ice formed inside me. A long, cylindrical, pulsing thing that spread cold through every vein in my body. I paused to listen.
