Winter at Cedarwood Lodge

by Rebecca Raisin

  “I see,” I said lamely. “So…” Words escaped me. Had I really known him at all? How could he have married the girl who’d made my life hell at school? Many a night I’d lain sobbing in his arms, rehashing something she’d done that day to torment me. Thank God I wasn’t that pushover type any more, the one who bruised easily.

  He sipped his beer and then said, “Yeah, it all happened so fast. Driven by hormones, I suppose. Now Melanie’s moved out of town, and I’m sole parent. You can see how the kids are struggling. They think they did something to warrant her leaving, but she moved away for work, and sees them every other weekend.”

  Was he still pining for Melanie? It was hard to tell, but I thought I could see a trace of hurt in his eyes.

  I changed tack; I’d ruminate about it all later. “So what do you do for a job?” He’d been applying for colleges when I left, and had never been fully decided on what to be ‘when he grew up’, as he dubbed it.

  “I’m a real-estate agent. I was kicking myself that I hadn’t heard about Cedarwood being put up for sale. It was all done cloak and dagger, wasn’t it?”

  I settled back into my seat. The rest of the gang were joking around, playing rock, paper, scissors to settle an argument. “I did wonder why – after all this time lying vacant – it was finally offered for sale,” I said. “What’s the story with the previous owners? Does anyone remember?”

  Timothy shrugged. “As far as I recall, the husband left and she stayed on, but closed the doors to guests. A few years later she moved on and it lay abandoned until you arrived.”

  “But what’s the story behind that?”

  Their faces were blank. Bennie said, “No idea. It’s weird, isn’t it, that no one mentions them?”

  I hadn’t found any of the former owners’ personal belongings. There’d been not even a scrap of paper left behind, only some antique furniture – that was it. Odd, if they’d moved on so hastily. No books, no clothes, nothing. Maybe there was detritus in the basement. I’d have to have a more thorough search.

  “Do you think the town is behind some kind of cover-up?” Micah asked, his voice jocular, but underneath I detected a hint of wonder. Was the tiny town of Evergreen hiding their secret? If so, why, since they weren’t here any more? Why had we never questioned it as kids? It had been dubbed the abandoned lodge and that had been that in our eyes.

  “Well, you have to admit it’s strange for secrets to remain buried in Evergreen,” said Sherri, playing with the stem of her wineglass.

  “Perhaps we should do some digging?” I asked, and held my breath. They didn’t need to know I suspected my mom had some tie with Cedarwood Lodge.

  Bennie piped up, “My mom’s still the head librarian. Want me to see if she can dig up any articles on the previous owners?”

  That wouldn’t hurt, surely? “Could you? It’d be great to have some background about them. I feel a little like I’m babysitting their child, sometimes. And that they’ll come back, disappointed to see how I’ve changed it.”

  “Or maybe you’ll uncover their secrets,” Sherri said, pulling her eyebrows together. “Be careful…”

  “Speaking of secrets,” Timothy said. “Who was that guy you were in town with the other day?”

  “What guy?”

  “Tall, blond, surfer dude.” He kept his voice light but I detected an undercurrent of something more. Was he jealous?

  “Kai. He’s the project manager.”

  Timothy raised his eyebrows. “Right. Good you’ve got some help.” I might have mistaken it, but he seemed relieved. “We sure had some fun, didn’t we?” he said, wistful. “Are our love hearts still visible on the old chestnut tree?”

  The bar was quiet, with only some soft notes drifting from the jukebox. I could easily have been a teenager again, just by swapping the bar scene for the diner down the road. It felt good to be back with my friends, knowing they hadn’t changed. They were still the same big-hearted people… but I missed New York and I missed my old life. Part of me thought that would all become a distant memory as Evergreen swallowed me up. And I’d be all right with that, wouldn’t I? Like Micah said, I wasn’t taking a step back coming home, was I?

  “Yep, our names are still carved on the trunk of the chestnut tree near the lake. First crushes, the stuff of legend.”

  “First love, don’t you mean?” he said, his eyes twinkling. He was giving me the green light – I could read him like a book, but coming home didn’t mean repeating the same old patterns. Not in this, anyway.

  “It was a first, for sure,” I said, remembering he had married Melanie practically five minutes after I left town. Melanie of all people! Had he broken up with me for her? Had he lied, all those years ago? I supposed it didn’t matter now. But in some deep recess of my heart it stung a little, still. “We were so young.”

  Micah shot me a look, one I recognized so well – do you need to be rescued? He always had my back, and could read my nervous tics that no one else even noticed. I shook my head almost imperceptibly.

  “Sherri, how’s the writing going? Should I be stocking up the library room at Cedarwood with your novels?”

  She flashed me a grin. “Well, at the moment I’m busy wallpapering my bathroom with rejection letters, but as soon as I get The Call I’ll let you know, and you can stockpile my novels for your guests.”

  I laughed. A wall full of rejection letters: a nice, healthy, passive-aggressive way of dealing with the failure of something she’d obviously been working so hard for. “Are you still writing fantasy novels?”

  She shook her head. “Nope, I’m writing romance. Bennie seems to think I base every hero on him, and wants to know if we should ‘practice’…” She made air quotes. “…For a scene. The poor fool he is. My heroes would never let their wives do the midnight feed…”

  We all laughed, and Bennie said, “What? I’m being a supportive husband!”

  “Yeah, sure you are,” she laughed. I’ve just had a revise and resubmit, so fingers crossed my latest heaving bosoms bonkbuster gets a yes. Isn’t that what you call my novels, Bennie?”

  “I can’t win,” he grinned.

  Later that night, with sore cheeks from laughter, we said our goodbyes with promises to catch up the following week. I was buzzing from the night and tipsy enough to know I’d sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow – with or without midnight yoga.

  Inside Micah’s car, with the heat blasting, I tried to make sense of my roiling emotions. Being home and seeing my old friends was like slotting back into a cozy pair of jeans. A comfy fit, tried and true. But that feeling of failure still haunted me. It was like part of me thought I had given up without a fight in New York, and that I’d regret it for ever. All those years of hard work, to end up back where I started.

  “Timothy couldn’t take his eyes off you,” Micah said.

  “I know, I felt it like a laser beam.” Sure, my heart had skipped a beat seeing him and my pulse had jangled, but was it because of Timothy or because I was back with people I hadn’t seen in so long, who made me feel good about myself?

  “It was so good to see them. I’d never have guessed Ben and Sherri would have married!” I laughed, happy to be in the warmth of the car with my best friend.

  “I wrote you about it. But you mustn’t have got the letter. You were invited to their wedding.” The words hung in the air.

  Shame colored me scarlet. I remembered getting letters from Micah and putting them aside to read later, but later had never come; there had always been somewhere to be, someplace to get ready for. “I’m sorry, Micah. I should have made more time. I don’t know what happened to me when I left. It was like I had blinkers on.”

  “Happens to the best of us,” he shrugged. “You can’t live in two worlds at the same time. We understood.”

  “I wish I’d been at their wedding.” How could I have switched off friendships that meant a lot to me? In the early days they’d made efforts to stay in contact but I’d snubbed them, always ex
cusing my behavior as a side effect of my job.

  Stars twinkled overhead as we drove back to the lodge. The closer we got, the more I felt I was returning home, not in the literal sense – obviously the lodge was my actual home – but more in the sense that I was returning to where I was always meant to be. The thought was a comfort.

  “It was a small wedding held at her parents’ farm,” Micah recalled. “They’d been strapped for cash because of his knee surgeries, but Ben insisted on getting married then and there despite their lack of funds. I did wonder at the time if Sherri was happy with such rushed nuptials. Doesn’t every bride want all the bells and whistles?”

  “Not always. I bet it was perfect. Hey, why didn’t you invite Isla tonight?”

  He tutted. “I was going to but then I thought about her sitting to one side not getting the jokes, or the references to our high-school days, and thought I’d rather save her from that.”

  “Yeah, good point.”

  “But she was a little standoffish, so I really don’t know. I’m just going to keep my distance and see…”

  Micah was such a gentle soul he’d never push a point with someone, but surely he could approach her and ask? “Why don’t you talk to her about it?” I wanted to shake them both. I thought after the fire they’d jumped down the rabbit hole together and it would all fall into place.

  He shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”

  “But it is! You adore her.”

  With a long sigh he said, “Let’s see what tomorrow brings.”

  Chapter Twelve

  With just over a week until the party, things were looking grim at Cedarwood. Autumnal rains had made work slower, especially in the garden. Everyone had worked double time, pulling together, and they were bone-weary. The ballroom ceiling was still bare, replacement chandeliers hadn’t arrived – they were lost in transit – and the overall feeling was of hopelessness. We’d got to the point of sheer exhaustion, despite our very best efforts. Instead, I worked on plan B, which was hosting the party in the lobby. It wouldn’t have the grand exit to the deck, which we’d planned to string up with fairy lights, but it was still a beautiful space, and I could decorate it enough to pass muster.

  Gripping my coffee mug tight, I went outside, hoping the view of the mountains would cheer me up, so I could try and rally the troops, and spur them on when they arrived.

  My cellphone buzzed. Amory.

  “And to what do I owe the pleasure?” I asked. Amory would be walking to work, sipping takeaway coffee from Starbucks, newspapers bundled under her arm.

  “Clio, darling. Now don’t be alarmed.”

  “Oh, this sounds ominous.”

  “There’s an article in today’s paper saying Flirty McFlirtison is considering suing you. I’m sure it’s just an attempt to scare you into hiding further in the middle of nowhere to keep you quiet, but I thought you should know.”

  “What? They can’t sue me? What for?” My heart raced so fast I thought my chest would explode. Could she sue me? Take Cedarwood?

  “For damages. For the cost of the wedding and all the accoutrements.”

  “What? You’re kidding!” Amory’s early-morning phone call was enough to send me into a tailspin. I had so much to do at the lodge, and now this disaster to deal with.

  She made soothing noises. “I know, I know, but she’s filed a motion saying there were other costs. Emotional as well as financial. Their honeymoon, for example, and her mental health… there’s doctors involved.”

  I cupped my head and wailed. “So, she is filing the suit against me, or they both are?”

  “It doesn’t say. Maybe you could call the fiancé, and find out? He could probably convince her to drop the charges if he wanted to.”

  Light rain sprinkled. “I don’t have his number. Some stalker I am – allegedly. God…” I ran a hand over my face. “This couldn’t come at a worse time.”

  “I’ve got his number. There’s ways and means, if you know how… well, OK, I just opened up the database with their file, but I’ll text it to you.”

  “What am I supposed to say?”

  “Say you’re sorry, you meant no harm. Mention you’re practically living in the wilderness and they won’t hear a peep out of you. And also say they can sue you but all you own is a rundown old lodge – no, say cabin, in said wilderness. They don’t need to know the grand scale of Cedarwood. And I doubt they’ll check.”

  I let out a half-wail, half-groan. “OK.”

  “Report back.”

  “Will do, love you.”

  “Kisses.”

  My phone pinged with a message containing the groom’s number. Johnny was a ridiculously famous actor. Older now, but still working sporadically, and popular despite his provocative not-so-private life. I’d spoken to him briefly at one of the planning meetings, and then woefully on the wedding night to tell him she’d gone.

  Would he hold a grudge? Why wouldn’t he! Run, I’d told his fiancée, run!

  I dialed, hoping it would go to voicemail and I’d be given a stay of execution. And really, I hadn’t prepared anything to say.

  “Yeah?” A husky male voice answered.

  “Johnny?”

  “Do you know what time it is?” he grunted.

  Celebrities and their beauty sleep! “I do, I’m sorry.”

  “If this is about the fireworks, it wasn’t me.”

  Fireworks? “No, it’s not about that. It’s Clio. Your… wedding planner,” I said, my toes curling.

  “Oh. You.”

  The disdain in his voice was apparent.

  “It’s me. I’m so sorry to have woken you. But you see, this whole… saga, well I wanted to discuss it with you. I know I made a mistake, a huge mistake, but I was working off the information given to me at the time.”

  “You told my fiancée to run. To go marry some other guy!”

  “Well, yes, and I can see how that might come across…”

  “Come across? You can see, can you? I’m a laughing stock!”

  I swallowed a lump in my throat. “I thought… she told me she loved someone else. So the romantic in me, the normal sane person in me, thought fleeing was the only option. You wouldn’t want to have married someone who didn’t love you, surely?”

  “None of them love me. They love the idea of me.”

  I reared back. “And that’s enough?” Alarm bells clanged in my head – I was doing it again, saying things I shouldn’t. But settling for someone who clearly didn’t love you? It was outrageous.

  “Listen here, I don’t know why you think it’s OK to call me after what you’ve done – you’re either courageous or really, really stupid. But I think we’ve covered all we need to, unless there was anything else? One last piece of advice?” he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

  Why did I not just focus on the matter at hand? Now I’d upset him, and it would do my cause no good. “Flirty… I mean Monica… is threatening to sue me for damages, and I’d hoped you could convince her to drop the charges. I’ve left New York, I don’t have a trust fund, or any real cash…”

  He let out a belly laugh. “What’s this got to do with me?”

  “Could you call her? Tell her to stop all of this nonsense? I’m not in Manhattan, and I won’t be back. I’ve lost my job, my life…” My voice broke. Some professional. But what if it did go to court and I lost the lodge?

  He softened. “Look, it’s a ploy, OK. You’re an excuse to keep her face in the papers and, as an aside, it’s managed to skyrocket my career again.” He chuckled like it was nothing. “Everyone wants to hire the broken-hearted washed-up movie star. Let it play out, and I promise you things will settle down.”

  “You ruined my career, my life, for publicity?” Was he for real?

  “I didn’t set out to do that. You told her to run, don’t forget. It’s just a lucky side effect that it’s rekindled a career I thought was virtually over. Anyway, if Monica had stayed our marriage would have lasted until the summer of next
year, and that would have been that. It’s the way it works in my world.”

  These people lived in a parallel universe, surely? How could that ever be acceptable? “What about real love? Finding someone who genuinely cares for you?”

  “That stuff doesn’t actually happen in real life when you’re me.”

  I rolled my eyes. Movie stars, honestly. “It actually does, you know. I’ve planned weddings for celebrities just like you who’ve been in love – heart-stopping, can’t-eat, can’t-sleep, love.”

  “And you’re the expert, I take it? Have you been in heart-stopping, can’t-eat, can’t-sleep, love recently?”

  “Well…”

  “Well, what?”

  “Well, not exactly.”

  “Not exactly?” His voice was incredulous. “Yet you dole out advice like you know it all. You’re one of those types who always plays Cupid, yet has never really been in love. Am I right?”

  Was I? He had hit a nerve, as the truth of his statement struck me. All I did was focus on other people’s love affairs, but that was my job, my passion… I swallowed hard and said haughtily, “I’ve seen it happen to those around me. And it’s not something you can rush, it has to be the right person…”

  “Fairy tales.”

  “What you need,” I said, feeling bolder as the conversation went on, “is to find a person who isn’t wowed by your celebrity status. A person who knows your profession is a one-way trip to ego land. A girl who won’t kowtow to you or let you get away with any foolhardy behavior just because you can.” Good advice, whether I was a meddler or not.

  He let out a guttural laugh. “Yeah? She sounds peachy. And where would I find a girl like that?”

  “Who knows, but isn’t that the fun part? The anticipation?”

  “Look, I’ll talk to Monica’s people about the lawsuit, OK? She doesn’t have the money to actually fight you, so I wouldn’t worry. It’s all smoke and mirrors. But keep in touch, yeah?”