Winter at Cedarwood Lodge

by Rebecca Raisin

  Aunt Bessie and I caught each other’s eye and laughed. “Just eat the damn donuts.”

  Amory let out a sigh of longing. “I’m so used to saying no. No sugar. No carbs. No…”

  “No fun stuff.” Aunt Bessie lifted the plate of donuts and held them in front of Amory’s nose. “Don’t let anyone tell you no. These are artisanal donuts and I don’t like to see them go to waste.”

  Amory raised a brow. “Well, in that case, I’ll have two. It’s not like I’m a swimsuit model, is it?”

  The Manhattanite in Amory was fast disappearing. Before she’d have only taken a great big sniff of the donuts, and eaten air instead. Away from that fast-paced lifestyle it seemed almost criminal the amount of restrictions we had placed on ourselves. Life at Cedarwood Lodge was changing us in ways we’d never dreamed of. For the better.

  Once Amory had polished off two donuts, Aunt Bessie said, “So, why don’t you two show me where you’re going to set up for the expo so I can sort out what size table I’ll need and how I wanted to display my donuts.”

  “Allow me,” I said, excited by the prospect of working with my aunt and hoping that her table at the expo would generate lots of interest in Puft… who could resist those delicious sugary treats? It brought out the sticky-icing-faced child in us, brought back a rash of memories of eating still-warm cinnamon-covered donuts, or getting covered in chocolate, as they melted too quickly in little hands. Even now, at thirty-three, I delighted in eating a donut the way I did back then, lips coated with sugar, hands tacky with frosting, colorful crumbs dusting my clothes.

  “We’re going to set the vendors up in the here.” Anticipation sizzled through me as I took in the ballroom. Christmas lights strung around curtain rails flashed intermittently, brightening up the gray morning. “We’ll do our presentations here. What do you think?” Outside, the mountain ranges stood like watchmen, staring straight ahead, their snow-dusted peaks mesmerizing. The brides would be snug and warm inside, sipping gingerbread coffees or champagne and chatting about love and how to make their big day truly special…

  I loved weddings!

  “Perfect, my darling,” she said, and I could see the pride in her eyes as she walked around the room mapping out where the tables would go, seeing it all as if through a crystal ball. “With the fire going it’ll be so cozy, they’ll be in awe of this room. With those chandeliers shining down, the grand old ballroom is a sight to behold. Once I’ve done my demonstration for them I’ll help serve tea and coffee, candy-cane milkshakes and whatnot…?”

  “That would be great, Aunt Bessie.” An extra pair of hands, especially such skilled ones, would be a godsend. Aunt Bessie could charm the zilla from any Bridezilla.

  “No problem. I’ll head back to Puft now and make a start on things. I know you girls have everything under control here and this expo will be a roaring success.”

  I glowed at the thought and hoped she was right, “I’m going to visit Mom this afternoon and check in on her, before things get too hectic here.”

  She gave me a wide smile and enveloped me in a hug, rocking me from side to side like I was a small child. “She’ll love that. And you tell her I’ll come by after work.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Parking the car, I killed the engine and headed on foot up Mom’s snow-covered driveway, slipping and sliding like I was on roller-skates. My screeches drew Mom’s attention – she wrenched open the front door, frowning at the noise.

  “Clio, golly, can’t you walk without tripping?”

  I grabbed hold of the bannister, and dusted my boots against it, clumps of snow falling to the ground. “It’d help if you salted the walkways at least.”

  “Come in before you hurt yourself,” she tutted, the way moms do.

  Inside was toasty warm, a fire crackling gently in the grate. “How are you, Mom?” Dark shadows played under her eyes, making them seem sunken, like she was ill. Her weight hadn’t improved, she was scarily thin, and it hurt my heart to see it. In the time I’d been home, her health had clearly declined, and I blamed myself. Inadvertently I’d stirred up the past and she was paying for it. Would she just fade away to nothing if I kept going? My chest tightened at the thought. What was I doing to her?

  “I’m good,” she said. “I’ve been a bit rundown, before you go pestering me about why I haven’t been out to see you.”

  “I’m not here to pester you. I just wanted to visit. Maybe we could have lunch? Make a pot of soup to warm us up?” Something, anything, to make her eat.

  I stepped past and went to the kitchen, checking the contents of the fridge. Mom was the type who lived on bare necessities if she didn’t feel like facing the world, and guilt gnawed away at me, making my gut roil. Why did I always presume she’d be OK, when I knew damn well how fragile she was? I played the should have game with myself while I searched for ingredients. Should have come over sooner, should have called more, should have…

  The world was a lonely place sometimes, especially for people like Mom, and I grieved for the life she should have had. A happy one, full of friendships, and laughter, and love. But instead she’d lost her husband and that had changed everything. My mom, who had always been a little vague, had become reclusive. I was young, but I remembered it well, because it had been like someone had switched a light off and things had become very murky at home, save for Aunt Bessie’s visits. As I’d got older and understood her grief better, I’d recognized the signs of someone fighting an internal battle every day, just barely holding on. Eating was a struggle for her, cleaning compulsive, her behavior erratic but excused as someone who was trying her hardest to stay here in the present.

  Staring into the fridge I wasn’t surprised to find it only held a range of condiments, half a liter of milk, and little else.

  “Why don’t I go to the store and buy some fresh fruit and vegetables? We can make a pot of hearty winter soup? We can freeze portions so you don’t have to cook if you don’t feel like it.” Mom’s cooking capabilities were on a level with mine so she never said much about the quality of our meals.

  “If you want to, Clio. But aren’t you busy with… things at the moment?”

  “Not too busy for you, Mom.”

  Her bottom lip twitched ever so slightly. “Well, then, that would be nice.”

  I swallowed a lump in my throat, sensing we had taken the first step. Normally she’d have said no outright, craving her solitude. Slowly but surely it felt like the walls were coming down and maybe her health concerns weren’t because I’d moved home. Baby steps were the way forward, and being careful not to upset the fine balance we were eking out together.

  “Want to come with me?”

  “No, no. I’ll wait here. I’ll… tidy the kitchen so we can cook.”

  I gazed around the pristine benches and said, “OK. I won’t be long.”

  “Take your time. I’ve got some washing that needs hanging up too.”

  Mom couldn’t relax if her chores weren’t done. When the washing machine beeped its end-of-cycle warning, the laundry had to be hung up to dry – it couldn’t wait an hour, it couldn’t wait a minute. As soon as it was dry, it was ironed, with creases so sharp they could take an eye out. The garden was immaculate, the car polished to a shine. Mom’s manic need to keep busy was almost a penance she did every day. Whenever we sat for five minutes you could see her gripping the arm of the chair, not ever able to fully relax. It must have been exhausting.

  I kissed her cheek, trying not to notice how hollow it was, “OK, then. Back soon.” Soup and maybe a glass of wine might help. I was determined to make her rest and recover and get used to the typical family routines that were so foreign to us.

  In town, I grabbed a bunch of fresh of ingredients, and some extra pantry items to stock up Mom’s shelves for the week. As the library was within walking distance from where I’d parked I decided to stash the groceries and head in. I’d only be a few minutes tops, and the library was still open – what harm could it do? I�
��d quickly check their archives, and if there was anything of interest on Cedarwood Lodge I’d come back later when I had more time.

  The Evergreen library was silent bar a faint muffle, like a snore. Was someone sleeping here? The smell of old books, earthy and musty, was heavy in the air. I found the front desk and waited. A slim woman wearing a knitted pullover and jeans wandered over, smiling. I recognized her immediately, even though I hadn’t seen her for a decade or so. My high-school friend Bennie’s mom, Debra.

  “Well, look who it is! Bennie told me he caught up with you recently. The old gang back together…”

  I smiled at the memory. It had been great catching up with my friends when I first came back to town, and I made a mental note to reach out and arrange another get-together soon. “Yeah, after an hour and a few beers, it was like I’d never left. We just slotted back into the same place as before. How have you been, Mrs Talbot?”

  “Good, thanks, Clio, and you? I heard you’ve made the old lodge into something pretty special once again.”

  “Yeah, it’s going great, thanks! So much still to do, but I have high hopes we’ll get more of the outbuildings renovated soon. What about you? Been busy?” It hit me what an inane question that was in a town this size.

  She tucked a tendril of hair back. “I know it might not look like it now…” She gestured around the empty library. “…But we’ve been as busy as bees these last few weeks.”

  I couldn’t see any other staff, just an old fluffy dog curled up by the fire, snoring merrily away. Ah, he was the culprit.

  “Your assistant?” I motioned to the pooch.

  She gave me a wide smile. “Bennie tells everyone I’m the head librarian. What he neglects to mention is I’m the only human one. Rufus here is my assistant and a fine one at that.” She bent and gave the dog a chuck under the chin – he rolled on his back and waited patiently for another pat.

  I laughed, forgetting how quiet the town could be. Dogs for assistants – not something you’d have seen in New York.

  “As nice as it is to see you, I can’t imagine you’ve come all this way just to have a chat with me. What can I do for you? Want some reading material for these long winter nights?

  “I’m not here for books for myself, Debra. I wanted to search the archives. I’m particularly interested in anything you might have about Cedarwood Lodge, any newspaper articles, or maybe historical references.” Debra’s smile vanished. She was gazing at me like the shutters had come down.

  Double-blinking and bringing herself back she said, with a fluttery little laugh, “Oh, Clio… I don’t think we have anything at all like that.”

  I smiled, trying not to take it personally. I knew Evergreen locals weren’t keen on revisiting the past but I had hoped they wouldn’t stop me outright from investigating it for myself. “Would you mind checking? You might have something tucked away that’s been forgotten.”

  The air in the room thickened with tension as Debra stepped behind the desk, putting distance between us.

  “We’ve just updated our archives and I’m certain there’s nothing pertaining to Cedarwood. If I find anything, how about I give you a call?” She gave me a wide smile and picked up a duster, as if signaling the conversation was over.

  “I’m happy to wait.” I followed as dust motes danced in her wake.

  With a barely suppressed sigh she spun to face me. “I’d love to help, Clio, but sometimes things in the library get lost. They go missing.” She stared intently at me, and I knew she didn’t mean misplaced books. “Sometimes the best thing to do, the only thing, is to understand that perhaps they’re better off forgotten and just live in the now. If you get what I’m saying.”

  The warning was loud and clear, and part of me wanted to just walk away and leave the past buried, but I had an overwhelming feeling that if I found out what had happened I’d be able to understand my mom better. That maybe it was the missing piece of the puzzle, and with that last piece I’d finally understand why she hid away from the world. How could we repair our relationship if it was built on secrets?

  “I hear you,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. “But it’s important. Really, it is.”

  “Like I said, I’ll call you if I find anything.” I had been dismissed, just like that. I nodded, knowing there was nothing much I could do if people were going to roadblock me. I’d just have to find another way around it.

  “Well, thanks anyway, Debra. Say hi to Bennie for me and I hope to see you around.” No point burning my bridges.

  Outside, the icy wind took my breath away and I shrugged deeper into my jacket. I had a lot of thinking to do – did I take the risk and uncover something best left forgotten and potentially ruin what little relationship I had with my mom? Or just leave it be? I wasn’t sure I could keep living the way we were now… but was it really my best idea, unearthing a secret from the past?

  The wind picked up, sending an ominous woo across the field. Clouds above shivered from white to gray, as a spattering of rain sprinkled. A flash of lightning spiked the mountain range in front, and a rumble of thunder sounded. Was that some kind of sign?

  Pulling up my hood, I inched along the slippery pavement, trying my best to stay upright. Shop fronts were gloomy as the gray sky cast a shadow over the day. Eskimo-like, in my various layers, I could barely see as I made my way to the car, bumping elbows with a passer-by.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled, searching for my keys deep in my jacket pocket.

  “Clio!”

  Oh, God. “Timothy! Hi!” I tried to make out his face through the fur of my hood.

  He grabbed my arm and led me to a cove out of the inclement weather. “Freezing, huh?”

  I flicked my hood back and stared into the deep brown of his eyes. He sure wasn’t ugly. A girl could get lost in that gaze. Not me, though. We were past tense, weren’t we? I darted a glance behind him for his children, and let out a small sigh of relief to find them missing. It wasn’t that they intimidated me… OK, who was I kidding, they scared the bejesus out of me. It was the way they sent laser beams into my soul, like they were trying to vanquish me.

  “No kids today?” State the obvious, Clio!

  A tiny line appeared between his eyes. “They’re at school.”

  “Learning ABCs? Or, umm, one, two, threes…?” Kill me.

  He cocked his head, probably mentally planning an escape route. “Ah… yeah. So, I got your text. You can’t swing a dinner out before New Year? Surely I could tempt you for a feast at Shakin’ Shack?”

  When I was around Timothy it was much harder to remember why I was keeping him at arm’s length. A fear of rewriting ancient history? The fact his life was vastly different to mine? His responsibilities? The flutter in my belly when I thought of Kai? It was just dinner, after all, not a marriage proposal. Dinner for two old friends. Dinner for two adults who had to eat. Why did I feel a little pang of guilt at the thought?

  I realized my internal monologue had left us with an awkward silence so I grappled with something to say. “Gotta love a greasy burger, am I right?” Just stop talking.

  “So that’s a yes?”

  Idiot. “Sure, sure. Maybe we can invite the gang?”

  He grinned. “Maybe, maybe not.”

  I let out a creepy half-laugh, half-groan and said, “Well, I’d better be on my way. Got a lot of plans that need wedding, I mean weddings that need planning.” Mentally I slapped my forehead hard – really, really hard. Why did I regress to a bumbling fool in front of him? I didn’t truly feel anything, did I?

  “You do that,” he said and leaned in to kiss my cheek. I held my breath, waiting for my body to respond, but found it curiously quiet. No erratic heartbeat, no flushing cheeks, instead just a small fluttering in my belly, knowing him well, and knowing he was a great guy. But did that make it enough?

  Inside the car, I turned up the radio as Michael Bublé crooned ‘It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas’. I sang along as I wound through the snowy street
s and remembered my time with Timothy, and how much I’d adored him when I was a teenager – that first flush of love when you were young, and how you felt the whole world would end if you lost it. Puppy love, I reminded myself. A million years ago.

  Back at Mom’s I unpacked the shopping, my mind reeling with the events of the morning.

  “These herbs smell delicious,” Mom said, giving me a ghost of a smile. She gave my arm a reassuring pat. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d done something as simple as that, a brief touch, a measure of comfort, and I felt foolish as tears stung my eyes. I turned away so she wouldn’t see.

  Another day of no answers loomed, because there was no way I was saying anything that might halt this next step of our relationship. She was actually opening up to me, and it felt markedly different to when she just tolerated me.

  “Want to chop the carrots?” Even I couldn’t mess up vegetable soup, unless I burned it.

  “Sure,” she said. “I’ll do the onions too. I know you hate chopping them. The trick to it is running the peeled onion under the tap first.”

  “I hate peeling onions.” I managed a half-laugh, surprised she knew this about me. Afternoon light filtered through the curtains, and I settled in next to my mom, working in silence. But this silence was more companionable than ever before, and I indulged in the fantasy that we might one day be close.

  Chapter Twenty

  Questions buzzed around my mind on the drive home, but the answers were missing or murky and it was headache-inducing. Really, I didn’t have time to get tangled up in the mystery of Cedarwood – what with a group of brides arriving in two days’ time. For my own sanity, I needed to push the swirl of thoughts away and focus on what had to be done. With a rueful shake of my head, I tried one of Kai’s crazy breathing techniques, feeling calmer by the minute. Damn him and his mumbo jumbo.

  Back at the lodge, I went into autopilot, returning calls: the florist wanted to know if we had room in our fridges for the bouquets (yes); the liquor store had over-ordered and wanted to know if we’d take an extra crate of French champagne (always); and the linen company who provided our tablecloths and napkins wanted confirmation on color (white, the wedding centerpieces would be the stars of the show). That done, I ushered various delivery men through, showing them into the kitchen to drop off our new plate sets, or into the ballroom for boxes of special lighting, and waving them off again, but not before handing them a shiny, full-color pamphlet advertising Cedarwood in its best light. Any chance to promote!