by Stacy Finz
“No.” She chuckled. “I’ll just say we know the owner.”
Brynn took the tree-lined road and threaded her way through the development. It was gorgeous. Big log houses on equally big lots clustered around a woodsy golf course.
“What do you think, Henry?”
He pressed his face against the window. “It reminds me of Aunt Virgie’s house.”
Mason’s sister and husband lived in a golf course community in Massachusetts. But it wasn’t nearly as rugged or as beautiful as this.
“A little bit.”
“How come we’re looking at this?”
“The owner is having trouble selling some of the houses. I thought if I saw them, I might be able to suggest some good advertising ideas.”
He slumped back in his seat and returned to his book. She continued along the main road, which wound around the golf course. On a lark she flipped a turn up one the side streets, which took them away from the links, into the forest. She marveled at the large, wood-frame houses with their enormous picture windows, wide decks and porches. Whoever designed the houses did a wonderful job of taking advantage of the breathtaking views. The homes were like elaborate treehouses.
No manicured lawns or flower beds in the front yards. Just natural landscaping that took advantage of the pine trees and native plants. She liked the way the garages were angled to the side of the homes, instead of being the first thing you saw.
She wended her way back to the development’s main road, taking a series of side streets, passing more homes on her way. Most of the driveways were empty but it was approaching noon on a Monday. So it was difficult to tell whether the places were vacant or the homeowners were at work.
Once back on the major thoroughfare, she followed the signs to the lodge and pulled into the generous parking lot.
“How do you feel about waiting in the car while I take a quick look around?”
Henry barely glanced up from his book. “I’m good.”
As long as Brynn had a visual of the car, she wasn’t worried about leaving Henry alone for a few minutes. The place appeared deserted anyway.
She took the path to a big timber and stone building and peeked inside the windows. It was a clubhouse with chunky wooden and upholstered furniture and a mammoth double-sided fireplace on the interior and exterior of the building. She assumed the entire setup was used for parties and outdoor events.
At the back of the building was a fully equipped gym with glass doors that opened out onto a deck with an Olympic-sized swimming pool, outdoor kitchen and cabanas. Several yards away sat a series of lighted tennis courts.
The entire complex, which was situated on a plateau, overlooked the golf course and the surrounding snow-capped mountains.
Brynn had been to some of the most exquisite resorts in the world but Sierra Heights was awe inspiring. With the right advertising campaign there was no reason the gated community shouldn’t have a waiting list for homes.
Back at the car she did a quick Google search on her phone for the nearest airport. There was a small one—the landing strip they had passed when they’d first come to Nugget—only a few miles away. It was unclear whether it was private or public but it didn’t really matter. The convenience would appeal to wealthy buyers, looking for vacation homes. To everyone else it gave the area a degree of gravitas.
On the drive out, she stopped at the stables. The barn was similar to Ethan’s but the corral was made of metal pipes instead of wood. No one appeared to be around. She and Henry got out of the car to pet the horses.
“They’re pretty, aren’t they?”
A dark horse with white on his legs that looked like socks pushed his nose between the bars into Henry’s hand, making him giggle.
“He likes you.” Or maybe it was a she. Brynn didn’t have a lot of expertise in determining horse gender. But he looked like a he to her.
“Can I have a horse, Mom?”
“Sure. Should we keep him in your bedroom at home?”
He giggled again, a sound that never failed to make her happy. “We could keep him at Dr. Daniels’s and I could come visit him on school vacations.”
“And who would take care of him in the meanwhile?”
They went back and forth for a while. Henry had many ideas of how he could keep a horse for a pet in Manhattan. And while Brynn should’ve found the discussion delightful it made her return to the dark hole of fear that she’d been living in ever since she’d gotten that first call from the Somerset County Sheriff’s Department.
“Mrs. Barnes, your son and husband have been in an accident.”
Would her son ever be able to actually ride a horse? Sitting on one’s back and being led around a ring for ten minutes was one thing. But would his legs ever be capable of accomplishing the kinds of things he’d imagined for himself? The kinds of things she’d imagined for him?
“There is a chance that the large gaps in his bone may never be repaired. We just don’t know.” Ethan had been straight with her. And on Wednesday they would once again put Henry’s fate in Ethan’s hands.
“We should get home,” Brynn said, afraid that if they stayed out any longer it would push Henry’s limits.
But he proved her wrong, spending the rest of the afternoon playing with Veronica, who came over after school with another casserole dish from Alma.
It had been a good day, Brynn told herself. First, Henry ate all his pancakes at breakfast. Then, for the first time since the bone marrow procedure, he made it through a full day without napping.
They were small wins in the scheme of things. But Brynn took solace in them just the same.
* * * *
Ethan managed to sidestep another happy hour invitation Monday evening. This time, from an ER doctor he went out with once after his divorce from Joey was final. He didn’t remember much about the date, only that he hadn’t had a desire to ask her out again.
Since then, he could count on one hand the number of dates he’d had in the last year. He told himself between work and Roni he didn’t have time. But he knew if he’d met Brynn Barnes under different circumstances, he would’ve made the time.
He also knew he was playing a dangerous game where she was concerned. Sunday, he’d nearly kissed her. But as he left work, he vowed to keep things more professional in the future. If he dropped in at the cottage when he got home it was simply because he wanted to look in on Henry and make sure the boy was ready for Wednesday.
That was if he ever got home. Traffic was bad, at least by Reno standards, and it took him twice as long to get to the interstate as it usually did at this hour.
He’d been cooped up at the hospital all day and was surprised to see that the weather had gone from semi-cloudy to stormy. It wouldn’t surprise him if they got snow. They’d been lucky to have gone most of February without it.
His phone rang and his caller ID lit up with Joey’s number.
He answered on handsfree. “What’s up?” He’d left the house before she had this morning.
“I just wanted to thank you for the weekend. I can’t begin to tell you how much it meant to me to have three consecutive days and nights with Roni.”
“You get off okay this morning?”
“Uh-huh. I tagged along with Alma to drop Roni off at school and met a few of her friends.”
Alma must’ve loved that. “I’m sure that made Roni happy.”
“First grade, Ethan. She’s growing up so fast.”
“I know it. Half her clothes don’t fit, yet she insists on wearing them anyway.”
“I’ll get her some things in Reno. But Ethan, it would be easier if she could try them on. Let me take her shopping this weekend.”
He wasn’t ready for that, not unless he was there to supervise. He wanted to believe Joey had her issues under control. He really did. But he wasn’t willing to gamble
with his daughter’s safety.
There’d been so many lies, so many false attempts at getting clean, so many times that Joey had let him down that who could blame him for being cynical where she was concerned?
“Let’s take it one step at a time,” he told her, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. He’d given her complete run of his home and not even a full day later she was angling for more.
There was a long pause, then, “Ethan, she’s my daughter and you’re treating me like a criminal. Can’t you see that I want to make up for lost time with her?”
“And you will. But you can’t rush this, Joe. It’s not good for Roni and it’s not good for you. It’s too much pressure.”
“First of all, I’m not some fragile flower who will go back to popping pills at the first sign of stress. It’s not like that and it never was.”
“Then how was it? Because from where I’m sitting you went from a responsible, loving mother to someone who would do anything, including throwing me under a fucking freight train, to get a fix. You yourself said it was pressure—the pressure of being married to me. Is that no longer your story?”
He didn’t know why he was dredging all this old shit up. It was over now. She’d beaten the odds and gotten herself clean. And he wanted to celebrate that with her. For Roni.
“I said a lot of shitty things back then that I’m now ashamed of. And I blamed a lot of people for a situation I brought on myself. I’ll forever be sorry for that. You were never the reason I became a drug addict. You were the best thing that ever happened to me and I was too stupid and too self-centered to appreciate it at the time.” She stopped, letting a long silence stretch between them, then said, “I wish we weren’t doing this over the phone. My therapist thinks you should come to one of my sessions. I have amends to make, things I need to tell you.”
She’d already done that as far as he was concerned. But if it would help her with her recovery he’d go, even though he was tired of talking about their past. All he wanted was a fresh start.
“If you think it will help, I’ll come to a session,” he said. “And, Joey, we’ll work things out with Veronica too . . . more time for the two of you to spend together . . . but this is all new territory. Let’s do it right and not rush it.”
“Thank you for agreeing to sit down with my therapist. I’ll talk to her, check with Rita about your schedule, and set up an appointment. But Ethan, let me take Roni shopping. It’s only fair that I get a few hours alone with my daughter. It’s a mall for God’s sake, a mother-daughter rite of passage. And I promise to have her back whenever you say. Please, Ethan.”
His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter. Even though she was only asking for a small concession, he wanted to continue the way they were going. Supervised visits. Nevertheless, he felt himself caving. Joey made a good case and despite his ambivalence, he knew it was better to pick his battles.
“Just a few hours, Joey. You can take her on Saturday. But I want her home before dark. This is a big step for me . . . Please, don’t push for more.”
“Thank you, Ethan. It means a lot to me.”
By the time he arrived home and pulled into the driveway, a flurry of snowflakes clung to his windshield. A sheer layer of silvery white covered the eaves of the house. He sat in his truck in the driveway for a few minutes, watching the way the snow trimmed the trees, making their branches glisten in the dark.
It was a garage night, he decided and pressed the clicker on his visor, slipping in next to Alma’s Mercedes Benz. The house was quiet when he went inside and for a few seconds he thought he was alone. Then Alma drifted down the stairs.
“Hello.” She greeted him like she did most evenings with a kiss on the cheek. “How was your day?”
“Fine and yours?”
“Quiet. Roni is having dinner with the Barneses. I figured one of us could walk down and get her in a little while.”
“I’ll do it. It’s snowing.”
“I noticed.” Alma started for the kitchen. “I made lasagna.”
“Sounds good. Just let me change and wash up.”
He went upstairs and returned a short time later. The kitchen smelled of garlic and warm bread. Alma had put down two settings at the center island and placed the lasagna dish on a trivet.
“Dig in,” she said.
“It looks delicious.” He served them both.
“I made one for Brynn and Henry too.”
“That was nice of you.”
She shrugged as if it was no big deal. “The poor woman has enough to think about. I heard from Owen that he cut Henry’s hair the other day. Griffin Parks was there and she gave him some advertising tips on moving some of those homes he’s sitting on.”
“Oh yeah? Seems like small potatoes for her. Sierra Heights sure isn’t Coca-Cola.”
“I think it was just off the cuff, nothing formal. He wanted to hire her, though.”
Ethan laughed. “Does he even know who she is?”
“I have no idea, though I doubt it. I only knew who she was because I read her husband’s obit in the Times. It’s not like advertising people, even the big ones, are household names. I couldn’t tell you who came up with ‘Got Milk?’ Could you?”
He thought about it for a moment. “Nope. But I can’t look at a carton of milk without seeing that slogan in my head.”
“That’s why it’s good.” She got a French bread out of the oven, put it on a cutting board, and sliced it. “Compliments of Emily McCreedy.”
He got the butter out of the refrigerator, unable to resist Emily’s homemade bread. Clay’s wife was a well-known cookbook author. She used to ghostwrite recipes for some of the biggest celebrity chefs in the business but had begun penning her own books.
“So, did Griff hire her?”
“According to Owen, she said she was here to focus on her son. She suggested that Griffin hire someone locally.”
“Tactful.”
“Why do you say that?” Alma blew on a forkful of lasagna.
“She could’ve always referred Griff to her own agency but I suspect the Barnes Group might be overkill for Sierra Heights, not to mention a fortune.” Though according to rumor, Griffin was loaded.
“I don’t know. Right now, her focus is on her son. Anyone can see that she’s feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders.”
He most of all.
After dinner he helped Alma with the dishes, grabbed his jacket, and hiked down to the cottage. Both kids were outside on the patio, twirling in circles—Henry in his wheelchair—with their arms held wide, trying to catch snow. He stood hidden behind a tree, listening to them laugh as pure joy streaked across their small faces.
Brynn called to them and he waited for them to go inside before making his presence known.
“We’re having hot cocoa,” Brynn said. “Join us.”
He peeled off his jacket, stood by the fire to warm up, and watched her prepare drinks. Roni was telling Brynn how she liked her chocolate—“lots of marshmallows but no whipped cream.”
Henry chimed in. “I like both.”
Brynn listened carefully and fixed each cup accordingly. “How about you, Ethan?”
“I’m with Henry. Marshmallows and whip.”
“Both it is.” She floated around the kitchen in a pair of houndstooth leggings and a black sweater.
Though casual by any standard, Ethan thought she was elegant. Elegant and approachable at the same time. Every time he saw her, he became a little more infatuated. The smart thing would be to stop seeing her but Ethan had never been accused of being smart. At least not where women were concerned. Look at his track record with Joey.
The kids took their drinks to the living room where a deck of Go Fish cards were spread across the coffee table. He joined Brynn at the breakfast counter, noticing that she hadn’t fixed a
cup for herself.
“You don’t like chocolate?”
“I do and tonight’s perfect for it.” She gazed out the window as the snow continued to fall.
“But?”
“My stomach’s upset.”
“Something you ate? Or nerves about Wednesday? Because, Brynn the procedure is fairly straightforward and not as painful as the bone marrow harvest. Using image guidance, I’ll inject the stem cells into the precise area of Henry’s breaks. We’re talking a thin needle and eighty minutes max. The next day, we’ll draw blood from Henry’s vein and in the orthobiologics lab a technician will process it into platelet rich plasma, which will work with the stem cells to hopefully expedite Henry’s healing. We’ll inject Henry with the concentrated blood platelet on Friday. And that’s it. We wait and see.”
He’d explained this to her already but knew it was a lot to take in. Most parents needed him to repeat the steps over and over again.
She nodded but Ethan could tell she’d gotten lost in the details.
He reached across the counter and took her hand. “I’ve got this, Brynn. It may be new science, but I’ve done it hundreds of times. That’s why you came to me, remember?”
She flashed a small and slightly sad smile and continued to hold his hand. She didn’t ask, even though he knew she wanted to.
What if it doesn’t work?
“One step at a time,” he said softly and then waded into a less serious topic. “I heard you met Griffin Parks at the barbershop and gave him a marketing plan for Sierra Heights.”
“Just a few tips. Hardly a plan. For the hell of it I drove over there today. It’s fantastic. I can’t believe buyers aren’t snapping up homes there. Is it haunted or something else terrible that Griffin isn’t divulging?”
“Nah, it’s just isolated. And we don’t have the perks or cachet of Glory Junction or wine country.”
“That’s the thing about cachet, you can create it with the right imagery and the right words. I’m tempted to take it on just for fun.”
Ethan quirked a brow. He loved being a surgeon. The high he got from healing a child was unrivaled. He could safely say he found great reward in his work.