When her knee finally stopped screaming its dissatisfaction at her, she looked around and realized she wasn’t far from the inn.
“Thank god,” she muttered as she walked to the entrance gate, then followed the little brick sidewalk to the cottage. Once there, she glanced at the lake, which immediately pulled at her, and her need to get away evaporated. She felt the tug of the water, recognized it, and went with it, following a narrow path that led to a small private dock. The sun was just peeking over the horizon as Emerson sat down on the very end, sucked in a lungful of fresh air, and just relaxed.
The water was calm, smooth as a slab of marble. An occasional fish would jump, the splash seeming loud in the quiet of the morning, but other than that, there was nothing but the rest of nature. So shockingly different than the loud, dirty, obnoxious city she now called home, and for a moment, Emerson allowed herself to remember what it was like to be a child here in Lake Henry. To grow up here with the lake as her playground and Mount Hank as her backdrop.
In the distance, she could just make out the tip of the ski jump on Mount Hank, and then all of it came crashing back. The skis, the snow, the pain, the hospitals…
Emerson shook her head, willing the memories away, and for the first time since her arrival in Lake Henry, she wished her mother were there.
CHAPTER SIX
Walking was not going to cut it.
Walking was nice for a little fresh air, some gazing at nature, to help digest a big dinner. But this morning’s walk didn’t help Emerson sweat off the stress. It hadn’t cleared her head, not like riding would have. It wasn’t nearly the same as biking. Biking gave her control. She could bike casually, easily. Or she could bike hard, get her heart pumping and her blood racing, the wind in her hair reminding her that nobody could touch her. The speed was her drug. It was what got her adrenaline flowing.
It was the closest she’d been able to get to skiing in over a decade.
The lack of biking was making her feel tense, stressed, and sluggish. She’d been walking as much as she could, but she’d left L.A. almost a week ago, and after that long not biking, she was beginning to feel it.
A tiny bell over the door tinkled her arrival as she walked into Wheels. It was the only bike shop she could find in the little downtown stretch of Lake Henry, so she had to assume it belonged to Cassie’s friend.
The shop itself was petite inside, but every inch of space available was used. Bikes hung on the walls, were suspended from the ceiling, and filled a rack that lined the left wall. In front of the rack and forming the only two aisles of the store, shelves were crammed with every bit of biking paraphernalia you could think of: helmets, gloves, seats, tire tubes, air pumps, pedal clips, water bottles, chains. The inventory was surprisingly complete for such a small space.
Behind the counter, a bike was up on a stand, and Emerson could just make out the top of a blonde head. Through a doorway beyond, a couple more bikes, as well as various bike parts strewn on the floor, could be seen.
“What can I do for you?” came a friendly female voice from the vicinity of the blonde head.
Emerson walked up and put her forearms on the glass counter top, leaned over a bit. The blonde woman was squatting, cranking a ratchet, and had her back to the counter. The soft, rapid clicking of the tool reminded Emerson of her grandfather, a guy who could fix just about anything and gave it his best shot, even if he failed.
“Um,” Emerson began. “Cassie Prescott suggested I come see you about renting a bike for a few days.”
The blonde woman stood—which didn’t change her height all that much, as she couldn’t have been taller than 5’1”—and when she turned to face Emerson, her bright blue eyes flew open wide, causing Emerson to stand up in alarm and quickly glance over her own shoulder. Nobody was there.
“Holy shit! Emerson Rosberg. In my shop. I can’t believe it!” The woman held out her hand, and Emerson warily took it. The blonde closed her other hand over Emerson’s and shook it heartily. “I’m Mindy Sullivan. You were so amazing on the slopes. I watched every one of your races. I’m a huge fan.” Suddenly blinking hard, her expression changed, and she lowered her voice. “Oh, my god. I’m so sorry about your mother. I’m such an idiot. Here I am going on and on about me when you’re here under such shitty circumstances. I’m so sorry.”
It took Emerson a couple seconds to get her bearings after so many words, and when she realized that Mindy had stopped talking and was waiting for a response, she cleared her throat and spoke. “Oh. Um, thanks. I appreciate that.”
Mindy wiped her hands on a grimy rag and spoke like she and Emerson were old friends. “You haven’t been back to Lake Henry in a while, huh? Is it weird? I mean, the situation notwithstanding.”
Emerson felt oddly comfortable with Mindy. “Yeah, it is. The last time I was here was about five years ago, and even that was a short visit.”
“Crappy memories?”
Emerson blinked at her in surprise and thought, You’re the first person to actually get that. Aloud, she said, “You could say that. Yeah.”
Elbows on the counter now, chin propped in her hands, Mindy said, “Your mom was a really awesome lady. I liked her. And she talked about you all the time. Said you were working for some medical company in Los Angeles and doing really well for yourself. She was very proud of you.”
The words had a strange effect on Emerson, and she swallowed down a sudden lump of emotion. As if sensing a change of subject was needed, Mindy stood up straight and clapped her hands together. “You need a bike, you said?”
Emerson cleared her throat again and nodded. “Yes. That’d be great. I’m really missing mine.”
“Well, come on back here and let’s see if we can’t get you all hooked up.” Mindy waved Emerson around the counter and into the back room, which smelled of equal parts metal and WD-40.
Half an hour later, Emerson exited Wheels with a bicycle slightly nicer than her own back home, and a helmet to boot. Mindy had been extraordinarily helpful and had charged her next to nothing for the rental. Emerson had insisted on buying the helmet and pedal clips, deciding she could just donate them back when she was ready to leave. It was the least she could do to thank Mindy for her help and generosity.
Climbing onto the bike—and loving how perfect it felt, thanks to Mindy’s adjustments during the fitting—Emerson coasted gently down Main Street until she hit the path that circled the lake. Picking up speed a bit, she began a moderate pace, already feeling a thousand times better than she had just an hour ago.
The first lap went by quickly, and Emerson settled into a steady rhythm, letting her mind drift, focus, drift some more. Biking was her favorite. Nothing else helped her organize her thoughts, work through her anger until it dissipated, and maybe come up with a solution to a work problem. When she was young, she ran religiously, but running on a fake knee was a big no-no. Emerson was always amused by the irony; how bad must running be for your actual knees (made of cartilage and bone) that it is forbidden for you to run on your fake knees (made of metal and high-impact plastic) because you could break them?
That thought drifted away, and her mind settled on the work that lay ahead. She needed to decide what to do about the inn. She had to figure out what to do about the rental property. She had started going through her mother’s things, but it was harder than she’d expected. She’d been in Lake Henry for nearly a week, had met with the lawyer (and would meet with him again on Friday), had gone through scads of papers, and felt like she’d made very little progress. She’d be less confused—less torn, at least—if she hadn’t found herself unexpectedly unemployed, but the formal phone call had come yesterday, as promised. It was a “representative of the company,” which Emerson knew to mean “lawyer.” She was given a brief—and useless, in Emerson’s opinion—explanation of what had happened, told her belongings from her cubicle would be boxed up and shipped to her home address, and reminded of the confidentiality clause in her contract with McKinney Car
r. She was not to speak to any of her now-former clients, nor was she to speak to anyone from the press, under penalty of legal action. Her work number and work e-mail had been disconnected, which she already knew, and her final paycheck had been deposited into her bank account the day before. That was it. End of conversation. No time for questions. Done. Six years of her life, just finished.
Her savings account had some money, but not much. The cost of living in L.A. was ridiculous, with her rent alone coming in at nearly two grand a month for her small one-bedroom apartment. She wouldn’t be able to pay that for more than a couple more months without finding other employment, and the thought of job hunting on top of everything else she was dealing with made her want to hide under the covers and not come out.
Another thing costing her money was the damn rental car sitting in the parking lot. She needed to return it, but she also needed somebody to come with her and drive her back to Lake Henry. What a pain in the ass.
Shaking away the stressful thoughts, she focused on the trees flying by as she rode, the leaves boasting fiery reds, brilliant oranges, and sunny yellows. There was no denying the beauty of Lake Henry, especially in the fall, which used to be her favorite season when she lived here. It meant impending winter, and winter meant ski season. The Adirondacks got colder sooner than the rest of the state, and most years, she could get a head start on her runs. Fall meant school, but it also meant practice, and on the slopes was where teenaged Emerson could be found eighty percent of the time from October through April. There was nothing quite as breathtaking as flying downhill on manmade powder seeing those bursts of color fly by because the leaves hadn’t all fallen from the trees yet.
Emerson inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of her childhood—the earth, the leaves, the water—and remembered what it was like to live here. Just as quickly as the sense memory hit, so did flashes of flying snow, of snapping skis, of blinding pain. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, willing away the recollection of everything this godforsaken town had taken from her.
“Enough,” she said aloud, and steered the bike off the trail back into town, her throat suddenly as dry as tissue paper and feeling just as brittle. She needed to stop, to breathe, to get something to drink, and to focus on what the hell she needed to do to get out of here and back to L.A. As soon as she possibly could.
***
Cassie was a huge supporter of small, local business. Obviously, as she was the owner of a small, local business herself, and that’s how she helped keep the town thriving and her local friends working. Lucky for her, the only local coffee shop in Lake Henry had closed its doors for good over a year ago. No so lucky for the owner, Cassie understood, but at least she didn’t feel layers of guilt upon her as she stood in line at Starbucks. And they really did have the best coffee on the planet.
Jonathan had gone a little heavy on the cologne today. She was normally a big fan of most of his scents, but this one was a bit cloying, even well into the afternoon, and she tried to be subtle about keeping a few feet between them. As she maneuvered slightly away from him in line and turned to look out the front of the shop, she saw Emerson pull up on a bike.
“What are you grinning at?” Jonathan asked, following her gaze. Then, “Oh, goodie. The Ice Princess is here.”
Cassie shot him a look. “Stop calling her that.”
Before he could defend himself, the cashier asked for their orders. Cassie ordered a simple Blonde Roast with room for cream.
“I’ll have a grande caffe espresso frappuccino, please,” Jonathan said sweetly. “But could you make that with soy milk? And hold the whipped cream. But add extra of that chocolate drizzly stuff.”
Cassie shook her head and rolled her eyes. “You are so complex.”
“And don’t you forget it.”
They paid, Cassie took her coffee, and they moved down the counter to wait for Jonathan’s order. Cassie saw Emerson enter the shop, bike helmet in hand, and gave her a quick wave. Emerson waved back, then took her place in line.
“I’m going to go say ‘Hi,’” Cassie told Jonathan.
“You just did say ‘Hi.’”
“I’m going to go talk to her,” Cassie said with a sigh. “I’ll be right back.”
Emerson’s cheeks were flushed a healthy pink, and her blonde hair stuck out in the back from where she’d removed her helmet. “Hi there,” Cassie said as she approached.
“Hi.”
“You got a bike.”
“I did.”
“I’m glad.” They moved up in line together, taking one step at the same time. When Emerson said nothing more, Cassie dove in to break the awkward silence. “So, things going okay?”
With one nod of her head, Emerson replied, “Yeah. Fine.”
Jesus. Talking to her is like pulling teeth. “Are you bored out of your skull yet?”
Emerson turned to look at her then, her ice-blue eyes almost startling Cassie. Then, much to Cassie’s surprise, one corner of Emerson’s mouth lifted slightly. “God, yes.”
Cassie hoped her sudden laughter didn’t sound as relieved as it felt. “I bet. You should come over to the rec center tonight. There’s a hockey game.” Emerson’s grimace made Cassie open her eyes wide in mock indignation. “Don’t tell me you don’t like hockey.”
“Okay.”
“Oh, no. No, no. I cannot have this.” Cassie shook her head. She was rewarded with what sounded almost like a chuckle from Emerson.
“You can’t have it? Why not?”
“Because hockey is the most awesome sport on the planet.”
“Really.”
“I kid you not. Tell you what. You come to the game tonight and sit with me. I’ll answer any questions you have, I’ll teach you the rules, and if you don’t love it by the end of the game, I will owe you a drink. Sound fair?”
Emerson studied her face intently, and Cassie could feel herself warming from the inside, even as she stared back. Finally, Emerson gave another nod. “I’ll think about it.”
Before they could continue the conversation, Jonathan approached them. “I’ve got to get back to the store,” he said.
“Okay.” Cassie intended to introduce him to Emerson, but he was making his way to the front door before she could even begin. With an apologetic expression on her face, Cassie squeezed Emerson’s upper arm as she took a step in Jonathan’s direction. “I’ll be there by 6:45. Game starts at seven.” With a quick wave, she was out the door.
Outside, she caught up with Jonathan, who was half a block down the street. “Hey,” she said when she came alongside him. “What the hell was that? Besides rude?”
He gave her a sideways look. “I don’t like her.”
“Why? You don’t know her.”
“Neither do you, but that hasn’t seemed to stop your schoolgirl crush.”
“Seriously?” She arched an eyebrow at him. Luckily, she knew him well, and therefore was clear on when he was in a snit and there would be no reasoning with him. She mentally shrugged off the entire subject. “I’m just being friendly. For Christ’s sake, the woman just lost her mom. Cut her some slack.” After a few more steps in silence, she changed topics for him. “What’s on the agenda the rest of the day?”
“You know, it’s been busy today. I think I’m going to look into that new glass display counter I’ve been talking about for ages. Patrick will blow a gasket when he sees how much it costs, but—”
“You can blow something else and get your way?” Cassie finished with a wink.
“Exactly.”
Patrick Farnsworth was Jonathan’s sugar daddy. Not that anybody called him that besides Cassie. And even then it was only in her mind. He was very wealthy, having come from old money. He was also nearly thirty years older than Jonathan, which would have seemed a little creepy to Cassie if the two men weren’t so ridiculously happy. Patrick owned Boutique and let Jonathan do whatever he wanted with it. In turn, Jonathan attended fundraisers and banquets on Patrick’s arm, playing dutiful�
�and devastatingly handsome—husband. They shared a sprawling ranch set up high on one of the smaller mountains just outside of the village, with a stunning view of Lake Henry, and their dinner parties and holiday gatherings were legendary. It was a good life, but there was one thing Jonathan wanted that Patrick hadn’t given him: a marriage proposal. Every now and then, Cassie would mention a same-sex couple that was having a wedding, or she’d point out a dress she liked for someday down the road when she got married, and she’d catch her friend with a far-off, wistful look on his face.
Before her thoughts could continue, they were in front of their respective stores.
“You going to watch the kids play tonight?” Jonathan asked.
“Yeah. Trevor’s starting again.” Cassie’s fourteen-year-old nephew was the youngest player on Lake Henry’s varsity hockey team, and she was anxious to see how he did. She was not anxious to tell Jonathan that she’d invited Emerson, so she left that part out.
“Wish him luck for me. Patrick and I are going furniture shopping tonight.”
“What for?” Cassie made a face of disbelief. “You just got new furniture.”
“That was for the living room, sweetie. This is for the rec room downstairs.”
Zero Visibility Page 5