Cassie had been so patient. She’d waited. And waited. And waited. But there was a difference she couldn’t seem to accept no matter how many times Vanessa tried to explain it.
Vanessa loved Brian.
She loved Cassie, and she loved Brian, too. The same way. And she didn’t want to leave him.
So Cassie had left her.
Exactly three weeks and two days ago, Cassie had put an end to their relationship, said she was tired of waiting, that she wanted to be with Vanessa, and if that wasn’t going to happen, she needed to move on. Vanessa felt like a piece of her had been ripped away.
The tears were not going to be held back any longer. Vanessa grabbed two shirts off the rack without even looking at them and hurried into an empty fitting room where she clamped one hand over her mouth and used the other to brace herself against the wall. She’d become alarmingly skilled at silent crying, and she did that now, letting out as much of the hurt as she could. There was no way she wanted Cassie to see her like this. Cassie did what she had to do for herself. Vanessa knew this. She even understood it. That wasn’t to say it didn’t gut her completely.
It took her a few moments to pull herself together, and she hoped Gracie was still downstairs with Cassie’s mom, absorbed in doting all over Cassie’s dog. Just that morning, Vanessa’s daughter had commented how Cassie didn’t come over any more, and said she missed her. “I miss her, too,” had been Vanessa’s response, and truer words had never been spoken.
Brian was in sales, which meant he travelled a lot, so it was only natural that Vanessa would call a friend to come over while he was gone, somebody to keep her company. In fact, he preferred that she did just that. The thought of her stuck with the kids for days on end with no adult company bothered him. “Have Cassie over for dinner,” he’d tell her over and over. So she did. They’d also had “girls’ weekend” on five separate occasions. Vanessa told Brian it was only fair, since he did so much traveling, that she had the opportunity to get away as well. Brian, of course, was all for it. “Go. Have fun. I’ve got the kids. Enjoy yourselves.” And they had. Usually, a cabin or a hotel room was involved. Their schedule was simple: make love, sleep, make love, eat, make love. Those were the only times she and Cassie had been able to actually spend the night together, to go to bed together and wake up with each other, and it was blissful. The ends of those weekends were hard for both of them, but they seemed harder on Cassie. Vanessa went home to her husband and children, whom she’d missed terribly. Cassie went home without Vanessa. Their last weekend together was the straw that broke the camel’s back, or so Cassie had told her.
I can’t stand it, V. I can’t stand having you all to myself and then having to give you back. It’s tearing me apart. I can’t stand it. I hate sharing you.
Vanessa could still hear Cassie’s anguished voice in her head. She would never go so far as to verbally give Vanessa an ultimatum, but that’s essentially what it had been. She imagined in Cassie’s mind, it was “Brian or me.” In Vanessa’s mind, she heard, “Your entire family, your home, and your whole identity and existence, or me.”
It wasn’t a choice she wanted to make. It wasn’t a choice she could make, so Cassie had made it for her.
Rifling through her purse, she found a tissue, blew her nose, and blotted under her eyes. Thank god she’d started using waterproof mascara or she’d have spent the past three weeks looking like a raccoon. In with a deep, cleansing breath, out with all the negative energy. She did this three times, shook her hands vigorously, and opened the door to the fitting room. Time to find her children. There were shoes to purchase.
***
The parking lot for The Sports Outfitter was behind the store, between its building and the water. Cassie stood near the display of kayak paddles and surreptitiously peered out the back window as Vanessa loaded her bags into her minivan, and her kids climbed in the back.
Vanessa had been crying in the fitting room. Cassie saw her go in, suspected the emotional break, and could tell the second she’d seen her come out. Her makeup was perfect, her auburn hair twisted neatly into a French braid down the back of her head, but her eyes were slightly rimmed with red and her cheeks were unnaturally rosy. Cassie knew that face well enough to know when there had been distress, and it squeezed her heart not to cross a couple aisles, wrap Vanessa in her arms and hold her, tell her it was all going to be okay.
You will never have all of her.
Cassie knew this. She had to continually say it to herself, sometimes out loud. It was the only way to keep from plunging right back into the mess they’d shared for more than two years. She loved Vanessa. She absolutely did. She had loved her since their very first kiss. There was no doubt in her mind. But that was fading. Little by precious little, it was fading. Seeing her was hard. Knowing how upset she was and not going to her? Even harder. Cassie had made the right decision. For both of them. She understood that, but it still hurt.
“You will never have all of her.” Cassie whispered it aloud this time as Vanessa’s car pulled away and out of sight. As if sensing her sadness—or maybe sharing it, as he must miss the kids—Gordie sat down next to Cassie. She laid a hand on his head.
She gave herself ten more seconds, mentally counted them down in her head, then shook the emotions off and turned back to the store. There was business to attend to. Across the room, behind the cash register, Cassie’s mother caught her eye, smiled. Cassie smiled back. Her mother mouthed, “Okay?” Cassie nodded and gave a thumbs up. Back to work.
Later that evening, Cassie sat at the bar in The Slope nursing a gin and tonic. Jonathan sat next to her, sipping his martini.
“Why do you pretend to like those?” she asked him as he made a face after a sip.
“I do like them.”
Cassie grinned and shook her head. “You so do not.”
Jonathan grimaced, accepting that Cassie was on to him. “They make you look all handsome and sophisticated. Like James Bond.”
“You are a piece of work, Mr. Brickman.” Cassie sipped her own drink.
“Enough about me,” Jonathan said, adjusting his rear end more comfortably on the stool. “Let’s talk about you. She was in the store today, wasn’t she? I saw her in the back parking lot.”
“She was. And I don’t want to talk about it. You’re supposed to cheer me up, not bring me down.”
“Did you talk to her?”
Cassie sighed. “Jonathan.”
“Come on, Cassandra,” he said in a near whine. “How many times do I have to tell you I live vicariously through you? I’m a partnered man who has sex every Tuesday, Friday, Saturday, and every other Sunday. Boring! I need some excitement.”
Squinting at him, Cassie said, “You do understand that having sex three to four times a week after five years of marriage is pretty awesome, right?”
“Pfft.” Jonathan waved away her comments with a fluttering hand. “Stop it. Dish.”
“Yes, I talked to her.”
“How was it?”
“Awkward. Uncomfortable. Awful.”
“Did she cry? I hope she cried.”
Cassie straightened, irritation slipping in. “See? This is why I don’t like to talk to you about her.”
“I’m only feeling indignation for my friend.” Jonathan sobered, and his expression said he was mildly insulted by Cassie’s words. “She broke your heart, Cassie.”
“No, that’s where you’re wrong. I broke hers.” Cassie took a large gulp from her drink, signaled the bartender for another.
“She was never going to leave her husband.”
“I know that.”
“Fucking straight girls.”
Cassie made a noise of noncommittal. She didn’t believe Vanessa was straight, but she didn’t want to get into yet another debate over bisexuality with Jonathan. He’d call Vanessa a fence-sitter, say she needed to “pick a damn side already.” He didn’t believe there might be more options than just two, just gay or straight. The issue wasn’t
about Vanessa not loving Cassie. Not at all. Vanessa loved her deeply. But Vanessa also loved her husband deeply. If they’d only met first… Cassie had mentioned the idea of Vanessa being bisexual on more than one occasion, but she always changed the subject, didn’t want to get into it, joked her way out of a serious conversation. Eventually, Cassie had to accept that Vanessa would deal with it when she was ready, and she’d stopped bringing it up.
“Tell me she at least dropped some money in your store.”
“Almost three hundred bucks.”
“To silver linings, baby.” Jonathan held up his glass and Cassie touched hers to it. “To silver linings.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Today was the day she was going to get her shit together and get stuff done.
Damn it.
Emerson shook her head as she poured herself a cup of coffee from the small kitchen in the main house of the inn, then escaped back to the cottage before Mary saw her. She was avoiding the poor woman like she had a contagious disease, but Emerson knew Mary would ask about her plans, what she was going to do with the inn, and Emerson just wasn’t ready to talk about it.
Truth was, she still had no idea.
That was the worst part of it: the indecisiveness. Emerson was a good businesswoman. She made important decisions regarding her clients, their needs, and their budgets every day. So why couldn’t she just figure out what to do here?
She was going to sell. She had to. It was the only course of action. That was the fact of the matter. She had to sell her mother’s stuff and move on. Get back to L.A. Find a job. There was really no other option. She couldn’t stay here in limbo forever. She had to get home. She had an apartment. A life.
Rifling through her mother’s desk, she found a pad of paper and began to make a list. Things that needed to be taken care of ASAP.
Call Rick. Her next door neighbor had a key to her apartment. He’d water her plants, get her mail, stuff like that.
Rental car. Jesus, what a pain. She really needed to get that back to the rental place; she’d already racked up a week’s worth of charges and hadn’t driven it anywhere. But it was nearly a three-hour drive back to Albany, which would make it six hours round trip, and she couldn’t do it alone. Who the hell was she going to ask to give up six hours of their day and go with her? Maybe Mary could help her. She sighed heavily.
Pack Mom’s things. This had turned out to be harder than Emerson expected. She’d dabbled a bit with the clothes, picked out a few things she might wear herself (though her mother was four inches shorter than Emerson’s 5’10”), and had largely let herself be distracted by other things. A glance around the small living space of the cottage revealed to Emerson that it looked hardly any different than when she’d arrived. An entire week ago.
“Jesus Christ,” she muttered.
PACK MOM’S THINGS, she wrote again, then traced over the letters with the pen, then underlined it. Twice.
Call Klein. Brad Klein was Caroline’s lawyer. He was fortyish, had grown up in Lake Henry, and—Emerson guessed—handled the wills of just about every local. He was handsome and friendly and seemed competent enough. During their last meeting, he’d mentioned that he knew of somebody interested in buying the inn, and to let him know if she wanted a name and number. It was probably time to do that, at least to find out some details.
Her cell phone rang, interrupting her list-making. She looked at the screen and her entire demeanor softened as she recognized Marlena’s number.
“Hello, evil stepmother,” she said with a teasing lilt.
“Hi there, pain in my ass.” Marlena’s voice held a smile as she recited her line in their usual greeting to each other. Emerson could hear it, and she instantly felt relieved. Before Emerson could say more, Marlena went on. “Oh, sweetie, I am so sorry. I just heard about your mother this morning. Are you okay?”
“I am.” Just hearing Marlena, the gentle calm, the love, made Emerson’s eyes well up. “I’m in Lake Henry now, trying to take care of her stuff.”
“By yourself?”
Emerson scoffed. “Who’s going to help me? Dad?”
Marlena chuckled. “Yeah, I guess I forgot who he is for a second. How are you doing? Are you okay?”
“You asked me that already,” Emerson said, grinning.
“I know. But I’m worried. Do you want me to fly there and help you? I can do that.”
The offer warmed Emerson’s heart, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak. It was just like Marlena to be the one to step up. Swallowing down the emotion, Emerson said, “No. But thank you so much. Just the offer means a lot. And how early do you get up? What time is it there?”
“Don’t you worry about that. I just wanted to talk to you, make sure you were doing all right. Is it weird being there?”
“Kind of. There’s so much to deal with, and for some reason I can’t explain, I’m having trouble getting started. I’ve been here a week and I feel like I’ve made no progress. I need to pack up her stuff. I need to talk to the lawyer about selling the inn. She’s got a car and a rental property. There’s just…so much, and I feel like I’ve gotten nothing done. What the hell is wrong with me?” When she finished, she made a sound of frustration and felt strangely better having just said it all aloud.
“Sweetie, this was a big blow. I know you weren’t close to your mom, but she was still your mom and you loved her. Dealing with a loss like that isn’t easy or simple. You can’t just box it up and expect to go into work mode. If your head or your heart or whatever is telling you to take your time, then that’s what you do.” Marlena spoke gently, but firmly. It was one of the things Emerson loved most about her; she pulled no punches. She told it like it was, and she did it tenderly, while still making her point. “Are you at least enjoying the fresh air? It’s got to be a lot easier to breathe there than in Los Angeles.”
“It so is. I don’t like to think about it because it reminds me just how much crap is in the air in L.A. Ugh. Actually, I’ve been doing a little biking, and that helps a lot. Cassie hooked me up with a bike shop, and I took a ride yesterday for the first time since I got here. It felt amazing.”
“That’s great. Now, who’s Cassie? Is she the one who works with your mom?”
“No, that’s Mary. Cassie is a little younger than me. She knew my mom really well, comes over here to help clean the rooms. She’s been great. She’s nice.”
“She must be, since you rarely say that about anybody.” Emerson could hear Marlena’s grin. “Is she cute?”
“Stop it,” Emerson scolded, but laughed anyway. “It’s not like that.”
“I didn’t ask what it was like. I asked if she was cute.”
“Yes. She’s very cute. If you like bubbly and bouncy and obnoxiously cheerful all the time.”
They talked a little longer. Emerson asked about Marlena’s family and promised to visit soon, a vow she made often but rarely followed through on. Just talking about mundane things with her, though, had made Emerson feel so much better, lighter. She set her phone down on the end table and just sat for a few moments, looking out the window.
It had rained overnight, and the air was chilly. Emerson clicked on the gas fireplace, and in a few short minutes, she felt the warmth as she picked up her now lukewarm coffee mug, crossed the room to stand in front of the big picture window, and looked out at the calm of Lake Henry. Smooth as glass. It was a cliché, but it worked; that’s exactly how the surface looked today. The flat evenness made her think of the ice rink last night. It had been fun. She had to admit that, and a small smile brought up the corners of her mouth as she sipped from her mug. Did she now love hockey? No. Definitely not. It was still way too long between goals, like soccer, and it was still as boring to her as watching grass grow. But Cassie loved it, and she was very sweet about explaining the rules and answering Emerson’s questions, even the silly ones, so it ended up being a pretty pleasant experience. It was the first night in the past week that she’d actually enjoyed herself an
d momentarily forgot why she was here and how badly she wanted to leave.
According to Cassie, she’d been three years behind Emerson in school, but Emerson had no recollection of her at all. Granted, her school years had been taken up by all things skiing, reading anything she could about the sport, and traveling to ski tournaments, so her memories of the kids she went to school with were minimal. She really didn’t have a ton of friends during those years, which never made her sad until now. She vividly remembered a conversation with her father when she was sixteen. She wasn’t at all a social kid, but there was a party she’d been invited to.
“I want to go, Dad. Please.”
“There is no time for a party. You have work to do. Your times yesterday were weak.”
“I know, but everybody’s going to be there. Just this once, can’t I go? Sandy Fisher invited me.” Sandy Fisher was one of the most popular girls in school, and being included in her circle made Emerson feel warm and accepted.
“Can Sandy Fisher get you to Regionals?” Fredrik asked pointedly.
Emerson didn’t answer because she knew where this was going. She looked down at her feet instead as her father went on.
“Do you want to be popular with your classmates or do you want to be a champion?” Her father grabbed her chin, forced her to look him in the eye. “Because you can’t have both.”
Funny how she had precious few memories of anything not ski-related in her teen years, but that exchange had stuck with her so solidly.
An idea struck, and she set down her mug as she headed to her mother’s bedroom. A quick search of the closet there, the closet near the front door, and a few cupboards yielded nothing, however, and Emerson wondered why she thought her mom would have a yearbook. In her quest, she did find a stack of four photo albums. She pulled them from the storage area under the TV and carried them to the couch where she plopped down and crossed her feet at the ankle on the coffee table.
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