Zero Visibility

by Georgia Beers

It was too cold to be riding. She’d made that observation when she’d been too far away to turn back, so she’d completed her ride, more for her head than her body. Now that she was back in the cottage, her hands were like ice, and her ears were numb. The remote for the fireplace sat on the coffee table, and she clicked it on as she passed. In the bathroom, she ran the bath water as she stripped out of her biking clothes, deciding to soak in a hot tub a little earlier in the day than she normally would. She’d just settled into the nearly-scalding water and closed her eyes when her cell rang.

  With a sigh, she picked it up to look at the number, then answered. “Hello, evil stepmother.”

  “Hey there, pain in my ass.”

  “Twice in less than two weeks? To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  Marlena’s soft laughter rumbled over the phone line. “I’m just checking on my ex-stepdaughter. Is that a crime?”

  “Not at all. You know I’m always happy to hear from you.”

  “How’s it going? You doing okay?”

  “Well, let’s see. I just took a glorious ride around the lake on a bike—even though I turned blue from the cold—and I am now soaking in a hot bathtub, which is delicious. If I lean slightly to my left and crane my neck a bit, I can see the lake out the window from here. The only thing missing is a glass of wine, but that’s because it’s not even dinner time yet and I don’t want to be that single woman who drinks wine in the afternoon.” She finished with a soft laugh.

  “Sounds like a nice day.”

  “It was. Oh, and I made blueberry muffins this morning.”

  There was a pause on the line, then Marlena said, “I’m sorry, do I have the wrong number? I was looking for Emerson Rosberg, city girl, lover of all things warm and sunny, can barely fix herself a bowl of cereal in the kitchen. That Emerson Rosberg.”

  “Ha, ha. Very funny.”

  “Seriously, Emmy, you sound good. Are you?”

  Emerson inhaled deeply, let it out slowly. “It’s strange being here in her house. I admit that. It smells like her. Isn’t that weird? I don’t even know what the smell is, only that it’s her.” A lump threatened to close her throat, and she was quiet.

  “I think that’s perfectly normal.” Marlena’s voice was tender. “Smell is a very powerful sense. Even now, whenever I smell Old Spice aftershave, I instinctively look around for my grandpa, and he’s been gone for ten years.”

  “I should have been here more.” Emerson’s voice caught. “I was a terrible daughter.”

  “Oh, Em.”

  “It’s true. Everybody here tells me how wonderful she was and how proud of me she was, and I couldn’t manage to give her more than an occasional phone call.” Where the hell was this coming from? she wondered, swiping angrily at the tear running down her cheek. Marlena was the only person in the world she felt safe enough to talk to about such things, but Emerson had surprised even herself.

  “I know it seems that way, but you can’t beat yourself up over something you can’t ever change. That’s a good way to drive yourself crazy. You just need to enjoy your time there, in your mother’s space. Soak it in.” She waited patiently while Emerson sniffled and pulled herself together. Then finally, she asked, “Blueberry muffins, huh?”

  “I kick ass at blueberry muffins.”

  “I can’t believe you never made those for me.”

  “Next time I see you. Promise.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that. So, what else have you been up to?”

  “I took a great bike ride up Jones Mountain yesterday with Cassie.” She described to Marlena how the view had gone from zero visibility to perfectly clear. “We could’ve sat there for hours. It was gorgeous.”

  “This is the same woman you were with on Halloween?”

  “Yup. I bent the rim on the bike, but Mindy fixed it, and while I was at the bike shop, a guy from one of the ski slopes offered me a job.” Emerson laughed at the memory. “It was bizarre, but in a cool way.”

  “Sounds like it. Making any progress on packing?”

  “A little, but not enough.” Emerson sighed. “I don’t know why. I just can’t seem to get moving.”

  “It’s not an easy job. You’ll get to it when you’re ready.”

  “You think so? Because I can’t stay here forever. I’ve got to get back home.”

  “To what?”

  Marlena’s question surprised Emerson into momentary silence. She studied the toes of her right foot as they peeked out of the surface of the water.

  Marlena went on. “Sounds like you’ve got more going on there than you ever had in L.A. You should hear yourself. I’ve never heard you sound this…healthy.”

  Emerson furrowed her brow. “What are you talking about?”

  “Em. You’ve made friends. You’ve got a cute little house to stay in. You’ve even got a job offer. And let’s not forget the love interest. I’m making air quotes around that, just so you know.”

  Emerson shook her head even though Marlena couldn’t see it. “You’re wrong.”

  “Am I?”

  “Yes.” She sounded touchier than she meant to.

  “Okay. I’m wrong then. But if I am, you have to do something for me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Be careful.”

  “What does that mean?” Emerson asked in confusion.

  “With Cassie. You like her. I can tell. I know you, remember?” Marlena’s voice was firm now, as she pulled out her I’m-your-stepmother-not-your-pal voice that she used on Emerson when she was younger and needed a little straightening out. “And I’m guessing she probably likes you, too. But if you have no plans of staying, you need to tread carefully or you’re going to hurt that girl. Be careful. That’s all I’m saying.” With a playful lilt in her voice, she said, “Your history does not show evidence of longevity, sweetie. You’re like your dad that way…a pretty new girl every six months or so.”

  Emerson let that sit for a moment, and suddenly all the lightness of the day evaporated until she felt heavy again. “Okay.” It was all she could think of to say in response.

  At her change in tone, Marlena’s volume increased a bit as she said, “Honey, I’m just teasing you.”

  “I know,” Emerson said, and forced a chuckle as she tried to keep things light, but Marlena’s words sat heavily in the air.

  They chatted for a short while longer, but it wasn’t the same. Emerson was monosyllabic and Marlena apparently became tired of trying to milk words from her. They hung up with Marlena promising to check back in a day or two. Emerson was left soaking in the bathtub for a long while. The water went from hot to tepid, then from tepid to almost chilly before she shook herself out of her thoughts and lifted herself from the tub. Her fingertips were wrinkled, and she was no longer relaxed. In fact, she felt just the opposite. Stressed. Tense. Irritated. Trapped.

  Trapped.

  That was a big one, one that didn’t sit well with her, and she suddenly felt the urge to set things in motion, finally, so she could get the hell out of Lake Henry. She needed to pack. She needed to sit down with Klein and Cross and bang out the sale of her mother’s properties. She needed to forget about the fact that Mary and Jack would probably lose their jobs. She needed to roll her eyes at the idea of working at a ski slope. She needed to not think about Cassie. Or Cassie’s rich brown eyes. Or Cassie’s infectious laugh. Or Cassie’s soft lips.

  No! Stop it.

  Scrubbing the towel over her face roughly, she put her thoughts in order, picked up her cell, and dialed the neighbor who’d been taking care of her apartment. She wanted to let him know she’d be home soon. She needed to get things taken care of and get the hell out of this godforsaken town.

  She’d stayed too long already.

  ***

  Emerson was quiet during the car ride, but Cassie was beginning to learn that sometimes, that’s how she was. Not everybody talked as much as Cassie did. Not everybody needed to process things out loud. Michael had reminded her of that
several times during their relationship, and at first, Cassie was stung. Eventually, she realized that he was simply stating a fact, and she made an effort to be more cognizant of how others might be different from her. So instead of prodding her to talk, they drove in silence for a while, Gordie standing up in the back seat, his whole body thrumming with anticipation of this twice-monthly trip.

  The Cotter’s Ridge Rehab Center was about thirty-five minutes from Lake Henry. Every other week, Cassie borrowed her mother’s car and she and Gordie piled in and drove to Cotter’s Ridge where they spent an hour or two with the patients. Gordie was a certified therapy dog, and the residents at the center always seemed to light up whenever he set foot in the door.

  She’d called Emerson earlier and was instantly aware of a severe mood change on her part. After some prodding, she’d managed to glean that Emerson was at a loss at what to do with all Caroline’s clothes. Cassie suggested she bring some of them to the rehab center, as they worked with many different hospitals and organizations who were sure to have use for them.

  So now, they sat in near-silence, the only sound being the low hum of the radio as Sara Bareilles sang mournfully about Manhattan.

  At the center, lights shone brightly, and people milled around, medical staff in colorful scrubs, residents using canes, walkers, or wheelchairs. Many of them waved at Cassie when she and Gordie entered. Emerson followed.

  “Hey, Cassie.” A tall, African-American woman in bright orange scrubs raised a hand in greeting, then came over to them, immediately squatting to give love to Gordie.

  “Hi there, Nina.” She gave them a few moments, then said, “This is my friend, Emerson Rosberg. She has several bags of clothes out in the car for donation. Can you help her get them to the right place?”

  Nina stood and shook Emerson’s hand. “Of course. We can always find people or places who need the donation.” With an arm outstretched toward the door, she said, “Lead the way.”

  Cassie handed the keys to Emerson. “We’ll start making our rounds.” With a tug on Gordie’s leash, she headed down a hall. “Come on, boy.”

  For the next hour and a half, Cassie took Gordie from room to room. Some people wanted to chat. Some didn’t want to say anything at all; they just wanted to pet Gordie. It always amazed Cassie, the way they would instantly calm, the way running a hand along his thick, soft fur could relax a person who might be on edge. Countless studies proved it to be true, but it was still an amazing thing to behold.

  And Gordie, bless him, seemed to know why he was there. He tempered his excitement, his jumping, his licking, and remained calmly focused. He would hop up on a bed and lie down or sit next to a wheelchair and just…be present while he was scratched and stroked and talked to. Not for the first time, Cassie thanked the universe for sending her Gordie.

  It wasn’t until they were wrapping up that Cassie realized Emerson had not caught up to them, and she felt guilty for not seeking her out. She and Gordie often lost track of time when they were at the rehab center, and she wondered if Emerson was sitting in the car, annoyed and waiting for her. She was grimacing at the thought when she turned the corner to the common room and saw the back of a familiar blonde head sitting next to an old man in a wheelchair. Very little hair sprouted from his head, and what was there was a powdery white. He had one leg wrapped in a knee brace and propped straight out in front of him. Something made Cassie stop there and listen rather than interrupt.

  “You’re kidding,” the man said. “You’re too young.”

  “Apparently not,” Emerson replied with a grin.

  “What happened? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  A shrug. “Skiing accident. I was dumb. You?”

  “Fell off a ladder. I was dumb, too.”

  Cassie smiled at the sound of Emerson’s warm chuckle as she asked, “How’s it going?”

  “Hurts like a son of a bitch,” the man growled. “Pardon my French.”

  “It’ll get better. But I’ll tell you this: you have to do the exercises the physical therapist gives you. You have to.”

  The man waved a dismissive hand and scoffed. “That punk is trying to kill me. I know it.”

  “It feels like it, doesn’t it? I know what you mean.” Emerson shook her head. “I called my PT Nurse Ratched. I swore to god, her goal every session was to see how quickly she could make me cry. The woman was a sadist.”

  The man grunted as he gave a nod.

  Emerson went on. “But.” She stopped until the man looked at her. “I did the exercises. I was determined that she was not going to win the battle, that I would eventually be able to walk with no problems. And then I would kick her ass. Pardon my French.”

  “And what happened?”

  Emerson stood up, walked to the far wall of the room and back. “I can walk with no problem.”

  “Did you kick her ass?”

  A smile slowly spread across Emerson’s face. “I did not. Know why?”

  “Why?”

  “Because the first time I walked like this, Nurse Ratched cried.”

  “She what?”

  “She actually cried. I kid you not. She was so happy for me that she got all teary.” Emerson sat back down and lowered her voice. “You can’t really kick somebody’s ass when they’re crying.”

  The man shook his head. “Nah, you can’t. Just makes you look like the asshole. Pardon my French.”

  Emerson laughed then, and Cassie felt it in the pit of her stomach. It was a joyous sound that tickled her heart, and she was immediately sad she didn’t hear it more often. Ice-blue eyes caught Cassie’s brown ones, and she gave a little wave.

  “My ride’s here,” she said, standing. “You take care of yourself, Mr. Kendall. Okay?” She pointed a finger at him. “Do the exercises.”

  Mr. Kendall gave Emerson a salute. “Yes, ma’am.” He grasped her arm before she could walk away. “You know, I’m going to be here for a few weeks. Stop by again if you’re in the neighborhood.”

  “I will.” Emerson gave his hand a pat, then walked up to Cassie and Gordie. “Ready to go?”

  Cassie nodded, and they filed out the front door, waving to Nina as they left.

  Once they got situated in the car and were on their way back to Lake Henry, Cassie spoke. “That was pretty amazing.”

  “What? Gordie and the patients? I’m not surprised at all that he’s a great therapy dog.”

  “No, silly. You and that man.”

  Emerson furrowed her brow before catching on. “Oh, Mr. Kendall? He had a knee replacement last week.”

  “You were great with him.”

  Emerson shrugged.

  “I mean it.” Cassie laid a hand on Emerson’s arm to emphasize as she repeated, “You were great with him. Not everybody has that. Building a rapport with somebody who’s depressed or in pain…it’s not easy.”

  “I guess all my time in rehab and PT helps me. It was a long time ago, but I can still understand where they’re coming from, what they’re feeling, how angry they can get. I think it helps to talk to somebody who actually gets it, you know? Instead of people who are just trying to pacify you.” She was quiet for a beat before adding, “I know the medical staff means well. The doctors, the nurses, the physical therapists. But nobody can really understand that kind of pain and frustration unless they’ve actually been there, actually experienced it for themselves.”

  The tone of protection in her voice had Cassie glancing at her, at the clean lines of her face, at the slight downturn of her eyebrows, at her hands in her lap, long fingers folded together, and she felt something inside. Something warm, something tender. Cassie wanted to touch her face, to run her fingertips along Emerson’s smooth skin. When Emerson met her eyes, she smiled gently and returned her gaze to the road, keeping her hands on the steering wheel.

  “Thanks for bringing me with you,” Emerson said quietly.

  “Thanks for coming.” This time, Cassie gave in and reached across to take one of Emerson’s hands in h
er own. To her delight, Emerson entwined their fingers and squeezed.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Fried chicken was Chris’s specialty. Or it was the only thing her kids would eat. Cassie wasn’t sure. All she knew was that every time she came to dinner, Chris made fried chicken. Which was okay because it was fantastic.

  Trevor had come in from hockey practice forty minutes ago. Thirty minutes ago, he’d turned on the shower. It still ran.

  “How long do fourteen-year-old boys spend in the shower these days?” Cassie asked her sister, and popped a baby carrot into her mouth as she chopped vegetables for salad.

  Chris rolled her eyes. “Don’t get me started. I don’t even want to know what he does in there.” She made a face. “If I have to choose between him taking hour-long showers or not showering at all, I’ll put up with the showers. Did you smell him when he came in?”

  Cassie grimaced. “I did.”

  “Yeah, nothing can wilt fresh flowers or peel the paint off the walls like teenage boy sweat. You should smell his sneakers.”

  “I’ll pass, thanks.”

  Chris topped off their wine glasses. “So how’s life? I feel like I haven’t seen you since Halloween.”

  “That’s because you haven’t.” Cassie grinned and touched her glass to her sister’s. “Life is good. Practice is going well. I’ve got a couple new girls who aren’t bad.”

  “Enough for a team this year?”

  Cassie gave a snort. “Of course not. They’ll play with the regional team.”

  “Hockey isn’t really a girl’s game.”

  “Really? We’re going to go there? Again?” The twinkle in Cassie’s eye took any sting out of the words. It was an age-old argument they’d had since they were kids and Cassie had wanted to play on the boys’ team.

  Chris laughed. “No, let’s not go there. You know I’m right. I’ll accept that.” She ducked as a baby carrot flew by her head. “Hey! Don’t let my kids see you throwing food. They’ll think they can too.”

  They continued working in tandem to prepare dinner. Chris’s husband was working a late night, so it was just the sisters and the kids. Cassie loved having dinner there. She loved the atmosphere of the happy home, so much like their parents’ house where they grew up. Chris had done a fabulous job raising her kids and maintaining her household. It wasn’t large, but it was roomy enough, and the love was palpable. Cassie wanted nothing more than the same kind of life Chris had: happy marriage, a home, love.