Chris glanced out the window over the sink as she stood at the stove turning chicken in the pan. “It’s getting dark fast. Man, fall flew by.”
“I know. I feel like the leaves turned colors for a week and that was that.”
“So much for the fall tourist season.” Chris shrugged. “I heard the view from Jones Mountain has been less than stellar as well. Bad for business, Mother Nature. Bad for business.”
“We had a great view the other day,” Cassie commented, shucking the seeds and membranes from a green pepper.
“We? Who’s we?”
“Me and Emerson. We rode the bike trail up Jones yesterday. Then we took the elevator up to the top. The visibility sign said zero, so we weren’t expecting much. We got up there and the clouds were pretty thick. We sat down and all of a sudden, they just blew away. Literally, they just blew away, and we could see for miles. It was unbelievable.”
Chris was nodding, but the expression on her face was…odd. Cassie chose to ignore it.
“Then she went with me to the rehab center. You should have seen her with this old man who was having knee issues. She was amazing. She just…talked to him. Like, person to person instead of talking down to him. It was awesome.”
Chris continued to say nothing as Cassie squinted at her.
“What?”
“What what?” Chris replied.
“What’s that face for?”
“I’m not making a face.”
“You are totally making a face.”
“Am not.”
“Chris.” Cassie set the knife down and cocked her head sideways.
Chris sighed, but kept her eyes on the chicken. “I guess I’m just wondering what you’re doing.”
“What do you mean?”
“With Emerson. What are you doing?”
Cassie shrugged nonchalantly. “Nothing. I’ve spent some time with her. Is that a crime?” She sounded way more defensive than she’d hoped, and she knew immediately that her sister had picked up on it.
“Of course not. I just want you to be careful.”
“Of what?”
Chris looked at her now, exasperated. “Of her. I know you, Cassandra. You fall fast and you fall hard and you’re already well on your way with this woman.”
Cassie picked the knife back up, turned her back to Chris, and chopped peppers viciously. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Fine, Cass. Fine. You’re absolutely right. I don’t know what I’m talking about. I haven’t known you for all of your twenty-eight years. Let’s go with that. Just keep this in mind: she leaves. She runs away. You know this. It’s what she does. Don’t think for a second she won’t do it to you.”
Izzy came running into the kitchen at that moment, which was a good thing because Cassie had no reply. Instead, she looked down at her little niece and asked if she’d washed her hands for dinner yet.
“Nope. Will you help me?”
“Sure.” Anything to get out of the kitchen and away from Chris’s words.
Too bad they hung with her no matter which room she moved to.
She leaves. She runs away.
Did Cassie expect anything other than that?
Of course not. Of course she didn’t. She knew all about Emerson. She’d been friends with Caroline for years, damn it. Caroline always talked about her daughter, about how much she wished Emerson would visit more, about how much she despised Lake Henry and all it represented for her, and about how she’d probably never come back. Ever. Because she left. She ran away.
It’s what she does.
That was fine. That was absolutely fine with Cassie. She wasn’t stupid, for Christ’s sake. Did people think she was? Did they think she was unaware of what was going on? Did they think she wasn’t treading carefully? She liked Emerson. So what? It didn’t mean there was anything more than that.
Cassie looked up from the sink into the mirror. Her brain tossed her a flash of memory, she and Emerson sitting atop Jones Mountain, kissing deeply, the warm wet of it… Cassie closed her eyes, groaned quietly, and muttered an F bomb. The tiny gasp from her hip startled her, and she looked down into Izzy’s horrified eyes.
“You said a really bad word,” her niece whispered.
Cassie pressed her lips together in a straight line and held Izzy’s gaze. “I know,” she whispered just as quietly. “I know I did. I’m sorry. But I really, really meant it. Can it be our little secret?”
Izzy gave it serious thought before nodding once. “Okay. But don’t say it again.”
“I won’t. Promise.” Cassie shook her head, reached for the towel to dry her hands, then followed the little girl back to the kitchen. She kept her mouth shut tightly, but the same word echoed through her head just as loudly as if she’d been reciting it proudly with every step.
She was quiet at dinner. Too quiet, she knew by the way Chris kept glancing at her. Trevor was his usual, sullen teenage self, but the littler kids teased and chattered on, unaware of the tension between their mother and their aunt. Chris listened to them and responded to them as only a mother who has mastered the art of multi-tasking can, because she kept just as much attention on her younger sister across the table. Cassie knew she should say something, let Chris off the hook; it was obvious she was worried she’d pushed Cassie too far. But instead, she let Chris stew a bit, mostly because she was stewing as well and didn’t think she should be alone in her misery.
Chris was right about Emerson. If Cassie was going to be truly, brutally honest, she had to admit that. Emerson’s track record spoke for itself. And so what? It’s not like there was anything between them. They’d kissed. Big deal. They weren’t in a relationship. They hadn’t even talked about anything remotely close to that. They were friends. That was it.
She rolled that around in her head for a moment, trying it on for size. Emerson is my friend. My friend. She’s my friend. That’s all.
The scoff she made aloud had Chris looking at her yet again.
***
Were the walls closing in on her?
Emerson lay on the couch in the cottage and wondered at the question. It had grown dark long ago, and yet here she lay. Still. She’d done very little and there seemed to be a battle going on in her head between her conversation with Marlena the day before and her conversation in the car with Cassie last night. Her brain felt weird. Full. Heavy. Confused. And ridiculously tired. How could that be? How could she feel so tired, so drained, just from recalling a couple of conversations? It didn’t seem possible.
The blue light on her cell phone had been blinking steadily from the coffee table for the past couple of hours, indicating she had voicemail. Emerson had turned off the sound, not wanting to deal with anything else today. Now, knowing it wouldn’t just disappear on its own, she blew out an exaggeratedly loud breath and flopped her arm out to pick up the phone. She dialed in her code and was soon listening to Brenda, her ex-colleague from McKinney Carr.
“Haven’t heard from you, Emmy, and wanted to make sure you were doing okay. Listen, I got hired by Jensen Pharmaceuticals and they’re still looking for people. I gave them your name and told them I’d have you call. It’s a nice setup. Not as big as McKinney Carr, but they seem pretty solid and steady. Anyway, they’re familiar with you, they know how great your sales were, and they’re interested in you.” She rattled off a name and a phone number, along with a website address, and told Emerson she should contact them immediately.
With a put-upon sigh, Emerson skipped to the next message. It was from Claire.
“So, we’re done then? Is that it? I was hoping I’d misread the signals you sent so clearly when I left. But you haven’t called since, not even to thank me for all the work I did while I was there.” Her voice was icy. Brittle. Emerson couldn’t blame her. “You know, you could have talked to me, Emerson. I thought we had something good. Something that worked well for both of us. But god forbid you get out of your goddamn head once in a while and have a goddamn conve
rsation with somebody. Oh, no. Not Emerson Rosberg, the high priestess of non-emotion. You’re such a coward.” She was on a roll now. Emerson should have just deleted it without listening to the rest, but for some reason, she felt like she deserved to hear every last, furious, pained word. “I will miss you, Em. I will. I’ll miss the great sex we had.” Her voice softened slightly. “It was great. You thought so, too. I know you did. That was the only time I ever thought you were completely with me, but now I know that was only me hoping. Hoping that you were with me and not off someplace in your head. Someplace else. With somebody else. I could never be sure with you.” Claire paused, and Emerson could almost picture her collecting herself, regaining her composure. “I wish you well, Em. I do. I hope you figure it all out. Whatever it is you’re looking for, I hope you find it.” She paused again, then sighed. “Goodbye, Emerson.”
Whatever it is you’re looking for.
Was she looking for something? Emerson shook her head, shrugged, not wanting to dwell. But dwell she did.
Whatever it is you’re looking for.
“I’m not looking for anything,” she said to the empty room, and a heat began to spread through her, one that came with anger. She stood up too quickly and had to reach out to steady herself against the head rush that hit after lying down for so long. The only light in the room came from the glowing fireplace, and she decided she liked it that way. Stomping over to the wine rack, she chose an Argentinian Malbec, took it into the kitchen, and opened it. As she poured, she muttered, “High priestess of non-emotion? Really? That’s nice, Claire.” But she realized she wasn’t angry at Claire. She was angry at herself. She’d just listened to two very important voicemail messages, and yet neither of them had much effect on her. Why wasn’t she jotting down the name and number of the guy from the pharmaceutical company…what was the name of it again? Jesus, she didn’t even retain that. Why didn’t she feel something, anything over Claire’s message? Shouldn’t she feel angry? Hurt? Guilty? If nothing else, she should feel guilty for the way she’d treated somebody who cared about her.
“What’s the matter with me?”
Unsurprisingly, no answer came.
She downed a large swallow of wine and went to the window to gaze out at the lake, almost impossible to make out in the dark. The moon was no more than a sliver of white in the sky, and was sharing very little light with the earth. She could see the outlines of bare branches looming over the water. That’s how it was in the Adirondacks, she remembered. One minute, it was fall and then like the snap of fingers, the leaves were gone and winter was closing in. Just like the walls of the tiny cottage.
The anger took hold then. Emerson was suddenly hit with a white-hot feeling of rage that bubbled up from deep inside her. She set the wine glass down on the counter, as she was afraid she might hurl it across the room. Using both hands, she braced herself against the edge of the counter and let her head drop down between her arms.
“What’s the matter with me?” she asked again, this time through clenched teeth. Squeezing her eyes closed, she tried to focus. This had only happened once before, when she’d been told the surgeries on her knee had been less successful than predicted and that the doctors wanted to replace the entire thing. Marlena had been around then, and she’d coached Emerson through the fury, talked to her, urged her to search her brain, her heart, and pinpoint exactly what she was angry about, who she was angry with. Marlena told her to find it, take it out, handle it, examine it from all angles until she had full control. She remembered how it had worked then.
What am I angry about? Who am I angry with?
Simple questions, really, but she skipped the easiest one and dug deeper.
My father.
She’d never really admitted to that before. Fredrik hadn’t completely abandoned Emerson, but once her potential to be a skiing sensation was gone, he’d lost interest in her. Sure, he called every so often. He told her he loved her. She said it back because it was true. He was her father and she loved him. But since the accident, he hadn’t been there for her. At all. He sent her money. He phoned once every month or two. That was about it. She was never first on his list; he was. He always had been. A very clear memory hit her then, one she recalled from her time of rehabilitation, when she’d worked with a physical therapist and ended up in angry tears more often than not, the pain was so excruciating. She remembered lying on a mat, the physical therapist pushing against her artificial knee, forcing her to bend it and twist it. She grit her teeth so hard she was certain she’d cracked a couple molars, and all she wanted was her father to be there, encouraging her. He was the only one who would understand the loss she’d suffered. Her mother was there, but she didn’t ski. She didn’t really get it. Fredrik would. But he’d jetted off to Sweden to do color commentary on a race and couldn’t be bothered to help his daughter while she watched the only thing she ever thought she’d do evaporate before her eyes. And at that moment, she remembered thinking that when she had kids, she would never, ever let them think they weren’t first on her list. They would always be first and she’d make it clear to them. She’d sworn it then and she felt even more strongly about it now.
Rocking forward and back slowly, still braced against the counter, she let herself continue to feel the anger. Still not wanting to face the obvious source, she dug some more.
Cassie.
That surprised her, and she furrowed her brows a bit. Why was she angry with Cassie? It was a silly question, because she already knew why, she just didn’t want to admit it. Cassie made her think, made her wonder, made her reevaluate. Emerson didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to hang out in Lake Henry. She wanted a quick trip. Easy in, easy out. That’s how she’d planned it. But then she’d met Cassie. Cassie, who’d been nice to her when Emerson was less than inviting. Cassie, who’d taught her about hockey and made her laugh. Cassie, who’d loved Emerson’s mother, who’d acted as a surrogate daughter for Caroline when her real child couldn’t be bothered to visit. Cassie, who had kissed her senseless, and then had shown her the most beautiful view Emerson had ever seen.
Cassie, who made her feel.
She remembered holding hands in the car yesterday, how natural and comforting it had felt. Emerson slapped a hand on the counter and actually growled deep in her throat.
Cassie, who made her feel.
My mother.
That was the next source of her anger. Not at all surprising, really. Still, the admission caused emotion to roll through Emerson like a storm. She continued to rock forward and back as she felt the tears fill up her eyes, clog her throat. She was angry at her mother for dying on her. Of course she was. It was a perfectly normal and understandable reaction to the death of a parent so young. Emerson gripped the counter so hard her fingers hurt, and the pain in her chest felt like it was going to split her ribcage open. Caroline was gone. She was never coming back. And that admission led to the big one.
Myself.
Swallowing hard, Emerson let that anger continue to roll through, hoping it would abate soon. I am angry for not being here. I was a lousy kid, and now I will never be able to fix it. I can never make up for my failings as a daughter. My mother is gone and I was not here for her. I was never here for her. And I get to live with that. For the rest of my life, I get to live with that.
Still clenching her teeth, Emerson let it all sit. She felt nauseous, but she embraced that as well, and simply concentrated on breathing. In…out…in…out. It took several long minutes, but soon, she could feel her racing heart begin to calm. Her grip on the counter slowly eased. Her ragged breathing evened out, and her rocking slowed bit by bit until she was still.
Slowly, she let go of the counter and stood straight. She felt infinitely better. Marlena had been right about facing her anger. Examining it helped. It allowed her to understand it, to pinpoint the sources and figure out why it ate at her. Feeling much better, she picked up her wine and took a small sip. Carrying the glass with her, she went back into t
he living room and took a seat on the couch. It was still dark, the cottage still lit only by the soft glow of the fire. She sipped again and continued to be still until she felt completely calm.
The blinking blue light caught her eye, and she reached for her phone. A call must have come in while she was busy having her nervous breakdown. Hoping it wasn’t more vitriol from Claire, she punched in the numbers and listened as Cassie’s gentle, lilting voice spoke to her.
“Hey there. I’m so sorry I didn’t get a chance to catch up with you this morning like I had hoped. Today was ridiculous at work. There were a couple of issues that needed my attention and I got stuck there much longer than I expected to. Then I had dinner at my sister’s. I’m home now and exhausted. I’ve got hockey practice in the morning, but maybe we could get together for some coffee or something after that? Okay. Call me back if you get a chance. Oh! I have two tickets to a show next week. My friend Jonathan and his boyfriend can’t go and he gave the tickets to me, so I need a date. It’s a play, but that’s all I know. Tempting, huh?” She chuckled, which was an adorable sound. “I think that’s it.” A beat. “Call me back, okay? Bye, Emerson.” The last two lines were said very softly, almost intimately, and Emerson felt them in the pit of her stomach. And lower.
She quickly erased the voicemail, then sat with the phone against her lips, her eyes staring off into the middle distance, her own taunting voice echoing in her head. Next week? A date? I don’t think so, Cassie. It’s time you learned what most people already know about me. I am not the dating kind. I’m just like my father. Reaching a decision, she hit the Call button, scrolled for a contact, and dialed. She reached voicemail, which she expected, as it was after business hours. At the sound of the beep, she spoke.
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