In that setting, she understood the expression about how silence can be deafening. She cranked up the stereo, lowered the windows, and sped along the winding roads, not sure where she was going and for once, not caring. Then a siren looped into the breakdown of the song blasting through the speakers. An officer tailed the BMW.
“Damnit.”
Another half hour, and another ticket later, she knew her parents were going to be pissed. When she rolled back through town, she pulled over and flicked on her phone. She didn’t want them showing up, especially not after being caught speeding again, so she decided to preempt them with a friendly phone call.
“Young lady, it’s about time you called. I’ve been worried sick,” Anne said when she answered.
“I really needed to get out of the city.”
“And leave all of your responsibilities? Not tell anyone where you were going? Thankfully, Will said he’d heard from you and that everything was fine. But I can tell you it is not.”
“Really?” Baskia asked especially since she’d all but demanded she take the semester off.
“Having to postpone the dinner with the alums was such an embarrassment. I told them you were ill with food poisoning and weren’t quite up to dining at a restaurant just yet. But really, Baskia.”
“Mom, you just don’t get it. I told you, I need time.”
“Yes, your brother told me that, but it’s been a week.”
“I wrote a letter to my advisor at Columbia outlining my request to defer.”
The line was quiet.
“I—I don’t know what to say.”
“How about, ‘I hope you’re okay. I hope you get things figured out. I’m here to support you in your decisions. What can I do to help?’ I’m tired of hearing how disappointed you are in me, yet if I went forward before I was ready, it wouldn’t only be you that was disappointed, and frankly, I can’t live with letting myself down.”
“I don’t understand you. We give you everything. Whatever you want, it’s yours. But you can’t have the decency just to do this one thing. Mellie didn’t have a problem settling into school.”
“It’s not just a little thing, and I’m not Mellie. I can’t believe you. I’ve got to go.” Tears welled at the corners of Baskia’s eyes, but she didn’t want to cry.
“Don’t hang up on me. We’re not done,” Anne said in a tight voice.
“I think we are.”
“What? You’re just going to stay up there in that cabin? That’s hardly suitable. What will you do? I hope you don’t have that Kate London girl up there with you. You know I can’t find grandmother’s decanter. I’m sure she took it.”
Exasperation made Baskia’s vision turn hard. The needles of the pine trees looked sharp, contrasting darkly as they scraped the soft blue sky above. She had one-hundred-and-one things to say and yet nothing at all.
“I’ll be here, and I’ll be fine. I will go to school, Mom. Just not yet. Please respect that,” Baskia said in a moment of clarity. Then she hung up, afraid she’d say too much, but worried she’d scream and cry and have a knock down tantrum like London had if she’d stayed on the call. She didn’t want to break anything else in the car; she needed it if she really was going to stay in that remote corner of Vermont.
Baskia started to maneuver back onto the road, but spotted a squat brick building, set off on a short street behind a shambling green house with asbestos siding. The white painted sign in front said Public Library. Baskia hadn’t been in a proper library since fifth grade when her class took a trip to the New York City Public Library.
Stepping inside, an oscillating fan blew gusts of the papery smell of dust and stories and secrets and time recorded. It was no Barnes and Noble, but she eyed a magazine rack and new releases. Dismay caught up to her at the slim choices.
A petite, older woman with a neat bun and eyeglasses, perched on the end of her nose, appeared from behind a stack of worn books. “Hello. Can I help you?”
Baskia wanted to say yes. Please. I need all the help I can get, but I have no idea where to start. “I’m just browsing. Thank you.”
“Are you new in town or just visiting?”
Baskia looked up from a book titled, Getting the most from what you want. Maybe that would be helpful. Only, she still didn’t know what she wanted. “Oh, uh. Both, I guess.”
“If there’s anything you need, please just let me know. I’m Mary Parker. I don’t get too many patrons, so I’m all yours.”
“Thanks,” she said absently turning a wire rack of romance novels. A handsome guy with tanned and oiled muscles embraced a young woman in a pool, prompting Baskia to swell with thoughts of the night before. She snatched up the book.
“If you need the internet, we have a computer available,” the librarian offered.
“Great,” Baskia said. That gave her an idea. She approached the wooden counter and leaned on it, fingering a display of bookmarks. “Do you know how I could get internet in my house?”
Mary tilted her head and thought a moment. “That’s tricky up here, but I seem to recall we have a book called Going Online or Websurfing for Bozos. Something like that. Not that you are, dear. Let’s see.”
Baskia followed the librarian to a bookshelf titled, Technology.
“Here it is. It’s a bit old, perhaps out of date, now that I look at it,” she said, peering through her glasses. “But it will get you started. Anything else?”
Baskia strolled over to the magazine rack near the door. “Can I borrow any of these?”
“Of course. They’re new, so just a week loan.”
“That’s fine. I don’t have anything else to do.”
“In that case let me direct you to our news and events corkboard.”
Baskia nodded and smiled politely, knowing there was nothing of interest to her there. Her phone buzzed in her bag. She glanced down at the message. It read:
b- where the hell are you? it’s time to come back to planet manhattan. georgie’s in town and the party is going to be insane. –london
A smile spread across her face. For Kate London, that was as good an apology as she was going to get. However, she knew that George Theobrides was a young heir on the party circuit. It wasn't his good looks that got models, celebrities, and rich kids—with too much of their parent’s money to spend—to attend the parties on his yacht. No, it was the blow, the drink, the whatever-you-want-you-can-have-it guarantee on his three-day long extravaganzas.
She knew she wouldn’t get herself in that mess again. She could no longer party that hard, last night was enough. She could just say no.
“Will that be all today?” the librarian asked pleasantly. “Can I interest you in a tote bag to support your local library and of course carry your materials?” She pointed to a display with a handwritten card that said ten-dollars.
“Sure. This should keep me busy for a while.” Baskia filled out her information for a library card and just as she was about to leave, with her books snug in the new bag, her phone buzzed with a text again. This time it said:
hell if i know, she’s a crazy bitch. she totally kicked me out & i’m not going to forget that anytime soon. text when ur on ur way. –london
Baskia’s stomach flipped and her fingers shook as she slid the phone into her purse. London must have sent her the message by mistake. She wondered if she’d intended it for Gigi, Natalya, or Ali? Nels? It didn’t matter. She looked back at the shelf of new releases. A glossy hardcover with the title, Mixology, stood out. Six identical glasses, each containing a different colored drink, stood in a row. Baskia thought of the beer bottles on the railing in the soft light from the night before.
“I’ll get this one too,” she said, carrying it back to the desk.
The librarian’s eyes lit up and she giggled. “Oh, I enjoyed this one very much.”
Baskia couldn’t help but smile. “I’m sure I will too.”
After unloading her groceries, Baskia stacked the magazines from the library on the c
offee table and put the books in a basket on the floor. Anger at London’s text seared her. She knew she shouldn’t have been surprised, but since they’d met, they always acted as allies, well, until they returned from Buenos Aires. Looking back, that’s when things sloped downhill. It may have been the fact that all Baskia’s wealth was like a slap in London’s face when they started living together in the penthouse. Before that, they shared equal ground in hotels, resorts, and temporary housing, when they were on location or at shows.
Up until they met, Baskia didn’t have a solid understanding that there was a different way of life than the one she’d been born into with domestic help, an unlimited credit card, and access to the best of everything. London came from foster care by way of a drug-addicted mother and absent father. She was the girl who dreamed of all that glittered, and as it turned out, Baskia had sequins, sparkles, and diamonds aplenty. The difference was, London knew what she wanted, or at least it seemed that way. She, on the other hand, had everything she could want, except one thing. But that one thing played hide and seek, eluding her at every turn.
She eyed the Mixology book on the table. Maybe a drink or two would show her the way. She found the liquor cabinet that Trace had mentioned and proceeded to mix up a martini, it was five o’clock somewhere. By the time evening cast dusky shadows, Baskia was on-her-ass drunk. When she went to finish working her way through the list of variations on the martini in the book, she fell out of the hammock.
Sitting there, a sad, lonely feeling crept from Baskia’s toes to her fingers at the vision of Trace in the hammock, causing a confusing cocktail of anger and longing to flash hot within. She decided to look him up online. She stepped, heavily, to the deck railing, trying to find a spot of reception—a perilous thing as she wavered, under the influence. She wanted to tell him what an asshole he was for just leaving, but there was no one named Trace or Tracey Wolfe that turned up in her search. In a blink, the connection died. She fell back into the hammock.
He was anonymous and mysterious. Maybe that’s what she liked about him. No, she told herself. She didn’t like him. Not at all. She was glad she’d never see him again. With that, she passed out.
Waking up outside, still in the hammock, when the sun rose, was not Baskia’s finest moment. A squirrel perched on the deck rail eyed her suspiciously. She swatted it away as she tried to get up, but her head ached, the light was too bright and the bird song, too loud.
The next week, when Baskia returned the magazines along with Mixology, she’d browsed for a book on relaxation, her neck still stiff from sleeping in the hammock, along with gritty knots of uncertainty sandpapering against her from all angles.
She picked up more books and magazines and did the same the following week. She discovered the library loaned out movies and caught up on many of the black and white classics. Some afternoons she took to the trails surrounding the cabin and on others, she swam laps in the lake. Tired of the boxed meals from the market, she borrowed a cookbook that the librarian recommended and failed miserably at trying to make lasagna, her favorite. It resembled bland soup and ended up in the trash. However, in that time, she’d mastered the washer, dryer, and coffee maker. Not to mention single handedly polishing off a carton of ice cream.
^^^
A windy and rainy day rushed the last warmth from September and then it was October, autumn. Baskia switched back and forth between loving her freedom and the quiet stillness of the secluded cabin, to crying herself to sleep from loneliness and lack of purpose. More than once, she packed everything up in the BMW to return to the City, only to take it out again when she thought of dealing with her mother and the void she feared slipping into if she didn’t see through the brave endeavor.
After the librarian kindly reminded her a couple books were overdue, Baskia discovered the romance novel featuring the Trace look-a-like and the internet how-to guide at the bottom of the wicker basket where she kept the loans.
Baskia looked out the window. The wind blew the colorful leaves from the trees scattering them across the grass. She wasn’t any closer to figuring out what she wanted, not even after reading a series of self-help books. The internet would be necessary if she was going to be alone on the mountain through the long months ahead. At least her social media accounts would keep her company. Most of the apps on her cell phone were useless without reliable service.
In a drawer in the kitchen, she found an old telephone book and flipped to a number to call. “Um, yeah, but I’d need a phone to do that.” Plus, the pristine phone book was at least fifteen years old. Did phone books still exist? Just then, a vehicle rumbled into the driveway. Her stomach leaped. She shook her head as if the pieces of Trace she held onto would tumble out. She was done with guys. She’d used up all her passes for booty-calls and one-nighters. By the time she’d extracted herself from the couch, the brown UPS van pulled away.
Her eyes lit up when she saw the package, hoping her mother sent her some essentials from the City. The name on the label read Wes Carter.
She punched the address on the box into the GPS in the car, but it wouldn’t pick up the signal. “Stupid thing. Ugh. It’s like progress has been forgotten up here.”
Cruising along the forested road, Baskia looked for Upper Hemlock Way. They’d passed on the road a few times, so she assumed he lived nearby. Before turning off the main route to go back to the cabin, she spotted a rusty sign, the turnoff for Upper Hemlock. He lived relatively close.
His blue pickup sat in the driveway. Chilly, Baskia realized she only wore a pair of stretch pants, a slim tee, and no bra, once again making her feel self-conscious. The log cabin sat amongst sturdy oaks and pines, only letting in a ring of sunlight. She stepped onto the porch ready to knock, but Wes appeared, from the side of the house, shirtless and sweating, with an axe in his hand.
“Hey,” he said with a shy smile, leaning the axe against the truck.
“What’s up?” she asked stupidly.
“Just splitting wood. Have to get ready for winter, yanno?” He sighed, putting his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t realize you were still around.”
Baskia tried to suppress her interest in the manly figure, glistening before her. “I wanted to thank you again for helping me with my car, and also this was delivered to me, by mistake.” She passed him the box.
“Thanks. Books,” he said. “Must be a different delivery guy.”
“You don’t use the library?”
“Texts, had to order online,” he said.
“I don’t have internet. Could I actually use your phone? My cell service up here is so bad. I want to call to see if I can have the phone company install—”
“Internet? You have to get satellite up here,” he said, pointing to the dish fixed to the side of the house.
“Oh. Really? Cool. Do you have the number?”
“Uh. I have to head out soon, but I can call for you.”
Baskia shrugged. “It’s fine. I can do it.”
“Really, it’s no problem. I’m happy to help,” he said, insisting and then wiping his forehead.
“Great then. Thanks. I really owe you,” she said, confused, but flattered by his generosity.
“I’ll stop by to let you know when they’re coming out to install it.”
Baskia stepped back to her car.
Wes called, “Actually, um. Do you want to, uh. There’s a Harvest Fest on Saturday. Do you want to go?” he asked, a slight blush rising to his cheeks.
Chapter Ten
It had been a long time since a boy had asked Baskia out. She corrected herself; Wes was twenty-one, putting him in adult category. That also probably meant he had some experience under his belt, her main complaint about guys her age. They only wanted one thing or at least the drinks and pills made them believe that.
Occasionally, thoughts of Trace would find their way into her thoughts, daydreams, and nighttime fantasies: when she made coffee, did laundry, laid alone in bed. He managed to wiggle his way into her mind
, and stubbornly stayed there even though it’d been well over a month since he’d left. Somehow, he still occupied the cabin. She was red hot over him, equal parts mad and humid, like that summer night they spent together. He’d seemed really into her, at least after the beer and tequila. It was lame that he’d left without a goodbye; usually that was her role. Then again, maybe it amounted to another night of meaningless sex, and she should leave it at that.
Instead, she distracted herself with thoughts of being with Wes, looking forward to their date on Saturday, if going to a harvest festival counted as a date. He acted reserved and at times distracted, as if something sloshed around in his mind and threatened to sweep him away if he stopped focusing on it. Then again, Trace carried a burden too. Baskia wished she had something to devote her attention to, instead of defaulting to guys. There was the vast openness of what to do with her life. No amount of pondering provided her with any insight except the constant knowing of exactly what she didn’t want: the scripted existence her mother outlined for her.
On Thursday afternoon, she went for a hike, collecting a bouquet of colorful leaves to photograph. When she returned, a note, penned in blue, was stuck in the front door.
Satellite coming Fri between 10 and 2. If you still want to go to the Harvest Fest, I’ll be over on Sat at six. Dress warm. –Wes
The instructions for the washing machine were somehow more romantic. Baskia shook her head. Firstly, tangling up with men was no bueno. Secondly, if she was, Trace was the worst possible candidate, he practically told her that himself, and he had just up and left. Third, Wes seemed reliable and strong, like someone she could count on. He was also gentlemanly and kind. He’d arranged for her to get internet. That was sweet. But it wasn’t dinner, skinny-dipping, and sex. She wasn’t up there to get involved with anyone. Except herself. Period. As a gust of wind sent the colorful leaves fluttering to the ground, she let these thoughts settle, hoping they’d stick.
On the Mountain (Follow your Bliss #5) Page 8