Baskia shivered as she turned the heat up in the BMW. “Why didn’t I stage my unconventional year away someplace warm,” she said aloud, realizing the sun hadn’t followed her north.
As she wound her way up the familiar mountain roads, reflecting on her trip, she wondered if Trace had been to the cabin or if he waited for her there. She had so much to tell him. She may have put her partying days behind her, but the frisky side of her longed for his touch, his lips, and more.
She hoped her birthday wish had come true and his bike would be in the driveway and a wisp of smoke, swirling out of the chimney toward the sky, would welcome her home. Instead, the driveway was a vacant plain of ice, and the house was chilly. With shaking hands, she lit a fire. She’d turned down the heat before leaving on the trip, but after the warmth in Mexico, she cranked it back up.
She surveyed the cabin, hoping for a sign of Trace’s being there: a banana peel, coffee grounds in the trash, a forgotten sock, a note with the letters XO, anything. She worried that she’d missed him, but what was worse was if he hadn’t been there at all. She tugged on the lid of coffee beans, thinking maybe he’d left her a note there. He had a habit of saying his goodbyes in unusual ways. She cracked open her journal, reread the poem he wrote, but didn’t find any new entries. She checked the wine cellar, bringing up a bottle just in case. After flipping through all the books in her library basket, she didn’t discover any words scribbled on a bookmark or left in a margin.
He hadn’t been there. She regretted going along with the mysterious blueprint for their relationship. He carried a burden and wasn’t ready to fully let her in; she respected that because as much as she wanted him, she also wanted to be the best version of herself and that was not the girl she was six or even three months ago. She’d grown and was now ready for him, but where was he?
^^^
At the market, Daniella welcomed Baskia back, with a, “Ciao bella.” They talked about their respective trips. If Daniella forgot any details, Patty and Mary were sure to fill them in.
“Patty’s throwing me a baby shower. She probably has an invitation for you, but I thought I’d tell you personally.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
After doing her rounds at the library and the farmhouse, Baskia sat in the car, her finger hovering over the call button under Will’s name. She wanted to ask him about Trace or at least get his number. Most people had cell phones, but she’d never seen him with one. She had a pile of numbers from guys at the resort. It shouldn’t be so hard to contact someone she’d already slept with. But she also wasn’t the girl that threw herself at guys anymore. She debated, waffled, and then as a truck drove by spraying the BMW with slush, her finger slipped, and the phone rang.
“Hey, little sister,” Will answered. “How was spring break? I heard Mellie had a wild time.”
She wanted to ask him about the two of them, but her pending romance jumped the line of important conversation topics. “Tell me everything you know about Trace. Uh, I mean, do you have his phone number?” She didn’t want to sound desperate.
“Whoa. Which is it? I thought you two were just hooking up—”
“We’re not. I mean we were. I just—”
“He’s complicated, Baskia.”
“Then uncomplicated him,” she countered, frustration loosening her tongue.
“It’s best I leave that up to Trace. I don’t want to get involved in his business.”
“Then get involved in my business. In January, he said he’d be back. It’s the end of March.”
“How was your birthday?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“Okay, okay. Listen, he’s made some mistakes. It’s just real life, Baskia. Not playing house in the cabin. The stuff he’s got going on—”
“I can handle real life.”
“I know you can, but you should hear it from him.”
Baskia huffed.
“I’ll tell you what; Mom said she and Dad want to visit in May. If he hasn’t shown up or been in touch by then, I’ll make sure to let him know you’d like to talk.”
Never mind their parents’ unannounced visit, her brother’s offer lingered in the air, unaccepted. The line was quiet.
Will drew a breath. “Alright, fine. He has a—he has a son.”
Baskia was completely silent, unsure she heard him correctly.
“I can’t say anymore. It’s his business. But there, you know a third of it. Now, go distract yourself.”
“Yeah, I’m good at that.”
Baskia paced around the cabin, unsure what to think about her wild, rough around the edges, tough guy, being a dad. She couldn’t wrap her head around it. Why didn’t he tell her? Was her brother lying? Was he still with the mother? Were they married? Questions bounced around, some stickier than others. She tried to unglue herself from uncertainty until icy rain pattered against the dirty slush outside the window. “Agh,” she screamed, fed up.
She hardly slept that night, struggling with the information and the complete and utter lack of Trace in her life. She ran her fingers over the letters on the poem he wrote, the promise. The next day she zoned out until heavy flakes dropped from the sky.
“I’m done with winter,” she shouted. But as the blanket of snow covered the dirty slush, leaving a fresh white canvas, possibility arose within her.
She recalled her promise to herself, to hold steady to her course, living on the mountain, alone, independent, self-sufficient, until she knew what she wanted.
She let out her breath, gusting away uncertainty. And that was it, it was all right. She wanted to be independent and as sure as the clean snow outside renewed her perspective; she honed her goal: to shed the years of relying on other people or substances for entertainment, escape, or satisfaction. She was committed to finding the treasure inside that made her secure in herself, strong and confident in her abilities to rely on her own two hands, feet, and mind. She’d started with the laundry and coffee, graduated to the fire and cooking, reading and blogging. She developed into her own person. That was what she’d wanted. As ordinary as those things were, they were her interests. The photographs, food, and friends were a part of her. She was no longer a cookie-cutter model found at some club any given night. She was Baskia, Queen of the Mountain.
But still, Trace. Where was he? She worried, fretted, and grumbled all afternoon until Daniella showed up with a yoga mat. “They say it’s good for the baby.”
Baskia joined her on the floor. The two of them stretched and strengthened, releasing their thoughts to their exhalations, preparing for the future with all its uncertainty.
^^^
One afternoon, after a yoga session, Baskia sat next to Daniella, feeling, with wonder, as her belly bumped and jittered, the baby kicking.
“I think he likes you.”
“Maybe he just likes yoga. Or the cabin. You have to admit it’s nice up here. As they say, Om is where the heart is,” Baskia said.
Daniella burst out laughing. “You’re such a cheeseball.”
“I’ve been called a lot of things, but never that.”
“Don’t worry, I mean it in the best possible way. You seem different than when we first met and you were stocking up on frozen meals and coffee.”
“I am different. I always wanted a home and family. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I have my parents and brother, along with several dwellings, apartments, and houses. We have a place in Sonoma, two in Manhattan, and they’re thinking of buying a villa in Italy. Not bragging, but none of the places I’ve ever lived felt like home, yanno?”
“I do know what you mean.”
Baskia blurted, “I think my boyfriend, if I can call him that, has a son.”
Baskia expected a look of concern and commiseration, but instead Daniella smiled. “That means you get to be his step-mom. Having a family is a good thing; trust me, even if you aren’t related by blood. And, the other good news is that means this little bean pod gets a cousin.”
“Especially because of them. This little baby of mine,” she rubbed her belly, “will always have a loving family.”
“I am not step-mom material.”
“Ha. Double-chocolate, cherry cookies? I spotted the plate on the counter. A glass of milk? No, you’re not mama material at all,” she said sarcastically.
She didn’t know any details or if Trace would return, but the fact of it settled over her like the blanket she tucked around Daniella’s shoulders after they turned on a movie she’d brought over. They dug into the plate of cookies after dunking them in milk.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Every time Baskia had an anxious thought about Trace coming back, she’d write in her journal, cook up something for her blog, or get on her yoga mat, reminding herself of his words: That they were part of the same ancient whole, and they would reunite when the time was right.
Stretched upside down on the long lavender mat was exactly where Wes found her when he poked his head in the front door, one afternoon. The snow started to thaw and water dripped from the roof. He set a canvas bag down on the floor.
“I keep missing you at Maisy’s,” he said.
“I was going to head over this afternoon.”
“I have class at the community college,” he said.
“So that’s where you’ve been.”
“Just trying to get a few more credits in while I can.”
“Hungry?” Baskia asked.
“Starved. I’ve noticed a trend on your blog. You’re getting healthier. Just keep the kale away from me.”
“I’d say it’s doing Patty some good. But she adds so much cheese and butter to it.”
“She sure loves butter and cheese…And cookies and cake,” he added, laughing.
“Don’t forget pie and anything baked or fried. I figured a little health-i-fication was in order. Daniella said she had a hard time on some of the walks in Italy. And that’s coming from a pregnant woman. I want her to be around for a while, yanno?” Baskia had a great affection for her Vermont friends, thinking of them as family.
“That’s good of you.” Wes shifted, eyeing the canvas bag he brought in. “Remember that thing I told you?”
Baskia looked quizzically at him, a virgin, and then glanced at the bag wondering how it related.
“Knitting,” he said.
“Come again?”
He pulled out two long wooden needles and a ball of yarn the exact color of a hemlock tree. “Check it out. I was hoping to have it done by now, but look; this is the back of a mitten. It’s for you, but you’ll have to wear them next winter. As you can see, I didn’t get quite as far as I’d hoped.”
Baskia noted a white line in the form of a mountain zigzagging from one side of the panel to the other.
“It’s so you don’t forget your mountain roots, wherever you end up. Also, I just wanted to say thanks. My life had already been pretty shaken up, but somehow you shook it up even more, and then everything settled, like snow. It’s gotten better, a lot better.”
Wes went on to tell Baskia how there were some signs of Maisy improving, his voice bursting with hope like the warm spring days that were soon to come. “I thought knitting might be a good distraction—”
“I’m all done with distractions,”
“A new hobby then.” He passed her a set of needles and the end of a ball of snowy, white yarn. With patient hands, he demonstrated how to cast on. “Our mom taught us, Maisy and me.”
Baskia tangled up a few stitches, but as the afternoon stretched long, she’d made a perfect rectangle.
“Well done.”
When the light faded, Baskia said, “I think we should take this little piss-n-purl off the mountain. We can make Maisy an afghan.”
Wes laughed. “I thought you wanted to stick around so you don’t miss a certain guest.”
“If he comes, he’ll have to do the sticking.”
Although curiosity and uncertainty still pricked and poked at Baskia, her friends, cooking, even yoga brought transformation and set the foundation for authentic confidence and patience.
In the following weeks, Baskia occupied herself until the spring thawed the rest of the snow, leaving tracks of mud and sand everywhere. But the sky was blue, the air damp and earthen. She welcomed long walks on the trails surrounding the cabin, being able to see the lake again, and the buds emerging on the trees.
One lilac scented afternoon, she jogged along a winding trail behind the cabin, slowing to a walk when she heard rustling ahead. She’d seen plenty of squirrels and chipmunks, awake after the long winter, along with a few deer, and what may or may not have been the hind-end of a bear. She walked carefully.
As she rounded a thick pine tree, a thin grey face turned in her direction and whimpered. Baskia swallowed hard, afraid the dog might be sick or diseased. She started to back away, but it stared at her, its eyes doleful. Frozen, she didn’t know what to do. The stand of trees around her was too high to climb. If she started running, she was sure the animal would attack because everything about its mangy, wolf-like appearance screamed at her to run for her life. The heap of fur moaned.
“Are you okay?” she said, startled by her voice and boldness in the quiet woods. “Are you lost?” She stepped closer. The rest of the dog’s body came into view. It was clearly undernourished. Its ribs jutted out, even through its thick, matted fur. “Oh dear. You poor thing.” Baskia crouched down. “Are you friendly?” She couldn’t turn her back on the animal.
The dog whimpered again as Baskia’s pulse raced. She knew there were critters in the woods like bears and coyotes, but Wes assured her that they’d be more afraid of her, unless she had a bologna sandwich in her pocket, which she didn’t. A starving, sick, lost dog on the other hand?
“If I come closer, will you promise not to bite me?” she asked, knowing it sounded stupid, but also that no one, other than the dog and maybe the birds, could hear her. She was alone, left to her own wits and discernment. Baskia took off her jacket and lifted the animal, without protest, out of the nest of leaves where it had been hiding. He rested his slim head on her arm. “Okay. It’s going to be a long walk. But I’m going to help you. Ready?”
Baskia’s sense of purpose propelled her across the uneven ground carrying the starved, wounded, and lost animal. When she got back to the cabin, she grabbed a blanket off the couch and brought the dog directly to a veterinarian on the edge of town.
While she waited on a wooden bench in the office, her leg bounced anxiously and she read and reread an advertisement for all-natural dog food. When a vet-tech, wearing blue scrubs, came out, she wore a half-smile.
“There’s good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”
Baskia leapt to her feet. “Please—” Concern robbed her of any more words.
“He should be between sixty and eighty pounds, but he’s about thirty-eight. Dr. Muller guessed he’s not quite a year. He’s probably part husky and maybe lab. Either he got lost or someone dumped him up here. That happens a lot. There’s a rescue center with foster care if you—”
“No, I want him. Unless there’s a chance he’s someone’s dog. But that’s all good news. It means he’s going to make it?” Baskia’s heart flitted, suddenly feeling lighter, hopeful.
“No tags in his ear and we’ve searched the lost dog database and there isn’t an animal that fits his description. Of course, someone could come looking for him, but he’s been on his own for a while, at this point it’s doubtful. As for his health, we think he’ll be okay. There are a series of tests that we’re waiting on, but unless anything comes back positive, with a good home and recovery program, he should do fine.”
Baskia burst into tears and wrapped her arms around the woman. After completing paperwork and committing to his care, the dog stayed at the vet for the next few days while Baskia prepared for his arrival.
Taking Daniella with
her, they schlepped into Chesterbury and loaded up on dog food, toys, a bed, and a basket full of treats.
“So what are you going to name him?” Daniella asked, tossing a green bone into the cart.
“I should ask you the same question. Or her,” Baskia said, motioning to Daniella’s belly.
She smiled. “You’ll have to wait and see. The puppy?”
“I can’t decide. I feel like when I get to know him, his name will come to me. Do you know what I mean?”
“He looks like a wolf, with that wild face, but he’s also cuddly. His eyes, they seem to understand.”
“And all that fur,” Baskia added.
^^^
A week after she’d found the dog, she picked him up from the vet. He’d gained a few pounds and his fur was clean and fluffy, hiding his bones. She carried him to the car; the vet encouraged her to let him conserve his energy for recovery, and he looked up into her eyes.
“I think you and I will be a good team,” she said, resting her forehead against his.
Baskia had thought of the future, of college, and having a dog in the city. She knew it would be tricky, but she also knew they could make it work. Her mother was allergic to dogs, or so she said, though Baskia never saw any evidence of sneezing or sniffles when they were around friends and relatives with animals. Maybe her mom didn’t want to deal with the shedding and cleaning, not that she'd ever do chores directly. Baskia had always wanted a dog and wouldn’t give up on the pup. She’d rent an apartment if she had to; take him out for walks three times a day, or hire a walker, and find a dog park. She’d make it work.
“So what’s your name?” she asked her furry companion. “Usually I know the answer to that question before I’m emotionally invested in a man, but then again, where in the world is Tracey Wolfe?”
That night, she hoisted the dog on the couch while she edited photos, softly stroking his fur. He rested his chin in her lap. “Aww. You’re the best, Pepper,” she said and then gasped. “I guess that’s your name. Pepper. Nice to meet you.” She laughed.
On the Mountain (Follow your Bliss #5) Page 22