by Tish Cohen
“I’m great.”
Gracie came out the front door wearing a BIG SIS T-shirt she’d made herself with a fat Sharpie. In one hand was a sand pail stuffed with her tiny animals. Using the railing, she hopped awkwardly down the stairs. She wedged the pail between packed suitcases and her old high chair in the back seat, then buckled herself in beside them.
Elise climbed into the passenger seat. Matt trudged out of the house again to load another bag into the back, jostling the car and making Elise’s stomach flip. She put a hand on her belly. “The thought of a long car ride is a bit daunting.” She looked back at Matt. “Are there any towels left unpacked—just in case?”
“None.”
“I’ll go borrow one from Cass,” Elise said. She hurried through the bushes to the front of the cabin and knocked on the screen door. “Cass?”
“Come in,” Cass called. “I’m just getting out of the shower. Be right down.”
Inside, the kitchen smelled like baking. Sure enough, there were banana muffins on a plate by the stove. “Do you have an old towel we can borrow? In case, with the car ride, I lose my breakfast.”
“I was the same way with Riv. Nonstop nausea. Try the laundry basket by the back door,” Cass said. “Take any one of those. They’re all old. But clean.”
Elise walked across the back room, noting the half-finished puzzle on the table and a well-loved copy of Margaret Atwood’s The Blind Assassin propped open on the big leather armchair by the window. A life being well lived was what the room felt like.
As she pulled a folded towel from the basket, a stack of photos on an end table caught her eye. Specifically, her husband’s smiling face. She took the stack and flipped through it. Photo after photo of Matt in and around Cass’s cabin, on their back porch. The look in Matt’s eyes was one of sadness. Of a lifetime of memories. Of love.
The last photo stopped her breath.
She’d suspected, but hadn’t known. Until now.
“Don’t you guys leave till I come say goodbye, okay?” Cass called down. “Promise?”
Heart hammering, Elise stared down at her still-bearded husband, asleep. Matt’s beautiful head was resting on a pillow covered in tiny pink florets. Pulled to his chin, a red tartan duvet.
Slowly, carefully, Elise replaced the stack of photos, but took the one of Matt sleeping and grabbed a towel and threw it over her shoulder. On the way back to the car, she folded the photo into quarters and slipped it into her pocket.
Matt was in the driver’s seat, hand shielding his eyes as he watched his wife cross the driveway with a towel and get into the Rover. The engine was running. “Wasn’t she there?”
“House was empty.” Elise avoided his gaze, climbing in and tucking the towel down by her feet. “Let’s motor, what do you guys say?”
They backed out of the driveway and onto the dirt road where the upended canoe used to sit. It now lay shattered at the dump. Matt and Gracie waved goodbye to the big Sorenson shield on the cabin’s face, and the car pulled away. They passed all the gracious homes, the trees, the inns. They turned right onto Saranac, then sped by the heavy pines that bordered Old Military Road. They passed the Olympic Training Center, the Promislow house, and Old John Brown Road.
Elise pushed her hair behind her ears and studied her husband as he fiddled with the car radio. Her clean-faced, freshly devoted husband. His demeanor so relaxed now; the man was completely at peace with himself, his family. He glanced her way. On his lips, a gentle smile as he tucked her hand into a ball and wrapped his fingers around it in the way she loved best.
“You guys,” Gracie said to her menagerie in a bucket, the animals’ heads tilted every which way as if desperate for answers they knew better than to hope for, “are going to learn to hug each other. Because I am going back to school and will be very busy. Plus, I have a donkey named Poppins . . .”
Here they were, driving home together—a family. A growing family.
“And when my sister is born, you have to stay in my room so she doesn’t choke on any of you. If it’s a brother”—Gracie paused to groan—“he’ll probably set you on fire and stuff.”
Matt stifled a chuckle.
Elise thought back to her conversation with Laurel on the plane. About forgiveness. To forgive Andy, no matter how tough his childhood, was not only irresponsible—and impossible as Gracie’s parents—but catastrophically complacent. To look at it any other way was nearly as abhorrent as the offence itself.
Elise’s eyes traveled the curve of the lips Cass had kissed. The jawline she’d caressed. The thick silver hair she’d grabbed hold of while Elise’s husband made her moan.
Matt had betrayed her.
“I can’t be the boss of you furry little weirdos forever,” Gracie mock scolded.
Elise turned to the window and let the scenery go by in a blur. Matt had raised their daughter well in Elise’s absences. He’d been a good father, a patient and insanely supportive husband. And he genuinely wanted this beautiful growing family.
Matt squeezed her fist. “You good?”
Her father’s words came back to her. When a person reaches that low point . . . All they have is their own pain. You can’t judge them on anything else.
She thought of her mother’s newly bare face. Rosamunde needed to get from agony to relief. And a dirty Tercel with the engine running was the only path she saw.
“E?”
As for Matt, he’d lived through a war zone this summer; they both had. Perhaps, just this once, she could suspend judgment and look to the future.
But just this once.
For herself? Whether she forgave herself for her decision that morning in Ronnie’s arena, she’d realized, was and always would be immaterial. What she thought didn’t matter. One day, when her daughter was old enough, Elise would tell her exactly what had happened. Explain that she would spin the world backward if it meant she could undo that moment. And hope that Gracie had it in her heart to forgive her mother’s choice.
“Babe?” said Matt, a hint of concern in his voice. “Still love me badly?”
“I do.” She pulled up their fists to kiss his hand. “And madly.” And, for a while, she thought, a little bit sadly.
This satisfied him. He released her fingers and maneuvered into the fast lane. The car sped south on 73, toward the pretty little twists and bends of the next village and, beyond that, the long stretch home, with Gracie humming contentedly in the back seat.
Acknowledgments
The people of Lake Placid inspired and informed many scenes in this novel. In particular, Jennifer V. Fleishman of New York State Police Troop B, and the staffs at Lake Placid Lodge and The Bookstore Plus—the bookshop I imagined while writing Cass’s book launch.
This story wouldn’t have been possible without the clarity, encouragement, and advice of Daniel Lazar, my sassy and beloved literary agent at Writers House, and Jennifer Lambert, my brilliant and dedicated editor at HarperCollins in Canada. The two of you dared me to get ever more brave with this story. To the inimitable Jackie Cantor at Simon & Schuster in New York for not only giving the book a home in the U.S. but also bringing a swell of insight and clarity that truly made the novel come to life. Appreciation to the fabulous Victoria Doherty-Munro at Writers House, and, always, to the elegant and wise Iris Tupholme at HarperCollins Canada. To Allison McCabe, editor extraordinaire, for finding this story’s spine. Thanks to Sue Sumeraj for sharp-eyed copyedits, and Natalie Meditsky, production editor, for keeping us all on track.
Thank you to Belinda Trussell, two-time Olympian on the Canadian Equestrian Team. That you squeezed me in between training, competing, and precious family time was incredibly generous. To Barbara Fogler for too many reasons to mention, but in particular for splaying open your life with horses. Barbara Sinclair for competition details direct from the sand ring in Wellington, Florida. Nicholas Fyffe for U.S. Olympic qualifying advice from the saddle. The Hartles of the Creemore Equestrian Centre. Marcia, you are an excellent c
oach. Jennifer Kolari, Harriet Goodman, Cassandra Rodgers, and Kassie Evashevski for early reads. Liliana Reyes, Deborah Jiang-Stein, Timothy Fitzpatrick, Pamela MacKinnon, Sydney Cameron, and Geta Winberg for endless patience and support. John Truby for so much story wisdom. The generous and exquisite Caroline Leavitt for the book’s first endorsement. To Dr. Rory Windrim for facts about high-risk labor and brain injuries. Dr. Tony Hanbridge for referring.
The Angel Ladies, Deb and Jean, in Niagara-on-the-Lake, for kindness and counsel when life went off track. Amy MacKinnon in Boston for breathing life into me, for knowing exactly what I needed to hear. Amy’s wisdom and words inspired the scene with Elise and Dr. Jennifer Upton in the medical clinic and changed my life. Gail Konop in Madison, Wisconsin for strength, grit, and laughter. You are a gift, Cowgirl.
To my mother, Patricia Gill, and my father, Lachlan Mackinnon Bleackley II, for instilling in me a love of books from day one and forever telling me I could accomplish anything. Peter Auvinen for a sharp legal eye and knowing just the right moment to knock on the door again.
Finally, most of all, to my sons, Max and Lucas. I cannot believe what incredible young men you’ve become and what you’ve both accomplished already. Go after what you want, my boys. Be brave. It’s all out there waiting for you.
About the Author
TISH COHEN is the author of bestselling novels for adults and young readers, many of them in development for film, including Town House, The Truth about Delilah Blue, and The Search Angel. She lives in Toronto.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at harpercollins.ca.
Copyright
Little Green
Copyright © 2018 by Tish Cohen.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Published by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd
FIRST EDITION
COVER DESIGN BY LAURA KLYNSTRA
COVER PHOTOGRAPH BY STEPHEN MULCAHEY / TREVILLION IMAGES
EPub Edition: June 2018 EPub ISBN: 978-1-44341-087-8
Version 04252018
Print ISBN: 978-1-44341-085-4
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd
Bay Adelaide Centre, East Tower
22 Adelaide Street West, 41st Floor
Toronto, Ontario, Canada
M5H 4E3
www.harpercollins.ca
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication information is available upon request.
LSC/H987654321
About the Publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers Australia Pty. Ltd.
Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street
Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia
www.harpercollins.com.au
Canada
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd
Bay Adelaide Centre, East Tower
22 Adelaide Street West, 41st Floor
Toronto, Ontario, Canada
M5H 4E3
www.harpercollins.ca
India
HarperCollins India
A 75, Sector 57
Noida
Uttar Pradesh 201 301
www.harpercollins.co.in
New Zealand
HarperCollins Publishers New Zealand
Unit D1, 63 Apollo Drive
Rosedale 0632
Auckland, New Zealand
www.harpercollins.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF, UK
www.harpercollins.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
195 Broadway
New York, NY 10007
www.harpercollins.com