Celebrations and Confetti At Cedarwood Lodge

by Rebecca Raisin

  Timothy grabbed my arm. “Wait,” he said. “A few of the old gang are getting together next week, they’d love to see you. Micah will be there.”

  “Umm, yeah…” I said distractedly as Scarlett, the girl with the most angelic cherubic face, stood behind her father dragging her index finger along her throat. Was she warning me to say no? What was that! I had zero clue about children, but it did intimidate me. She who could handle the worst bridezillas was scared of a five-year-old!

  Tim, oblivious to my hesitation, said, “So it’s a date! See you at Shakin’ Shack. Micah knows the details.” He bent to kiss my cheek as I mumbled about confirming closer to the day.

  They walked away hand in hand as Scarlett turned once more to glare at me. What had I just agreed to?

  Really, though, it would be good to see the gang again. Over time, we’d lost contact, but I often thought about them. Would I be the only one who was still trying to make sense of her life? Timothy radiated a cool, calm vibe like he was exactly where he was meant to be, and I was his polar opposite, fumbling with making basic conversation. The collected Manhattanite in me had vanished and was replaced with the former version of myself. Imagine if they knew I’d been fired and shunned in New York, would they secretly think I deserved it for being ambitious when I left Evergreen? Only to return home, tail between my legs, buying the lodge on whim, and claiming I’d make it something great?

  With a deep steadying breath I gave myself a pep talk, and tried to quash any crisis of confidence. Further ahead Kai was leaning against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, like he was in contemplation.

  “There you are.”

  Kai had one leg against the wall, soft sunlight making him sleepy-eyed. “Sorry, I had to take that call. It was about another job. Looks like it’ll be Christmas in San Francisco for me.”

  San Francisco… the other side of the country. My heart dropped knowing Kai wouldn’t be around for the renovation of the chapel or the chalets. I felt a pang of sorrow that he’d be elsewhere and for Christmas Day too. I always knew he’d be leaving, but a part of me wanted to host a Christmas Day party for the staff who were away from family and make it special.

  “Who was that guy?” he asked.

  “Oh.” I waved him away. “Just an old friend.”

  Kai raised a sardonic brow. “Cute kids.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, cute. Let’s go to the hardware store, I need to find Imelda.” Angst sat heavy in my belly and I had the overwhelming sensation I’d let life pass me by whilst trying to reach the unattainable in my career. Was I doing it again, setting myself up for failure? What would I have left this time if Cedarwood didn’t work out?

  Kai put his hands on my shoulders. “Breathe. Your shoulders are up around your ears.”

  I wiggled from his grasp, but he held me firm. “Take a deep breath, and count to five…” Kai was often mystical, like some kind of surfer yogi, and I just didn’t understand it. How would holding my breath for five seconds achieve anything? Even being rewarded by staring into the ocean blue of his calming gaze wasn’t enough to make me believe.

  “I’m fine, Kai. Really. I’ll count to ten later to make up for it. Let’s go.”

  With one of his penetrating looks he said, “Clio, seriously, you hold so much stress in your body, it’s toxic. Just chill for five seconds.”

  I willed my eyes not to roll, but he was so sure it would fix everything I didn’t have the heart to ignore him again. “Fine. One, two, threefourfive. There. I’m cured.” I grabbed his hand and dragged him across the road, surprised to feel a tingle racing up my arm from his touch. Kai had the sort of hands that were made for holding, I guess. Strong, warm hands.

  Walter, Imelda’s son, was standing by the cash register, spooling a ream of escaped receipt paper.

  “Well, hello, Clio. Would have recognized you anywhere after Mom’s description of you, Carrie Bradshaw hair indeed. Though don’t tell anyone I know who Carrie Bradshaw is, I’d never live it down.” Walter had a ruddy complexion and deep set eyes, just like his father. He wore a checked shirt and suspenders, which somehow suited him, being holed up in a hardware store, which was ripe with the scent of old motor oil and dust.

  I winked. “Your secret is safe with me. Is Imelda here?” Even though they claimed they retired years ago, according to Micah Imelda was often found here, he said she couldn’t quite let go of her working life. Edgar too, tinkered around with tools, and swept up the workshop, their days too long without something to keep their heads and hands busy.

  “Mom’s out back in the office.” He jerked his thumb in the direction. “Says she had to tidy up some paperwork, even though my wife does it these days.” He shrugged. “What she means is, she’s double checking the figures because she can’t grasp that anyone else could do it right. Who am I to argue?” There was no malice in his voice, just deep-seated admiration.

  “They need to find a hobby, maybe?” I smiled and then dropped my voice. “While I’ve got you, can I ask a favor?”

  He nodded.

  “I want to do a slide show of photos that we can play before the speeches. Set to music, maybe songs they’ve loved over the years? A photo montage of their love through each decade.”

  Walter grinned. “Now you’re talking! Mom and Dad would love that.”

  “But let’s keep it between us?”

  “Your secret is safe with me.” He repeated my earlier sentiment.

  I smiled. “Can you get hold of some photos without them knowing?”

  Walter thumbed his chin. “It wasn’t long ago that Dad had all his photos scanned and saved in the cloud – that was a fun day explaining what the cloud was. How about I copy the photos onto a USB and you can choose which suit?”

  “That’d be perfect. And what about music? Any chance you can take a flick through their albums and let me know what stands out, what songs you remember hearing?”

  At that he rolled his eyes dramatically. “I wouldn’t even have to look. Dad serenaded Mom with Percy Sledge’s When a Man Loves a Woman at their wedding, and then every year evermore but Dad can’t sing a jot, and he’s so out of tune it’s actually painful to hear but Mom seems to like it.”

  I let out a burble of laughter imagining Edgar warbling to Imelda in spite of being tone deaf. “Gosh, they’re adorable. OK so that can be the first song, and can you email me the titles of any others that mean something to them?”

  “Sure,” his face broke into a huge grin, making the resemblance between him and Edgar more obvious. “They’re really excited about the party, Clio. And what you’re doing will thrill them, it really will. I can sneak over to their house this afternoon for a recon mission and send it all to you.”

  Kai wandered over, his basket full of pipes and tubes and god knows what.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” I said, grinning at the huge smile on his face. Men and hardware stores, even the surfer yogi wasn’t immune. “I’m going to have a quick chat with Imelda and then I’ll meet you at Puft later?” Kai nodded as they fell into serious conversation about amps of drills and which battery had the longest life.

  Imelda’s office was meticulously tidy, with stacks of yellowing paperwork in neat straight piles and a scented candle flickering on the table.

  “Hello, pretty girl!” Her face crinkled into a smile. “What’s been happening at the lodge?”

  I detailed the progress we’d made and where I was at in terms of the preparations. “What about a dance, Imelda? I know you’re wheelchair bound, but you can still share a moment, right? Your favorite song, you two on the dancefloor?”

  Her face brightened. “Oh, that’s a great idea! With Edgar propping me up I can stand for a little while, at least… How about a love song, and me and Edgar standing in each other’s arms for as long as we can?”

  “Yes! Let me find a special song.” I would dim the lights, and it would be so romantic, I bet there wouldn’t be a dry eye in the house.

  After discussing the p
arty with Imelda, who exclaimed over every tidbit with glee, I headed to Puft and crossed my fingers my aunt was in. From the gaggle of customers still queuing I bet she hadn’t had time to do anything except work since she returned from her cruise but I was eager to see her.

  As I squinted through the glass the front door burst open, bells jangling noisily together. “Well there you are! I’d recognize those curls at fifty paces!” Aunt Bessie’s husky voice boomed, startling me.

  “Aunt Bessie, you look amazing!” With a full face of heavy make-up, and bleached blonde teased-up hair, Aunt Bessie hadn’t changed one iota, there was no evidence of a single laugh line and I expected she’d had some cosmetic help. She wore a tight fitting sweater that accentuated her big bust, and tight jeans that exposed her curves – very Dolly Parton-esque.

  “Well shucks. It’s the eight glasses of water I drink a day, you know.” She winked comically. “I expected to see you in overalls but I should’ve known the big city would change my girl!” She let out a cackle that drew the attention of her customers. “Tell me what’s been going on over at Cedarwood. I’ve spent the better part of the morning trying to escape this place to visit you but these people had other ideas,” she gestured at the patrons filling almost every table.

  Aunt Bessie motioned to a table, and told the young girl behind the counter to bring us coffee and a serve of cookies and cream donuts with an extra helping of chocolate sauce.

  I raised a brow.

  “You’ll work it off running around that lodge of yours. Now tell me everything.” Aunt Bessie was a breath of fresh air, and I felt like I could do anything, be anything with her on my side. I waxed lyrical about the renovations, and Edgar and Imelda’s party and my plans to meet with the old gang. I managed to gloss over the reasons for leaving New York and thankfully she was too eager to hear about the lodge and didn’t notice.

  She raised her eyebrows. “The old gang? Does that include Timothy?” His name came out sing-songy, and I could see where I got the same urge from to tease Micah.

  I studied my nails to buy time. “It does, as well you know. Stop fishing.”

  She feigned surprise, putting a hand on her bust. “Me? Fishing? I was merely asking about one of your oldest friends.” The gleam in her eye suggested otherwise.

  Expertly, I changed the subject and focused on Micah’s reluctance for romance and how obvious it was that he and Isla were perfect for each other. “Sounds like we need to meddle.”

  “I think you’re right.” I clasped my fingers, plotting. “How about I invite Isla here for coffee and I also invite Micah, but then, dang, I can’t make it…”

  Her heavily made-up eyes widened. “And I’m here to pass on the message: look kids, why don’t you sit together, Clio says everything is under control and you might as well take an hour to relax… How does that sound?”

  Only my aunt would understand my motivations and back me up. “Sounds like love is in the air…”

  We gossiped about every little thing, and Aunt Bessie promised to visit once she was caught up at Puft. It wasn’t until I was back at the lodge that I realized she hadn’t mentioned my mom and her radio silence. Maybe Aunt Bessie wanted to see Mom in person first before making excuses for her?

  Back at the lodge that afternoon I was sitting at the trestle table in the kitchen as Isla walked in. I made a show of shuffling paperwork and letting out loud sighs of frustration.

  “You need a hand?” she asked.

  I fumbled some more, and tried my best to look piqued. “What I need is some time away from all of this.” I gestured to my notebook, which was filled with loping red scribbles.

  She gave me a sympathetic arm squeeze. “Why don’t you take some time off tomorrow? I’m sure we can cover for you.”

  Dang it. “Erm. Maybe. What about you, Isla. I’ve been so busy I haven’t even asked how you’re feeling. How are you settling in here?”

  She flicked the kettle on. “I’m great. Beat, you know, but that’s part of the job. It’s a good kind of tired. The garden is really taking shape.” She flashed a smile and pottered about making coffee, grabbing a tin of biscuits.

  I leaned back, rocking on my chair. “And what about the other staff? No problems with anyone?” Gosh, I couldn’t work out how to bring the conversation around to Micah without making it blindingly obvious, was I losing my touch as match maker?

  “Everyone’s been great, really friendly and supportive.” She held up an empty cup towards me and I nodded yes for coffee.

  “If you need an extra pair of hands let me know. With the party deadline, I know I’ve put you under pressure and I’m sure Micah can help you.”

  At the mention of his name she flushed scarlet. “Oh… yes. About that.” She chewed her lip while she pondered.

  “What is it?” I urged her on.

  Her gaze darted over my shoulder to the hallway, and as she turned back she dropped her voice to a whisper. “Can I ask you something… and I hope you won’t take it the wrong way?” She fidgeted with the handle of her cup.

  “Sure.”

  “Are you and Micah… like, together?” She looked downright mortified at her question.

  I furrowed my brow. “A couple?”

  She nodded. “Sorry if it’s too personal, I just wondered, you seem to be so in tune.”

  I shook my head, and laughed. “No, no, he’s like the brother I never had. Just best friends. And we’re in tune because we’ve known each other for a million years. Why do you ask?” I tried not to grin, but my lips twitched in spite of it. She liked him!

  Her face flushed a deeper shade of scarlet, bringing out her freckles. “Sorry, I just wondered. I’m not interested in him or anything like that.” A nervous high-pitched giggle escaped.

  Sure.

  I kept my mouth shut and hoped she’d explain herself to break the silence.

  “It’s only… I just thought, well, urgh,” she played with the length of her ponytail and tried to compose herself. “He just seems like a really amazing guy, and I thought there was no way he’d be single, and I was curious. Just curious.”

  “He’s single. Totally single.” She wasn’t paying attention, her eyes were glazed as if she was stuck in a daydream. Time to move on to: Operation Cupid. “Hey, do you want to meet in town for lunch tomorrow? My aunt owns the Puft bakery and I’ve found the best way to recharge and reenergize is by stuffing your face full of sugary snacks, what do you say?”

  With a few blinks she was back to me. “I’d love to. I’ve walked past it and have been meaning to stop in.”

  “So meet there at lunchtime?”

  “Deal.”

  I picked up the paperwork, and my cup of coffee. “I better make some inroads then. See you tomorrow.”

  I went and found Micah and spun the same story. He eagerly accepted, though was concerned about the toll Cedarwood was taking on me. “I’m fine, Micah. Nothing an hour off with my best friend won’t fix, right?” I gave him a dazzling smile, all the while wondering what kind of wedding dress would suit Isla. What flowers she’d choose for her bouquet…

  “Right,” he grinned, none the wiser. “So lunchtime? We’ll drive there together?”

  Shoot! “If you don’t mind, I’ll meet you there. I’ve got some errands to run… erm… afterwards.”

  He was busy masking up the stairwell bannister for the painters, and nodded distractedly. “OK, sure, I’ll drive myself there.”

  “Perfect. And my treat, too.”

  He laughed. “Now you’re talking.”

  Chapter Eight

  “So canapés, my darling!” Georges the caterer brandished a plate of tiny morsels that had my mouth watering. He was a big, round jovial sort, with a shiny bald head and a whopping great laugh, and I’d known him ever since I was a little girl when he worked for Aunt Bessie before starting his own catering company. Unfortunately his business was flailing, according to the word around town. I felt for Georges, it would’ve been darn near impossible to
make a living here catering. He travelled far and wide for clients out of necessity, but the costs were exorbitant and ate into his profit. Today he arrived with tasting plates for the canapés for Imelda’s party and I hoped we’d be able to work together going forward.

  “Georges, wow. I wasn’t expecting anything so inventive! These look amazing! What’s this?” I pointed to a shot glass filled with yellow soup, and topped with some kind of mini bread.

  “That’s a saffron and prawn bisque with shrimp toast. Very popular. And this,” he pointed to a Chinese soup spoon filled with fragrant meat and fresh herbs, “is Peking duck inspired. All of these are miniature versions of gourmet meals. There’s not a prawn cocktail or chicken skewer in sight!”

  I let out a volley of laughter. Poor Georges, and how I’d underestimated him. “Sorry, Georges. It was unforgiveable, what I said. I thought…”

  “You thought because we live in a backwater my culinary skills were also stuck in the nineties. It’s OK. I get it.” His rotund body shimmied as he laughed. “Let’s take a look at the kitchen,” Georges said, bundling up our napkins.

  I gathered up the tasting plates and followed behind.

  “That’s one problem, Georges. The kitchen is not exactly finished yet. Or,” I gulped, “… started. But it will be. Trust me, by the party you’ll have yourself a shiny new spic and span space with all the modern gadgets you could ask for.” I only hoped that was true. Our craftsman was dillydallying and time was running out. We wandered into the kitchen, Georges casting a keen eye over the old cooktop.

  He folded his arms over his chef whites and his face paled to match. “When are they starting it?”

  “Soon,” I said. “Very soon.”

  Georges sighed good naturedly and shook my hand. “I can see this being the start of a beautiful friendship,” he winked and laughed that deep belly cackle of his. “Let’s just hope I don’t have to cook in this…”

  The next day I bounced out of bed and went to my office, taking a pot of coffee almost big enough to drown in, and planned to tick off my to-do list. I updated social media, sharing more photos, and checking the insights – seeing how the pages were growing. I had an enquiry about a baby shower which I replied to, sending examples of menus and room styles and sizes. I tried not to worry about the salons being finished on time, and instead focused on responding enthusiastically about Cedarwood’s charms. It was only an enquiry, not a booking so I could panic later if they wanted to go ahead.