22. Sable
CHAPTER 22
sable
“ S he sure gets around, doesn’t she? First Jack, now Heath.”
Well, hell.
A girl couldn’t shop without having people gossip about her loud enough so she could hear them. People needed to get a life, and I needed to get some armor so cruel remarks didn’t touch me. But that was a pipe dream. I was affected. I always had been. In the past, the humiliation hadn’t been quite so red hot as it felt now. What Heath had done had decimated me—my reserves were low, almost non-existent. I could’ve used Instacart to get my groceries, but I wanted to be braver than that, which was why I’d chosen Monday night—in time for football when everyone would be glued to a television screen—to buy food.
I’d felt the eyes of the people on me before I heard the murmurs.
“ He told her to stay away from his daughter. ”
“Well, she should know better than to go against Alexa Vikar.”
“Sleeping with another woman’s husband. Tasteless.”
Screaming, they are divorced , wouldn’t help my cause so I gritted my teeth and pretended I couldn’t hear them.
Aspen was a small town with a big mouth, and I was the favorite punching bag. It sucked. I did a good imitation of doing just fine as I walked the aisles, grabbing what I needed: milk, bread, eggs, vegetables, and meat. My basket felt heavy, even though it wasn’t full. By the time I made it to the checkout counter, my shoulders ached with the heft of more than just the groceries—collective condemnation was a weighty burden.
The cashier, Jillian, a certified gossip monger, scanned my items in silence. I thought I was going to make it out unscathed until she glanced up at me with wide eyes.
“Did you hear the news?” she asked, her tone almost too chipper.
“No.” And, also not interested.
“About Molly and Jack.” She leaned in like she was letting me in on some big secret. “She had the baby this morning. A boy. They’re naming him Caleb.”
My stomach twisted so hard I thought I might throw up right there in the checkout line. Caleb . Of all the names in the world, that was the one they chose?
“Such a cute name, isn’t it?” She maliciously continued.
“Cute,” I agreed. This twit wasn’t going to see me bleed .
I had picked out the name when we’d first started trying for a family. The first time I miscarried, he said, “Don’t worry, Sable, we’ll still have our Caleb one day.” The second time, he didn’t say anything at all.
And now, Molly had Caleb.
At least someone was happy!
“I saw his photograph on Insta, and he’s adorable.”
“I’m sure,” I murmured. Game face on, Sable. Don’t let them see your pain. Don’t let them enjoy that.
She handed me my receipt, and I stuffed it into my bag without looking at it.
“You have a good night, Sable.” Her forced cheerfulness grated against my raw nerves.
But I was stronger than this. “You, too, Jillian,” I pleasantly replied, like I didn’t have a care in the world.
By the time I got to my car, the whispering in the store felt like a distant echo. I climbed into the driver’s seat and sat there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white. My groceries sat in the passenger seat, the bag crinkling faintly as I let out a shaky breath.
I leaned my head back against the headrest, staring at the ceiling of the car. Memories hit me like a freight train—moments I’d tried so hard to bury.
I felt like I was back in high school, walking the halls of Aspen High, trying to be as small as possible so no one would notice me.
“Hey, trailer trash!”
I turned, my cheeks already burning, to see Alexa and Leslie leaning against their lockers. Alexa’s perfect smile widened as she gestured to my shoes—scuffed, off-brand sneakers that had seen better days.
“Those new?” she asked, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. “Or did you find them in the dumpster behind the Woody Creek market?”
Leslie laughed, covering her mouth with one manicured hand.
When I married Jack, I’d thought, there, now I was respectable. But it hadn’t worked that way, had it?
“ You’re not really going to wear that to the dinner, are you ?” Jack would often ask, his tone so casual it almost sounded like he wasn’t criticizing me.
Or the way he’d sigh when we hosted his friends.
“ You could’ve made something a little fancier ,” he said, glancing at the cheese gougères I’d spent hours perfecting. “ Sean’s wife always makes these amazing hors d'oeuvres .”
After the miscarriages, it got worse.
“ I just think you’re too wound up, Sable. Maybe if you relaxed more, you won’t have another miscarriage ,” he said after I lost our first baby when I was eleven weeks pregnant.
The doctor was kind and considerate and said these things happen, especially since I was in my mid-thirties.
I lost my babies. I lost my husband. Now, I’d finally lost my dignity, thanks to Heath.
Wearily, I started the engine and drove home. The roads were dark and empty.
When I stepped inside my little cottage, it felt cold and lonely. I set the groceries on the kitchen counter, put them away mechanically, and poured myself a glass of wine.
I sat at the dining table, staring at the blank notebook I kept there for making to-do lists.
I didn’t want to do this anymore. The gossip, the whispers, the judgment—it had been a constant whine in the background of my life for as long as I could remember. I’d thought I could rise above it. That owning the Wildflower, carving out my little piece of Aspen, would prove them all wrong.
But I was the one who had been proven wrong when I was revealed as a bona fide failure.
I picked up a pen and opened the notebook to a fresh page.
If I was lucky, I had another thirty to forty years of my life left. Years to build something better somewhere else because staying here wasn’t living. Hell, it was barely surviving. I wanted more than that.
I wrote a plan—sell the Wildflower, find a new town, and start fresh.
I started by making a list of people I could approach about selling the Wildflower if Ben turned me down. Then I made another list—a list of what I wanted in a place to live.
I wanted somewhere with seasons—a place where it snowed in the winter, turned hot in the summer, blossomed in the spring, and painted the world in fiery reds and golds in the fall. I wanted a small town, but not too small—a place with charm and community but also with the amenities of a big city, such as museums, restaurants, and parks…a place where life felt rich and full, even in the quiet moments, and gossip was not the favorite pastime.
As the words filled the page, a sense of calm settled over me.
It was like they said, the best revenge was living a good life. I’d do that in a new city.
I was full of excitement as I got ready for bed. But once I lay in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, I knew that I didn’t really believe that my future would be better than my present or my past. I had a sinking feeling that this was my lot in life. Despair kept me awake, and when I finally slept, nightmares of Heath screaming at me plagued me.
I woke up the next day feeling hungover, even though I’d only had a glass of wine the night before. My body felt heavy like it was fighting against the very idea of getting out of bed. But I persevered. I showered, dressed, and made myself look halfway presentable, even though the person staring back at me in the mirror looked like a stranger—hollow-eyed and weary.
I kept busy during the lunch hour. A large group of tourists had come in, which was a blessing. They kept us on our toes, and my revenue for the day looked up. After the lunch crowd left, the bar was quiet except for the music and faint noises as Casey tidied up.
Ben came a few hours after lunch. He sat at the bar and asked for a cup of coffee.
When I slid it in front of him, black like tar, the way he liked it, he gave me a once over. “You look like you didn’t sleep a wink last night. I think the look you’re sporting is called raccoon eyes.”
“Thanks.” I scanned the Excel sheet that listed our expenses, feeling the weight on my shoulders grow heavy. “That's just what a woman wants to hear first thing in the afternoon.”
He chuckled softly. “I call it like I see it.”
I leaned against the counter, my laptop between us. “Will you buy the Wildflower from me? I’ll give you a good deal. I’ll…ah…take a loss from what I paid.”
That wiped the smile off his face. He set his coffee down, his brows knitting together. “You want to sell? Already?”
I nodded, avoiding his eyes. “I’m tired, Ben, worn out. I think it’s time for me to leave Aspen.”
He studied me. “And where would you go?”
“I don’t know yet,” I admitted. “But I have a list of places that I’m considering. I just want to start over without all the Aspen baggage.”
“Sable, you’ve already started over. Right here.”
I shook my head, frustration bubbling up inside me. “This doesn’t feel like a fresh start. I feel like I’m treading water, barely keeping my head above the surface. I’m tired of fighting so damn hard just to exist in this town.”
His eyes softened. “You’ve been through hell. I won’t argue with that. But you’ve also built something here. The Wildflower is yours. Are you really ready to walk away from it?”
“Yes,” I mumbled. But the word felt hollow, like a lie I was trying to convince myself of .
Ben tilted his head. “Let me ask you something. Are you tired of the Wildflower, or are you tired of everything else? The gossip, the judgment, the way this town makes you feel like you don’t belong?”
I didn’t answer because I wasn’t sure I could get the words past the tears in my throat.
“You like running this place, Sable.”
“I do,” I admitted. “But…I can’t face the gossip anymore.”
Was I being a coward? Hell, yeah . Did I give a shit? Absolutely not . I’d paid my dues. It was time to collect.
Ben moved my computer farther away on the counter and took both my hands in his. “I believe you need to give yourself some time before making a life-altering decision. Get through the upcoming ski season. See how you feel after. If you still want to sell and leave, I’ll help you. I’ll even repurchase the place—no loss to you. But don’t make choices when you’re feeling like this.”
“I’ve always felt like this,” I snapped, the sharpness in my voice surprising even me.
“Like you’re drowning?”
“I’m tired, Ben,” I confessed.
“I know,” he remarked softly. “But tired isn’t forever.”
I shook my head, blinking back the sting of tears. “I feel like I’ve given everything I’ve had. There’s nothing more left.” But the truth was that my heart was broken this time in a way I wasn’t sure it would ever mend.
“You’ve got more than you think,” he assured me. “ And you’ve got people who care about you. Casey, Mackenna, Hillary, Natasha, me. You’re not alone.”
I didn’t respond, too afraid that if I opened my mouth, I’d break.
“Run towards something, Sable, not away,” he advised.