36. Thirty-Six
Thirty-Six
LENA
T he second Friday after Ben left (because that’s how I measure time now), I stand on our upper deck with a dozen hopeful, somewhat pitying faces staring at me. It’s our Friday meeting—the first one in a while because I haven’t felt up for it.
Don’t think about that now.
I hold my clipboard to my chest like a shield as everyone settles in the mismatched patio furniture I’ve dragged together.
They help themselves to lemonade and lemon-mint cupcakes, another new creation that tastes of summer.
Though it’s not anymore. It’s fall. October.
Still warm, but less humid. Behind me, beyond the pond, color bursts from the changing trees amid the static pines.
Reds, oranges, and yellows remind me of nutmeg, cinnamon, and allspice.
It’s like the woods are coming to life, but they’re actually dying, a final burst of vivid expression before the end.
The cold emptiness of winter soon will turn the world bleak.
My world’s already there.
A centering breath brings a weak smile as the chatter softens. “Thanks for meeting me. I have some big changes to announce.”
But my voice hitches when Ben and Ruthie round the corner of the house. He’s early. The second surprise is his friendly demeanor, light smile, and gentle wave, as if all is well.
“I’ll get my teapot,” Ruthie says, realizing she’s made it just in time for my sometimes -weekly meeting. Her boots flap as she races inside.
Ben doesn’t disappear like I expect. He leans against the outside wall of our bedroom— my bedroom, now—and signs for me to go on.
I hesitate. We’ve gone from estranged to strangers the longer we’ve been apart. Now, I’m nervous when I see him, like I might fuck up and do or say or be something that ends us once and for all.
It used to be this place that edged on brokenness toward being unlivable.
Now, that place is us.
On the first appointment with Dr. Reese since he left, he said he’d accepted the job, he only had to sign the contract and undergo training before starting the position in the new year.
Not only that, he’s excited. He’s been spending more time with the Rileys—events not shared on the family calendar.
He says it’s helping him remember who he was before he sustained his injuries, and it’s been almost a relief. For him, anyway.
So, while Ruthie and I have spent our evenings tackling farm chores and eating dinners alone or with Dot and Cherry, he’s reunited with his former second family over seafood nights and fancy dinners.
It’s hard not to feel betrayed by my husband’s happiness without me, as if I’ve been holding him back—a sentiment I shared tearfully when Dr. Reese asked how this made me feel.
When she asked Ben his response to my feelings, he said, “Yes. Saddletree, Lena’s anxiety, and her busyness sometimes feel all-consuming. Her world often feels too big for me.”
There’s that fucking bus again, honking as it peels away from my trampled body.
In the second appointment with Dr. Reese since he left, he admitted to enjoying his independence. He claims it’s curing his indecisiveness.
I told him it was selfish—a word I wanted to rescind as soon as I said it. But how could I not feel angry and hurt?
Ben’s making me feel like we’re a lost cause. And it’s killing me.
Staying busy is the only choice. But his being here, mixing in with the only thing besides Ruthie that’s kept me going, blurs the lines he’s established, making me nervous.
Worse, everyone sees it.
After an unbearable pause, Trisha says, “Lena has mastered our new software!”
She claps, and the group joins in, snapping me out of my dysfunction.
I chuckle with a weak bow. “I’ve started calling it my bitch—that’s how well I’ve mastered it. Our records are now dancing around in the cloud and have shared some surprising insights into Saddletree…”
I clear my throat, glancing at my notes and finding a weak footing in my mental fog. “Um, first, Saddletree’s profits could be much better if I pared down my menu to my top sellers and seasonal favorites. I’ve provided a new sample menu for when we reopen—”
“When are we reopening?” Mr. Wickers asks.
“December first. The studio will make its grand exit by Halloween—”
Mild applause.
“And I’m hoping for an amazing Thanksgiving. Lucas, Drew, and Luna might fly in—we’re in talks. Ben’s family, um, maybe.” My eyes catch his, only for a second, lest I fall apart. “Anyway, December first.”
Ruthie spills from the sliding glass doors of our bedroom, barely managing her teapot full of lemonade. She starts doing her rounds, making me smile. She had her first sleepover with Ben at Becca’s house last night.
The house felt so quiet I wanted to scream. And I did, a little.
“Wow, this menu is short and bakery-forward,” Tessa points out, glancing up from her iPad.
“We’re focusing on what we’re best at—baking. I’m cutting out most soups, all casseroles, and half the sandwiches. We’ll stick with typical café fare and picnic foods, but I want to concentrate on special orders again.”
“Wait, where are the bran muffins?” Mr. Wickers eyes the screen over Trisha’s shoulder.
My nose scrunches. “Sorry, Mr. Wickers. Bran muffins didn’t make the cut.”
“No one likes those muffins, Gus.” Trisha taps his knee to soften the blow. “Lena, I love this menu.”
With a smiling nod, I glance at my guests and nearly choke when I remember the woman beside Alice. “Oh, damn. Sorry, everyone. Where’re my manners?”
I motion toward her. “Alice brought a friend today. This is Marnie Strange.”
The gorgeous, petite redhead stands and offers a bubbly wave. “Hello, everyone!”
“We’re in talks to feature Saddletree’s baked goods at her grocery store.”
“Well, not my grocery store. But yes, we’d love showcasing Lena’s treats. Thanks for including me today,” Marnie says. “It’s fascinating, like joining Mr. Wonka to tour his chocolate factory. I can’t wait to work with you… and please, don’t let me interrupt any further.”
When Alice introduced us earlier, I sized her up immediately. She’s a yes-person. No excuses. No complaints.
Just yes.
Yoga at dawn?
Yes.
Round up for charity?
Yes.
Can you… will you… have you… Yes, yes, yes.
And not dutifully, but in an affirming way, like life’s a great adventure. Her positivity drew me in and warmed me in its wake.
I only hope my new friend doesn’t catch on to the tension suffocating me.
I take a deep breath. Focus.
I motion to Shakespeare and his friends, occupying the settee to my right. “We have our van! Shakespeare is our official driver, hayride tour guide, and delivery guy. Martin and Rick will handle dishwashing and farm chores. Plus, Shakespeare will secure extra help for Alice.”
“I’m the man with the van and the plan to lend a hand,” he coos, bowing his head.
“I’m ready to put Shakespeare and friends to work on holiday orders,” Alice says.
“Perfect, we can schedule everything via the app,” I say, holding up my iPad, “and he’ll know where he’s needed and when.”
“Nothing to fear, Shakespeare will be there.” He holds up his phone with a woot-woot of triumph.
Marnie claps at his enthusiasm.
I motion toward Ben. “Thanks to Ben for coming up with the van plan.”
He gets brief muted applause since Dot and Cherry refuse to clap—they aren’t fans right now. But he nods slightly and says, “It’s no trouble.”
I refocus on my notes. “Other changes… Oh, this is a big one. I won’t be replanting the garden next spring.”
Alice’s gasp sounds like a gunshot. She even grabs her heart, like she can’t handle the news. “Your beautiful garden?”
My brow pinches, and I wonder if Mom would’ve had the same reaction. I started that garden because of her, the seeds she sent for my birthday, but it’s become too much for me to handle.
“I hate losing it, too, but it’s not profitable and difficult to manage. I’ll create a smaller kitchen garden on the less populated side of the main house, but it won’t be open to the public.”
“Lena, babe, how ‘bout I make you some window boxes for the wraparound deck?” Dot suggests. “It’ll add a garden vibe without the heavy labor.”
“I’d love that. Thanks, Dot.”
“It’s a brave decision,” Mr. Wickers says, “letting go of the old to usher in the new.”
“Um, thanks. It’s not brave but necessary.
Change is good if it’s for the right reasons.
” My voice falters—too many things are hitting close to home, and they’re made harder with him here.
“It’s more important to me to be a better manager and more available to my family than keeping a garden…
That’s why I’m also reducing our schedule.
Saddletree will be closed Mondays and Tuesdays. ”
“Geez, Lena. It’s like a total Saddletree makeover,” Cherry says, “but I agree. It’s just like with dating. You don’t want to be too available.”
“Leave it to you to put it into dating terms, but yes,” I chuckle.
“That’ll be much easier for me with school,” Tessa says.
“I want more time with you, Tessa. So, if you’re free on Tuesday afternoons, we can bake without distractions.”
She sits up in her lawn chair with a half-eaten lemon-mint cupcake in her hand. “Yes, perfect. I want to experiment with you. These things are amazing!”
“Delicious!” Marnie chimes in.
“Thanks. We’ll do all sorts of creating. I’ve left an opening on the menu for a bake of the day—that’s for us, Tessa.”
The way she beams fills me with joy I haven’t felt in a long time. It takes a minute to compose myself and keep from crying.
“But it’s not all about downsizing.” Ruthie hands me a tiny cup, and I pause for a dainty sip, pinky out. “Thanks, honey. I’m expanding one aspect of Saddletree. The support groups.”
I can’t help but look in Ben’s direction—his arms are folded, but his brow perks up.