24. Caden
CHAPTER 24
Caden
“You’re going to need a toque.” Millie has come down from the staff dorms in an entirely inappropriate outfit for heading out on the lake at this time in the morning. I assess her choice of clothing: a flimsy, cropped T-shirt with mid-length sleeves and paper-thin active leggings. Not a jacket or sweater in sight. Does this girl know we are in the mountains? “And double up the rest of the layers while you’re at it.”
“It’s June!” she protests.
“And it’s also 4 a.m.,” I retort. “Go get dressed in something that doesn’t scream ‘I want to freeze to death today’ or we’re not going anywhere.”
“I forgot you were my father, Caden. Silly me…”
I bite back the joke on the tip of my tongue as she saunters back towards the stairwell indignantly. I already took it too far earlier with the maid comments.
Friends don’t flirt.
That being said, I did take great pleasure in seeing the instant crimson flush to her cheeks paired with the momentary flash of fire in her eyes.
Millie returns a moment later, padded out so thoroughly that I swear she’s only done it to mock my request for additional layers. She’s gathered her unruly waves into two thick braids and tucked them under a cream woollen hat with faux fur bobbles on either side. A matching knee-length puffer jacket and sheepskin mittens completes the look. It’s not any more practical than the first, but at least she’ll be warm for the drive.
I make a mental note to grab an extra flannel and windbreaker from the main house before we head out – there’s not a chance a life jacket is fitting over that puffer.
“Better?”
“You look like you’ve taken inspiration from the teddy bear factory, but yes,” I answer, cranking the door open and gesturing for her to go first. “Let’s go, Adams.”
I help Millie up into the passenger side of the truck with a boost, careful to keep my hands squarely on her waist, not an inch above or below.
Doug quickly follows, clambering up into the footwell and resting his shaggy head on her lap before she even has the chance to sit back or fasten her seatbelt.
Millie seems to slot so easily into every area of my life. In the short time she’s been here, it’s already hard to imagine this place without her.
I knew name-dropping Doug would seal the deal on convincing her to spend some time with me. As soon as I mentioned his name, she matched his puppy dog eyes and quickly agreed to let me take her out on the water.
The sky is still pitched black, save for the milky glow from the moon barely dusting the tips of the mountains in light.
I had no intention of boosting out here to catch the first glimmers of pink this morning, but there’s something pretty special about seeing the sun bring the Braid range to life for the first time. And I want to be there to catch the look on Millie’s face.
I find myself wanting to catch all of Millie’s happiest moments.
A blend of soft breaths and sleepy grunts makes its way over to me from the right-hand side of the truck. I sneak a glance to find Doug cocooned in Millie’s lap, his snout cozying in at the nape of her neck. She’s resting her head on his, her mouth slightly open.
It’s a good thing I know this road like the back of my hand and don’t need help navigating. She’s out cold, but I’m grateful for the company, regardless.
I drop my speed a little, careful on the bends to make sure I don’t wake her.
Whenever I come out here, I’m flooded with the bittersweet memories of our final summers together as a family before the crash. We used to come out here every thanksgiving, just before they were due to close off the road to vehicles for the winter. Mom would pack up an array of pastries from Stella’s, and she’d always make sure to get extra cinnamon buns to stop us fighting over them. Josie had a penchant for wanting whatever I wanted at that age, and I hadn’t yet grown to understand just how much I’d do anything for my little sister. So we’d always have at least six cinnamon buns between us. We’d sit out on the boat wrapped in thick blankets with flasks of hot chocolate, and sticky smiles and all of the love in the world, not knowing how soon we’d have to learn to live without it.
No matter how old I get, or how much time spans from the last goodbye, drives like these pull me right back into missing them so much I can’t breathe.
I roll down my window, letting in the chill of the morning.
Millie shifts to the side of me. I can’t imagine it’s comfortable trying to catch up on lost sleep in that gigantic jacket, never mind with a seventy-pound lump of fur adding to the warmth. I gently let a little air in her window, hoping the cool will help her too.
This road is about as well-maintained as the old shed out the back of the main house. It’s no wonder thousands of tourists find their cars in the ditches out here every summer. I keep my eyes focused on the road in front of me. It winds tighter as we get closer to the lake parking lot, gradually switching from patchwork potholes and asphalt, to pure gravel.
Millie shifts again, but this time it’s more of a jerk, and it’s followed by another in the other direction. Her face is tight as she flicks her head from left to right as though she’s trying to shake something off.
I slow to a crawl, concern for Millie instantly erasing my own sadness.
“Stop. Please! Just stop!” Millie cries out, thick tears rolling down her cheeks from tightly closed lids.
“Hey… Adams.” I shake her with my free arm, trying to rouse her from her nightmare. I know too well how painful those can be, and I can’t bear to see her fighting this one right now. “Wake up… hey… wake up.”
“Dad, please!” She’s gasping for air as she writhes in her chair. “It wasn’t her fault! Stop hurting her… please!”
I slam on the breaks, veering to the side of the road, just shy of the ditch. Doug startles, moving off her lap.
I’m rounding the truck and yanking her door open before I even know what my plan is. Spinning her knees, I pull her towards me.
She wakes with a gasp, her eyes glassy and disoriented, not fully taking me in.
Doug whines from the foot well, hating seeing her like this just as much as I am.
“Millie, you’re safe.” I pull her into my chest, not knowing if it’s the right thing to do, but needing to comfort her however I can. “It’s okay, it was just a nightmare. You’re safe, I promise.”
Her arms are dead weights by my side. I step back, bringing my palms up to her cheeks. She’s somewhere else entirely, still trapped between this moment and whatever hell she was remembering.
“Millie, look at me.”
Her eyes meet mine. She swallows as she pulls at the jacket wrapped around her body, struggling for air. I pull at the zipper in one swift movement, freeing her arms and throwing the piece-of-shit puffer into the back of the truck. Her shirt is soaked through.
“I’m… I’m sorry,” she stutters. “It happens sometimes… the dreams. I’m sorry, Caden. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I’m so sorry.”
She’s barely back to reality and her first thought is to apologize. I don’t like that she thinks she has to go there.
“Drink.” I pass her the chilled water bottle I packed earlier, waiting for her to take a gulp before I respond. “Don’t bother saying sorry to me for something that you can’t control, Millie. You hear me? You never have to be sorry. Sometimes the dark shit just finds us when we’re sleeping, but it’s not something you have to apologize for, it’s not your fault.”
“I just—” she wipes at her cheek, as fresh tears replace the old ones, “—I thought I was over this. I’m so fucked up. I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have to deal with this.”
“Look at me.” I tuck her bangs behind her ears, resting a finger underneath her chin. She looks terrified, lost, broken. I’d do anything to take away her pain right now. “It’s not your fault. You’re not fucked up. And even if you were, you think that’d phase me? We’re friends now – you think I’m the type of guy who only sticks around when things are going good?”
I drape a blanket over her shoulders, pulling it tight around her, hoping it’ll bring some warmth back to her.
“You’ll always be safe to be yourself with me, Millie. Even when shit gets rough… Especially when things get rough. You don’t ever have to be sorry.”