Chapter 20
SHADE
I fucking suck at gift giving.
My family wasn’t ever huge on it while I was growing up, and still to this day, we’ll only do stockings at Christmas. Every few birthdays, they’ll surprise me with something I’ve been bugging them about, but other than that, we simply don’t do it.
Mom always valued time together more than she did gifts.
That’s the way I was raised, yet I’ve still tried to figure out how to properly spoil the other people in my life.
With friends like Bryce and Daisy, I’ve had to adapt.
Not bringing gifts for them on their birthdays or Christmas grew impossible pretty quickly.
Now, I make sure to carve out time to go shopping for my favourite couple.
Today was the first time I’ve gone into a store with someone other than them on my mind.
Cherry Peak was a quick drive after work, but I closed up late, and my options were limited for where to go.
I could have waited until tomorrow or the weekend to grab what I needed, but I didn’t want to. It was today or nothing.
Now, the sketchbook feels heavy where I’ve tucked it under my arm. The steps up to Millie’s cabin are old and rickety, and I make a note to mention them to Shelly on my way out. With the shoes Millie wears, these stairs are an accident waiting to happen.
Blowing out a breath, I knock on the door and wait. Her car is parked in the same place it was the first time I was here, so I know she’s home. But the longer I stand here without hearing a single footstep inside . . .
“Millie?” I call, knocking again.
Still, there’s no answer. No movement or sound from inside. I jiggle the handle and find it locked. With a frown, I sidestep the door and look through the window, searching for her. All I see are an empty dining set and a kettle on the same stove burner as it was when I was here last.
Stepping back, I take another look at the door. Still nothing.
The stairs creak again as I clop down them and head for the path coming from the cabin.
It cuts through the trees and leads to the gravel road that runs through the entire campground.
I walk down the road for a few minutes, searching the day-use picnic area and calling her name through the women’s showers.
She’d never shower there, but shit, I don’t know where else she could be.
Not unless she felt like going for a cold dip after all.
Shelly’s familiar smile greets me a few feet up the road. She lifts her hand and waves.
“Shade?”
“Hey, Shelly.”
“What are you doing here?” she asks, a glow in her eyes that almost makes me laugh.
“Have you seen Millie? She wasn’t at her place.”
“I dropped her off at the laundry cabin a half hour ago. She had quite the stack of clothes to wash.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, that isn’t surprising.”
“You know, she could probably use some company. Those machines are so old they take hours to finish up.”
“Ever thought of upgrading them?” I ask, knowing the answer already.
“The new ones aren’t built to last as long as these old ones were. They’d break in a year with how often they’re used, and then I’d be left figuring out how to sell pictures of my toes on the internet to snag some cash,” she harumphs.
“I’m sure your feet are worth millions, Shelly.”
With a pat to my shoulder, she winks. “Go on now. Bring her whatever it is you’re hiding there.”
“Nothing gets past you,” I tease, already moving around her.
“Not much, that’s for sure. It was nice to see you, sweetie.”
“Hey, Shelly?” I call before she can get more than two steps away.
She pauses, glancing at me over her shoulder. “Yes?”
“Can you have Kirk come out and stabilize the porch steps at Millie’s cabin? They’re wobbly.”
“Of course. He’ll get out there today. Anything else?” she asks, smirking like she’s just been told some kind of secret.
“Nah, that’s it. Thanks, Shelly. Have a good rest of your day.”
Chuckling, I wave at her before turning and continuing down the road.
Fuck, I haven’t been to the campground this many times since I was a kid.
Walking down these paths and roads and smelling the clean mountain air has me feeling a way I haven’t since.
It’s impossible to be uptight around here, like the breeze moving through the trees carries more than just a sense of security. Freedom and peace too.
The last cabin along the road was built up on a small hill, hidden by thick trees and a few raspberry bushes.
It’s the most secluded one, lacking so much as a drive up to the front.
The only way to reach the door is to climb up through the small path in the woods, which is why Rowe stayed there for a large chunk of time once he got out of prison.
Nobody but me and Shelly knew he was here.
Not even Ash. We kept it that way because we knew he wasn’t ready then to take on the town or his family. Nobody could blame him for that.
I pass the cabin and follow the curve in the road to the small lodge with the old Laundry sign hung above the door.
There’s a loud bang from inside it, and I pick up my pace.
It rings out again, this time followed by an enraged shout.
I’m completely ignoring the steps and hopping onto the small landing before tearing the door open.
The sight at the back of the cabin stops me in my tracks, one foot still in the doorway. Keeping silent, I watch a dishevelled Millie smack her palm to the edge of the washing machine. With her hair tied up on her head, she brings her knee to the front of it and growls.
The sweatpants she’s wearing take me aback more than her frustration does. They drown her, making her legs look half their size. And with the black hoodie—mine—sagging down her torso, she very well might get suffocated in the weight of the fabric.
There’s a beige bag resting on the floor beside her that’s half slouching, half standing as clothes droop out the side.
Only the washer door is open. Millie grabs the edge of the machines and heaves in a breath before dropping her head.
My stomach pangs at the sight, and I go to move when she brings the toe of her shoe to the washer again, kicking it gentler this time.
“What am I doing?” she mumbles, her arms tugging wide as she pulls a pant leg out from where it’s gotten stuck inside the other. “It’s just laundry. Just clothes.”
When she yanks hard, the pant leg makes a ripping noise. She sucks in a breath and whips the pants into the washer, her arms shooting out to the side, where she grips the sides of the machines again.
I watch her closely while shutting the screen door behind me, careful not to let her hear it. She’d run if she knew I was watching right now. I’d lose this chance to see her without her guard up.
A few coins jingle in her palm when she inhales deeply and reaches into her sweatpants, pulling them free.
They fall to the top of the dryer, and then she starts sorting through them.
Her laundry bag is still full, and the longer she ignores it, the more it’s slouching, slipping as the sweater hanging out of it pulls it down.
Once it falls over, she abandons the coins and drops to a crouch in front of it.
Too busy shovelling the clothes back inside, she doesn’t notice the quarters rolling off the edge of the dryer and disappearing in the gap between the machine and the wall.
Her reaction is silent. Instead of yelling again, she abandons the clothes and runs her hands over her face, pressing them against her eyes as she lets go of a long exhale.
There’s a rough shake to her body that rips my feet from their place on the floor, forcing me forward. It was only one shake, barely noticeable. The kind that hints at the effort it takes to hold back a sob.
I abandon the door and go right for where she’s crouched, a broken breath escaping her.
The tensing of her shoulders is the only reaction she has to learning she isn’t alone anymore.
I step around her and glance into the washing machine.
It’s full to the brim with clothes, a mishmash of colours all shoved into one load.
Without looking at her for approval, I start picking out the white clothes and set them on the dryer.
There aren’t many, but they’d be ruined if she washed them in this load.
There are too many colours in here, all of them bright.
“I can’t . . . I’m not sure how to get the machine started.”
Her voice is dull, caged, like she’s tucked herself away and hidden it from me. I let it go, knowing that she’s feeling vulnerable.
“I’ll help you,” I say. The pile of whites is big enough that I can scoop it up as one and hand it over to her, careful not to let the sketchbook drop from beneath my arm. “Set these back in your bag. You’ll need to do a load of whites by themselves once you’re done with everything else.”
Pushing to her feet, she drops her hands from her face and takes the clothes. Keeping her chin tucked, she avoids my eyes. Millie drops the clothes to the rest of her laundry on the floor and then stands beside me, looking into the washer.
“Do you have any more coins? These machines take quarters or loonies.”
I tug out the coin drop and eye the fading instructions on the side of it.
She watches me and reaches into her sweatpants.
Shifting a few steps, I make room for her to take my place and read the instructions.
There’s a slight tremble in her fingers as she inserts the quarters into their spot and pauses.
“Leave it like this until you’re ready to turn the machine on. Is that your detergent?”
“Shelly’s. She gave it to me on her way out.”
“Alright. Pour a capful of it in and then shove this back inside,” I instruct, tapping the metal slide that she dropped her coins into. “After that, all you have to do is choose your settings and turn it on.”
Her swallow is loud, tense. “You don’t have to stay and watch.”
“I haven’t spoken to you about what I wanted to yet. I’m fine standing here with you for a while.”
She doesn’t answer. Twisting the cap off the detergent bottle, she pours the thick liquid into it and then dumps it onto her clothes. The metal slide goes in next, and then she closes the lid before poking around with the settings.
I take her hand and push her index finger onto the option she should use and then let it go. She flexes her hand before dropping it to her side.
“I know what you must think.”
I pause, looking at her despite the lack of eye contact she offers. “What’s that, Millie?”
Her jaw works while I spot the red rim around her eyes. “That I’m a lost cause and inept at taking care of myself. That I need someone to teach me how to do absolutely everything.”
She turns and walks away from the machines. I follow her. Millie’s exhales are strained, wavering the way they were when I got here, so I pick up my pace.
Before she reaches the door, she sinks onto the wooden bench beneath the window. Her shoulders roll forward as she palms her forehead, hiding her face. I drop the sketchbook to the bench and sit beside her. Bracing my elbows on my knees, I keep only a couple of inches between us.
The washing machine churns across the room, humming softly. It smells like dust and laundry soap in here, but somehow, they go together in this moment.
“You know,” she says after a long beat, “my mother used to say crying in public was one of the worst things a woman could do.”
I glance over at her, hating that she’s still hiding from me. “Because it makes you weak?”
“Or messy. Or difficult. Or dramatic. Take your pick.”
I let that settle between us. With every second that passes, it pisses me off more.
“Mine used to say the opposite. That crying was proof you gave a shit. It meant you were still human in a world full of robots.”
Millie turns her head to look at me, eyes wide and a little stunned. “She sounds . . . nice.”
“She is.” I nudge her knee with mine. “Those things you said about being inept? I don’t think that.”
“Why not?”
I stare at her pink cheek, noticing the single tear streak marking it. “Because you left. You ran from a life where you were safe and wouldn’t have ever had to worry about doing something like this. That doesn’t sound inept to me. Sounds brave as hell.”
“I didn’t run because I was brave.”
“Maybe not. But you didn’t go back. You didn’t see how hard it would be on your own and drive back home. You’re staying instead.”
Millie looks down at her hands. They’re balled in her lap, and her thumbs are running over her skin, as if she’s trying to scrub them clean of something.
“This was all because of some laundry,” she whispers, finally noticing the sketchbook.
I nod despite no question being asked. “It was never about the laundry.”
I slide my hand onto the bench between us, palm up, offering it to her in case she wants it. She notices the gesture and flicks her lashes up, finally offering me a look at her blue eyes. Even dimmed with the heavy weight of her emotions, they’re still so bright.
And after a long pause, she uncurls one hand and sets it in mine. It’s small the way it always is. But as it trembles, it feels even smaller. Delicate, like if I’m not careful, I could snap it in two.
“Thank you,” she says, voice low.
“For what?”
“For not laughing. And not judging. For not using this as a way to show me just how little I know of the real world.”
“I’m not here to lecture you about laundry, princess.”
She huffs out something between a laugh and an exhale. “Then what are you here for?”
Her eyes dig deep. The demanding gaze tugs out the truth before I can bury it.
“To make sure you don’t fold in on yourself before you figure out how much more there is to you.”
Her breath catches as the washing machine hums louder, kicking into a spin. And still, she doesn’t let go of my hand.