Chapter 25
As threatened, the snowtastrophe happened, but the snow was neither as deep as predicted nor as destructive.
Mostly, it was pretty. And cozy. They donned their ugly Christmas sweaters for warmth, and Harrison built a fire in the hearth.
Someone had left a huge pile of wood just outside the back door, so they were able to keep the fire going through the worst part of the snow.
They had a cozy little retreat, helped in large part by the fact that the cabin wasn’t as bad as first glance might have suggested.
There was a musty smell that was remedied by prying open all the windows and letting the place air out for a few hours.
The linoleum in the kitchen was peeling, and the laminate countertops were stained.
The full bed sank in the middle, and the couch had a rip that made it impossible to sit on one of the cushions, so they sat next to each other on one side.
But it was cozy and secluded and perfect for two people falling in love while it snowed around them.
That’s what was happening, wasn’t it? Two people in the middle of their lives, finding each other in a strange vacation rental mix-up.
This was a Netflix movie (minus the intruding family and the Bossy Posse.
And minus Hillary. And minus the giant nutcrackers.
But the rest of the Christmas decor was nice).
The week Amy and Harrison spent in that run-down little cabin was one of the best weeks of Amy’s life.
Not that she could remember many whole weeks from her life, but she was sure she would remember if she’d felt this blissful for several days in a row.
While she had a vague recollection of happy summers, she also had a vague recollection of feeling entitled to fun and happiness because she was young and beautiful and hadn’t lived life yet.
What she felt now was much different than that. This was a happy winter, and this week felt like the prize she’d earned from having lived a long time. Like she’d spent all her decades in the trenches and was crawling out, emerging ready for a cocktail, good sex, and a proper assignation.
Harrison set up Amy’s easel in front of the windows, but facing the room, so she could look out the window for inspiration, and without feeling like he was breathing over her shoulder.
He wasn’t—he spent his days practicing his swing on the covered porch while Duchess sunbathed on the top step of the stairs as the snow slowly melted.
Midweek, they were hit with another dump of snow.
The first night in their humble abode, they watched the Christmas flotilla go by.
No snowstorm was going to stop boats that had been strung with Christmas lights and blow-up Santas and snowmen and Grinches.
The faint sound of more Christmas carols reached them from the water.
They sat bundled in blankets, two hot toddies between them.
“Do you miss the constant Christmas carols?” Amy asked.
“No. Do you?” Harrison asked.
“Nope.” They smiled at each other in that way couples had of understanding each other completely.
They were in sync. Entirely compatible. At least Amy thought so.
She didn’t ask him what was next because she didn’t want to come off as insecure, or as if she was pressuring him into speaking his mind.
She wanted to enjoy this interlude. They had five days, and she didn’t want to ruin a single moment.
Harrison left twice for provisions (more wine—they had miscalculated) and a Charlie Brown Christmas tree that they set on the porch.
“Carlotta Jane’s was mostly sold out of decorations.
I got some leftover pieces.” He’d brought a partial string of lights, some old-fashioned tinsel, and five red balls that said Peterson Automotive in white glitter.
Amy continued painting. She had six completed paintings now, including the first one of the lake she’d made with the watery Christmas lights on the far shore.
Her five Bossy Posse scenes included the one of the ladies in the pool, on the swan boats, on a sleigh, and baking giant gingerbread men as big as they were (while wearing festive elf costumes).
And the last one, ice-skating in a frozen parking lot while Duchess curled up in a ball to sleep in the middle of them.
The rink was decorated for Christmas. In all of them, they wore the signature red hats that obscured their faces.
She called the collection Bossy Posse Christmas.
The paintings amused Amy greatly. She had no idea if they’d have any appeal to a tourist or a contest judge, but she loved them. They were whimsical and carefree. They looked to her like women living their best life.
One morning, Julie called while Harrison was out.
“What is going on?” she demanded. “Mom said you left the lake. But I drove by your house and it was dark. Where are you?”
“Still at the lake. But I didn’t go home. I’m in a cabin around the bend.”
“A cabin? There aren’t any cabins—wait. You’re not in the old Campbell place, are you? Armadillo Hill?”
Amy looked around. “I don’t know. I don’t see anything that says ‘Campbell.’ ”
“Is it dilapidated? Run-down? Smells like something died? One bedroom and a rusty bath?”
“That’s the one,” Amy reported cheerfully.
“What are you doing there?” Julie cried.
“What? It’s charming in its own way. And the bed linens and towels are all new. They still had the tags on them.”
“That place is a fire hazard! No one ever stays there.”
“Well, we are,” Amy said with a defensive sniff. It wasn’t the Taj Mahal, but it was perfectly fine for their needs.
“We? Who is we?”
Oops. She had sort of hoped to avoid the topic of Harrison until she got home. “Me and Duchess.”
“Oh.”
Amy winced. She hated keeping things from Julie. “And Harrison.”
There was a moment of silence and then a low, “Wow. You’re not still, like…”
“Having a good time? I am. Just as you advised me to do, remember?”
“That wasn’t what I was thinking, but okay, you’re having a good time. Good for you.”
“Yes, good for me,” Amy said. “In fact, I’m having such a great time that I never want to go home. Except that I miss the kids.”
“There is that,” Julie said wryly.
“There is that,” Amy agreed. Thinking about her kids made her feel sad in a way, because she couldn’t live without them. Which meant she couldn’t have someone like Harrison. He was a man who belonged to the world and a sport. And she was a mom.
She and Julie talked a little more and made plans to get together when Amy was back in town.
That night, Amy and Harrison went to the nearest town and walked around, holding hands, looking at the display of lights.
Back at the cabin, they made a fire and drank spiked hot chocolate.
“Not very good, in all honesty,” Amy said, wrinkling her nose.
There was something cloying about vodka, cream, and hot chocolate.
“Not very good, but serviceable,” Harrison said, and they clinked glasses in a toast to their ingenuity.
Toward the end of the week, the weather turned warmer, and they sat in the terrible rocking chairs on the porch with towels draped over the pads. They rocked in comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Each content to just be with each other.
And the lovemaking…Well, that was simply something Amy never dreamed she would have at this stage of her life.
Sex, yes. Lovemaking, no. She had the idea that lovemaking was for that first intense love, and after the flame burned out, it was on a maintenance plan.
Frankly, she and Ryan had gotten so mechanical about it over the years that she’d forgotten what it was like to be so connected to a person.
Or how the intensity of the sensations went far beyond the physical and dove into the emotional.
There was nothing casual about their lovemaking.
It was so good that when Julie asked Amy about the sex, Amy was coy.
She wanted to keep that part of Harrison to herself.
So yes, the week was wonderful, affirming, and one of the best times of her life. No hyperbole.
But something else was happening inside Amy that she slowly became aware of.
She wanted to go home. Like, really go home.
She missed her kids terribly. As much as she’d wanted to be free of their constant questions and needs for a short amount of time, she missed them.
Already, their texts had become less frequent.
When she checked in with Ryan, he said everything was fine, and why did she ask; did she think it wouldn’t be?
Because he was just as much a parent as she was, and blah blah blah.
She wondered if Jonah was paying any attention to Ethan, if Ethan had gotten to see his friend Connor.
She wondered if they were eating anything other than ramen and sugar, and if Jonah was using the cream she’d gotten him for his rash, and if Ethan was taking his ADHD medicine like he was supposed to.
She’d wanted a break so desperately, but now she wanted to be home. Especially as Christmas drew closer.
Furthermore, she felt that she could, privately, admit that she sort of missed the bothersome Bossy Posse. Not missed exactly, but did not mind. Sort of liked. Okay, missed.
She was starting to get the uncomfortable thought that maybe the bohemian artist’s lifestyle wasn’t what she’d made it out to be in her head.
Sure, it was cool to paint every day. In an idyllic setting.
With a handsome lover. But she didn’t always have an idea to paint, and really, a whole day of painting was a lot.
A lot of intense concentration, of thinking, of closing herself off to listen to her inner voice.
What she thought she probably wanted was to dabble.
If she dabbled in art, she’d have time for her kids and her family and Duchess.
And to watch her favorite show or read a book or putter in her garden or go out with the girls.
She’d even begun to wonder if she’d given up the idea of the bohemian artist lifestyle years ago and hadn’t realized it. Maybe it was that even then, she knew this lifestyle would not make her happy.
But when she looked at Harrison, she didn’t want to give that up, either. She wanted that part of her dream, too.
It wasn’t until she began to suspect that Harrison was missing golf that she accepted this would end.
She overheard him talking to his manager, telling him he would be in Scotland, but that he wanted to be at a tournament in January as well.
He hadn’t told her—mostly, she suspected, because they had neatly avoided any mention of the future.
Eventually, they would have to speak about it.
The morning would come when they would have to leave.
But until that moment, neither was inclined. They were perfectly happy to continue the interlude.