Chapter 38
Clementine
By midafternoon, it seems like the entire town of Misthaven showed up for my garage sale.
Between training with Alec and shifts at Got Wood?
, I managed to dig through every box in the garage, keeping only a few talismans: my first pointe shoes with their frayed ribbons, the softest sweaters, and the seventy-five-dollar bergamot Malin + Goetz candle I’d been saving three years for a perfect occasion.
Turns out the perfect occasion was last night, baking muffins with Gran while Sixteen Candles played for the hundredth time.
Gran, Yura, Finn, and Alec all showed up at six a.m. to help. Alec and Yura argued over whether sales are tracked better in a notebook or on a tally sheet. Gran declared herself CFO of Clementine’s Old Life, settling into her chair behind Grandpa’s old metal tackle box.
My little life, piece by piece, hour by hour, has been vanishing into other people’s arms: the leather jacket I bought in Hoboken, the self-heating mug I swore would make me get to practice more awake, the pair of Louboutins I wore once before realizing New York sidewalks would eat them alive.
It’s harder than I thought, watching the things I collected slip into someone else’s story. I trail my fingers over the sequins of an untouched costume rack. Hopefully someone online will take all of this.
“Deary, look at you, all grown up.” Gerri, one of Gran’s friends, sidles up next to me. She’s in a striped sweater with the sleeves shoved up. Her gray hair is streaked with pink, and a spray of flower tattoos winds down her arms.
“Hey, Gerri.” I wipe my hands on my jeans, watching her pluck sequins from the rack, her mouth hanging open like a gull down at the docks about to steal someone’s french fries.
“Your gran said you had old costumes,” she coos, already elbow-deep, tugging at a leopard leotard, a tie-dye wrap, a tutu I wore in Coppélia. “Mercy, these are as gorgeous as that man over there. Cody said he’s been picking you up from work a lot.”
I groan. “Small-town news travels with all the grace and subtlety of a moose crossing Main Street.”
“What else is there to gossip about if not the youth?” Gerri snorts, giving the leopard print a good shake.
“You think I could wear this with some hot-pink knitted leg warmers? Janice could crochet me a pair by next Thursday. She’s been on a tear since her husband brought home a fifty-pound king salmon; she swears she works faster when he smokes fish. ”
“You’d kill it.”
“Oh, and Dottie would love this tie-dye thing,” Gerri adds, piling it over her arm.
“Though, she’ll say it’s too loud, then wear it to the church potluck just to stir up Mrs. Barker.
You know Mrs. Barker—she’s been side-eyeing everyone since the quilting club voted against her rhubarb pie for the bake sale. ”
“I’m sure she’ll look beautiful in this.”
“Let’s hope so.” Gerri leans in, eyes glittering under frosted blue eyeshadow.
“Your gran’s been saying you might be sticking around longer.
So, what do you think about teaching us old gals a class or two?
Doctors say dancing keeps the creaks away.
And between you and me, we’d rather learn from you than from YouTube.
Half the time we can’t get the Wi-Fi at the community center to hold unless Kenny’s kid parks his truck in the lot and leaves his hotspot running. ”
The idea blooms warm and ridiculous in my chest. “Gran mentioned that too. I don’t have much experience teaching, but if you’d like to be my guinea pigs…”
“Guinea pigs?” Gerri barks a laugh. “We’re more like hyenas. We’d love to do something daily. We’ll pay, of course. There are eleven of us, including Margaret.”
I curl my toes into the wet grass and take it all in.
Eleven women. Maybe twenty dollars a class.
Once or twice a week. That’s a few hundred a month right there.
Between my Got Wood? paycheck, the lessons, and a garage sale here and there, it starts to stack up.
I could always offer my decorating services to locals, especially with how beautiful the lodge looks now.
Add in the balance transfer card Gran keeps nudging me toward, the costumes going to good homes, maybe even a kids’ class or two…
It doesn’t feel like drowning anymore. It feels doable.
“I have Wild Trails training until next month, but after that I’d love to set something up,” I promise. “I think the community center has a room we could use.”
Maybe I don’t even need Wild Trails to save me. Though it’d be nice, I can do this on my own.
Her eyes crinkle as she claps. “Perfect. In that case, I’ll buy the whole rack. We’ll keep the costumes at the center, swap pieces, maybe even put on a little performance for next year’s Wild Trails.”
“Really?” The idea of a little troupe of older women in sequins makes the inside of my chest feel like the sun has moved an inch closer.
“Now,” she grins, “your gran said you can put your leg over your head. Think there’s a chance I could do that?”
“Maybe!” I laugh, waving Alec over to help Gerri roll the rack to the pay station. She squeezes his bicep and asks him how much weight he can lift. He shoots me a look that screams, help me, and I just chuckle.
I walk over to Mozart, who’s sprawled on the grass like an indulgent toddler, tongue lolling, belly on display. Earlier, Finn set out a mason jar beside him labeled Tips for Rubs. It’s already full.
I curl my toes into the wet grass and take it all in.
“Thank you for helping out,” I say to Finn beside me. He’s absolutely demolishing one of the pumpkin muffins we made last night. There are crumbs stuck to his thick brown beard.
I’ve been learning that Finn’s got the eager vibe of a golden retriever. Alec is more of a hound, steady and watchful.
“I’d work for muffins any day,” Finn groans, the sound muffled around another bite.
“Wait until Gran breaks out the tomato jam. Used to smuggle jars back to California in my carry-on.”
“This muffin with a piece of aged gouda on the top of Makalu would have made the descent a thousand times better.”
“Cheese and pumpkin?” I stare at him.
“My taste buds are all fucked up,” he cackles. He’s in a pair of cargos that match Alec’s and a baggy red sweatshirt, and a matching knitted beanie is pulled over his long hair.
“Where is Makalu?”
“We climbed the Nepal side. Spent almost five years bouncing around the Himalayas.” Where Alec held his stories back like rationed water, Finn hands them out like candy.
“What did your parents think about you being away so long?” I ask.
“It was just me and Dad. My mom died when I was three.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“It’s okay. I don’t really remember her. I only remember that one day she wasn’t there anymore.”
“My dad left before I was born. It’s always been me and my mom. Well, and my grandparents every summer.”
Finn flicks a crumb to the bird pecking under the table leg.
“Single parents are superheroes. I used to be pissed at my dad for never being home. Especially when I compared it to Alec’s family.
They took me in as one of their own sons.
I probably spent more nights there than I did at my own house.
Not that my dad wasn’t a good dad. He worked all the time.
But now, I get it. He worked nights. Slept in his car between shifts.
Dropped me at the climbing gym after school so I wouldn’t come home to an empty house. That’s where I met Alec.”
“Sounds like his hard work rubbed off on you.”
“It did. And you and your mom? You guys close?”
“I call her once a week, but Gran’s always been the one I go to for help. I love Mom, but she thinks a new jacket, a vacation, and a spa will fix all her problems.” I force a laugh.
“Sometimes that works.” Finn shrugs. “But I get what you mean. I can call Selene, Alec’s mom, about anything, and she’d answer no matter what she was doing. Dad takes a few days to respond.”
“That’s sweet of Selene.” I smile, picturing Alec’s family and hoping that I get to meet them one day. “You guys seem better after the other night,” I say, jutting my chin across the lawn. Alec’s been lighter since the double date.
Finn’s grin creases his eyes. “Dude’s a stone wall, but once he lets you in? You’re in. Just don’t expect much conversation.”
“You don’t say,” I joke, sarcastically.
“He likes you, Clem. I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you.
At base camp, people always thought he hated them.
He doesn’t hate anyone. Just never quite figured out small talk.
Or medium talk. Or really any kind of talk.
We’ve lost a lot, and it wears on you, you know?
But Alec’s good. Always has been. Most people would’ve left me up there,” Finn says.
His gaze drifts across the lawn to Yura, who’s standing toe-to-toe with Alec, finger jabbed at his chest, her braids swinging. “God, isn’t she gorgeous?”
“When should I expect the wedding invitation?”
“It’s been two weeks, but it feels like forever. She’s smarter than me. Makes me laugh. Makes me feel safe.” His eyes are dazed. “But what do I know? My longest partnership was with Alec, and we never even made it to first base,” he jokes.
“Not once in all those years sharing a tent?”
“It’s tragic, I know.” Finn winks.
“Did you know he’s sleeping on the floor in one of the bedrooms?”
“Yeah, next to my room, so he can take Mozart out in the middle of the night.”
“I knew he liked the dog.” I chuckle. “Do you think Alec would mind if I set up a room for him? We’re gonna be wrapping up the upstairs renovations this month, and I think the corner room would be perfect for him.”
“He’d like it. Just won’t ask. Never was good at setting down roots.”
“You two talking about me?” Alec calls, striding across the lawn in a navy sweater that makes his eyes glow like coins.
“Yes,” Finn and I chorus.
“Figured.” Alec pulls a coppery leaf from his pocket, tip curled like ribbon, and presses it into my palm. “Thought you might want another tulip.” He bends to kiss my forehead like it’s nothing, though it feels like everything.
Finn whoops. “A leaf! That’s basically a proposal in Alecese.”
“Shut up,” Alec mutters, grinning anyway.
I twirl the leaf between my fingers, pretending not to notice Gran and Yura snickering. “At this rate, I’ll have a whole bouquet of leaf tulips.”
“That’s the plan.” Alec glances at Finn’s crumb-covered beard. “See you found Margaret’s muffins.”
“Can you learn how to bake, man?” Finn swats his leg.
“Don’t tell me he’s still living on goop packets,” I cut in.
“Hell no. Bread and peanut butter.” Finn laughs as Mozart rolls belly-up in the dew. “The dog loves it too.”
“Yura wants you, said something about your afternoon stretches,” Alec says.
“Perfect excuse to get out of cleanup duty.” Finn smirks, already rolling across the lawn.
“Yeah, yeah.” Alec rolls his eyes and bends to scratch Mozart’s head. “You did good today, nearly three thousand dollars. And whatever else is in this tip jar.”
It’s probably not even a quarter of what I paid for all this stuff, but it doesn’t matter. It feels good. A clean slate for this next chapter of my life.
“Wow, maybe we can celebrate over steaks tonight. My treat.” I drag my fingers over the weave of his sweater, dizzy with exhaustion and happiness.
“We can go after we clean up. Looks like things are wrapping up here anyway.”
“Thank you for helping.”
“Anytime, but you better not be too sore for training tomorrow. We can do the weights together.”
“Just admit it, you saw all my sports-bra selfies on Instagram, and now you want the live version.”
“Or…” His hand glides along my collarbone, goosebumps chasing after it. “I want to take you out of them.” My breath catches. He grins smugly. “Thinking about another backpacking trip this weekend. Maybe bring this guy.” He nods toward Mozart.
“Yeah, I have the weekend off. But maybe we can do another kayak run tomorrow? I need to practice not tipping on those class fours.” I bite my lip, then remember. “Though Cody might need me to stay later.”
“I can just pick you up from work.”
“I’ll text when I’m about to get off.” I shove his chest with mock annoyance. “Though you’re horrible over text.”
“Someone once told me I have horrible people skills. Guess that expands to the digital world too.” I raise my hand to swat him again, but he catches my wrist. “I’d much prefer to leave notes at your door.”
“What you’re telling me is that you’re basically a pigeon.”
“Never been called that before.” Alec squeezes my wrist once before letting go.
Inside my sweater, my phone vibrates. I fish it out. The screen flashes the same words it always has: DO NOT ANSWER.
For months I turned these calls face down, shoved them under pillows, fantasized about hurling the phone onto the subway tracks.
“Who is it?” Alec asks.
“The creditors,” I sigh, knowing what I need to do. “I’m gonna put all the money I made today toward my debt.”
“You want backup?”
I shake my head. “No. I need to do this.”
“Proud of you, Fox.”
I kiss him once, thumb hovering over the screen before I click open the call.