twenty-seven | emberly
TWENTY-SEVENEmberly
When you’re the only guest at a pity party, it helps to have chocolate. And a wedge of Brie.
The dancing and the hiking had finally caught up with my cabinmates by the time I’d limped back to the cabin. They’d descended on the charcuterie board I’d ordered and then drifted back to their bedrooms “to rest”. I have a feeling I won’t see them until morning.
I’m pretty sure I won’t see Will, either. Not when he’s with Reeve, who obviously doesn’t need permission or an invitation to cross the threshold that separates the office from the inner sanctum of his house.
I know. I’m feeling sorry for myself. It’s a beautiful evening.
Wisps of smoke drift through the air and I can hear people chatting by the firepit.
Instead of joining them, I’m slumped in a chair on the screened-in porch, my bandaged feet propped up on a wicker ottoman.
They still hurt. Actually, everything hurts.
I thought I was in pretty good shape, but it turns out a five-mile hike engaged muscles that I didn’t know I had.
I shift in the chair and wince.
The crackers are gone, so I’m forced to improvise. I stab the wedge of Brie with my fork and I’m lifting it to my lips to take a bite (in my defense, most of it is gone) when I catch of flash of movement out of the corner of my eye.
A flash of movement that turns into Will.
There’s nowhere to hide. I sit up taller and brush the crumbs off his flannel shirt. Because I’m Linus and it’s become my security blanket.
Will raps politely on the screen door like we can’t see each other.
“Who is it?”
He shakes his head but he’s smiling on the inside. I know it.
“Will.” To my surprise, he plays along.
“Come in.”
“I brought you these.” He holds up a pair of turquoise cowboy boots. “I think they’re Lexi’s, but they should fit you.”
“Thank you.” I say this instead of asking questions that are none of my business. Like where are these other sisters and why aren’t they helping with Iris and the resort? “Do they have a break-in period, too?”
“You should be good.” Will’s gaze drops to my bandaged feet. “Are you sure you’re up for horseback riding?”
When I’d asked if I could possibly trade the tennis shoes for cowboy boots, Will had wanted to know why. To his credit, he didn’t laugh. Or maybe he was holding it in until I left.
“It’s just a few blisters.” I wiggle my bare toes. “And I’ll be sitting, not hiking.”
Although, at the moment, my glutes are reminding me that sitting doesn’t feel so good, either.
Will sets the boots down next to me.
“Cab saw these and reminded me that we haven’t gone riding in ‘forever’. I don’t think it’s been that long …” He pauses and I see a shadow skim through his eyes.
Before their parents died?
I wonder if a loss like that doesn’t just become part of your timeline, but the event where the memories are divided into befores and afters.
“It’s just that I prefer things with an engine,” Will says lightly.
“I’m not sure why horseback riding is on the reunion bucket list, but I’m willing to give it a try.” I do my best to match his tone. “Who knows? In these fancy boots, I may go line dancing afterward.”
If I’m able to walk.
“There’s a reduced rate if you have a larger group.”
Now I’m inwardly kicking myself for making him ask.
“Of course, Iris can come with us.”
“I can get away for a few hours, too,” he says casually. “If your friends won’t mind both of us tagging along.”
I catch the charcuterie board before it slides off my lap.
To say I’m shocked would be an understatement. Will and I haven’t actually talked since he kicked me out of the studio—unless you count the lecture on the dock when he saw my hiking boots. Or the muttering under his breath as he carried me back to his cabin.
“You want to come with us?”
“Like I said, it’s been a while since Cab’s been on a horse.”
And he wants to keep an eye on her.
My heart melts. I’ve heard the expression a million times but I never experienced it until now. It’s the cheese in a pudgy pie, all warm and gooey.
“The girls won’t mind at all,” I promise. “Our reservation is for ten o’clock.”
“Great. Now maybe Cab will stop bugging me.”
I’m not fooled by Will’s gruff response. He doesn’t just tolerate Iris. He loves her.
I expect he’ll leave, but he reaches down and snags a piece of Swiss cheese off the plate. “Where are the Sixteens?”
“Resting, I think. The hike tired everyone out, but at least they wore the appropriate footwear.”
“You mentioned your friends picked Pinehart this year?”
I nod. “Olivia visited her cousins when they were staying here. I think she was about Iris’s age at the time.”
I’m about to scrape up my courage and ask Will if he wants to sit down, but his cell beeps. He glances at the screen and smiles.
“I’m being summoned.”
Reeve?
I hate that my mind automatically goes there.
Will slides the phone into his back pocket.
“We’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Sure.” I push out a smile.
After he walks away, I collect the dishes and hobble back inside the cabin.
It turns out I was right about the extended nap. The only time I see any of my friends is when Olivia wanders out of her room to get a glass of water while I’m straightening the blankets on the sofa sleeper.
“Hey, Sleepy Head!” I tease.
She jumps a little at the sound of my voice, like she’d forgotten I was there.
“Hey.” She stifles a yawn. “What are you up to?”
“I was thinking I’d make popcorn and watch You’ve Got Mail.”
Olivia and I have the same taste when it comes to snacks and movies, so binging on romcoms was one of our favorite pastimes at Langley-Davis.
For a moment, it looks like she’s tempted to join me. Then she shakes her head.
“I’m really tired.”
I’m not sure how that’s possible since her nap was longer than Rip VanWinkle’s, but I hide my disappointment behind a smile.
“That’s all right.”
She shuffles off to the bedroom and I climb underneath the crocheted blanket and hit play. When the movie ends, I’m still wide awake, so I reach for my phone and scroll through photos of horses.
They’re beautiful animals, really. And there’s something romantic about a horse in full gallop, its mane and tail rippling in the wind as it carries its rider across the prairie.
I am not being carried. I have been taken hostage.
When the trail guide, who doesn’t look much older than Iris, was asking about our level of riding experience, I asked if carousel horses counted. Instead of answering my question, she grabbed the reins of an enormous brown horse and led him out of the stall.
“Here you go!” she says cheerfully.
That was it. You’d think there would be a better system than this. An equine version of Tinder, where I’m matched with a sweet, even-tempered partner for the next hour. I saw the wooden plaques over each stall. Buddy. Honeybear. Sprinkles.
Who did I get?
Thunder.
Five minutes after we leave the corral, I hear a loud rumble, followed by an indescribable odor, and think I know how he earned his name.
“Really?” I whisper. “You’re that guy?”
Thunder ignores me and grabs a mouthful of grass at the edge of the trail to snack on.
I give the reins a little jerk. Letting our horse eat along the trail was one of the Do Nots listed on the sign tacked to the wall of the stable. Only Thunder jerks back. And then he stops. Stops. In the middle of the trail.
Will’s mare, Rapunzel (because he got the Disney princess and I got the villain) performs an evasive maneuver that would have made a Nascar driver proud.
Because of course Will is right behind me. He’s the witness to all my failures. One time, just one time, I’d like to show him what I can do with a room held hostage by glued-down carpeting and wallpaper borders.
You’d think Thunder would be grateful, having avoided a collision. But no. He whirls around and tries to bite Rapunzel, which starts a domino effect. Everyone’s horse suddenly reverses direction like they’re in a conga line at a wedding reception.
Jenny, our trail guide, flips completely around in the saddle to see what’s happening. She clicks her tongue and all the horses calm down and begin plodding forward again. Even Thunder, but now I’m onto him.
I’ve already decided that I prefer four tires to four hooves. Will had a point about engines and I like that my convertible doesn’t have a mind of her own. There’s no stopping to eat, no biting, and the gas stays inside the tank where it belongs.
“Loosen your grip on the reins a little, Em.”
I glance over my shoulder at Will, who looks as good on a horse as he does on the lawn mower. “Absolutely not.”
He chuckles and the sound wraps around my heart. Twice. And then creates a perfect little bow.
The narrow trail opens into a grassy area and the horses break formation.
Iris, riding a sweet-faced Palomino named Sunshine, ends up next to me.
Thunder chuffs and I lean forward in the saddle.
“Be good,” I whisper.
“Look, Em!” Iris points to the sky. “An eagle!”
I look up and see not one, but two, of the majestic birds, flying in a slow circle above our heads.
“There was a nest in those trees over there.”
Behind me, I hear Will pull in a sharp breath. I remember what he said about how long it’s been since they went horseback riding. Is it possible that being here, in this place, has unlocked a memory?
Iris twists in her saddle. “Remember, Will?”
It takes him a moment to respond and when he does, his voice is husky. “Um … no. I don’t remember a nest.”
“Dad pointed it out. I wasn’t old enough to ride by myself so I sat in front of him. He loved eagles.” Iris tips her head back. “Did you know once they build a nest, they come back to it every year?”
“I didn’t.” But I like the sound of it.
Making a commitment and then adding on to what you’ve already built, little by little. Season by season. Wasn’t that the very essence of home?
I glance at Will. He’s not looking at me or Iris. He’s scanning the trees.
I really want there to be a nest. For Iris … and for Will.