twenty-nine | emberly
TWENTY-NINEEmberly
“What are you doing here?”
I set my hands on my hips and try to look severe.
Juniper cocks her head and stares back at me. Because we both know why she’s here. I bought a box of dog treats when Will dropped me off at the grocery store and have been doling them out one—or three—at a time over the past few days.
Now Juni camps out on the welcome rug at the foot of the steps in the evening and lies in wait for me.
Tonight, I’m grateful for the company. A few hours hour ago, I watched my friends drive away.
The cabin feels empty and I’ve been sitting on the porch, memorizing the scene in front of me.
The setting sun, swirls of pale yellow, tangerine, and pink, remind me of the saltwater taffy that Iris and I put in the swag bags.
I think I’m a lake person. The ocean is beautiful but it’s never quiet. Maybe that’s a good thing, though. The background noise makes it harder to think. And what I’m thinking about right now is leaving tomorrow.
Juni barks once. A reminder to keep me on task.
“Just one this time.”
The last time.
And then I have to pack.
I go back inside the cabin and locate the bag of treats. I’ll give the rest to Iris when I say goodbye.
I open the door and Juni shuttles backwards a few feet.
“Is this a new game?” I toss the biscuit and wait for her to catch it in midair.
The treat falls to the ground and she ignores it, her gaze fixed on me.
I don’t know much—okay, next to nothing—about canine behavior, but this is unusual for Juni. It’s even more unusual when she trots away, pausing long enough to cast an impatient look over her shoulder.
“Okay,” I tell her. “I can take a hint.”
I shove another biscuit in the side pocket of my leggings and follow Juni as she veers onto the footpath leading to the studio.
“Returning to the scene of the crime?” I tease. “Getting tired of salmon and quinoa biscuits? Because I don’t have a brat burger this time.”
She barks again, turns, and disappears into the woods.
The light from the cabins is extinguished by the trees that press on all sides. Juni weaves through them, pausing every so often until I catch up.
My internal GPS told me that we were moving closer to the lake, but it seems I was being fed faulty information. There’s no sign of the cabins. Or Will’s house. Or anything, really.
“Juni!”
Can dogs get lost?
Am I lost?
I should have grabbed the biscuits and my cell phone, with its built-in flashlight.
I stop. “Okay, I’m done playing hide and seek!”
I hear a short yip that could either be a canine encouragement or a taunt.
Something brushes against my foot and I break into a little dance. Fortunately, it’s some sort of spikey leaf, not a spider or something furry, so I reach down to peel it off.
When I straighten again, I see a pair of eyes glowing in the brush that I really hope belong to Juni.
“What’s with you?” I scold. “I’m not exactly dressed for a hike.”
I motion to the legging and tank top combination underneath Will’s flannel shirt. Because yes, I’m a glutton for punishment and had to wear it one more time.
Juni starts to back up, but this time I’m not letting her escape. I reach for her collar and my fingers close around air. She dances away and that’s when I notice a light. And then another. And another.
Not above the trees. In them. Flickering like dozens of fireflies … only bigger.
I inch forward and Juni’s tail begins to wag as if she’s saying, “finally.”
I take five more steps and stop. What looks like a tiny house is woven into a stand of birch trees. Strings of lights frame the windows and drip from the gingerbread trim on the roof. There’s a rounded door, a window box overflowing with ivy.
It’s one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen.
Juni whines at the door and I’m shocked when it swings open.
“Iris?”
Her head jerks up and our eyes meet.
Hers are red and puffy, her cheeks crusted with dried tears.
It doesn’t occur to me to apologize. Or pretend I don’t notice.
I instinctively open my arms.
Iris doesn’t hesitate. She hurls herself into my embrace and then my sunny, can’t-bring-me-down, girl bursts into tears.
I draw her inside, straight into the page of a storybook.
There are built-in bookcases and a wooden table and chairs. The floor is painted green and everything blends together with the trees. The birchbark wallpaper. Needlepoint cushions—a half-moon, a tree stump, a toadstool with velvet patches—are scattered on the floor.
Iris sinks onto the wooly rug and I plop down beside her. Slide my arm around her shoulders.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
She shakes her head.
I can respect that.
So, I sit.
I sit until I hear the soft hoot of an owl that I’m pretty sure isn’t a realistic sound effect. I sit until Iris falls asleep against me.
I sit until Will shows up.
He looks as weary and ragged as Iris and I want to wrap my arms around him, too.
He also looks shocked to see me sitting on the floor next to his sister.
“How …” Will’s lips shape the word and I point to Juni. She whines and pushes her nose into his leg as if she needs some reassurance.
“She brought me here,” I whisper.
Iris stirs and I gently shift her against one of the pillows, try to stand up. Both my feet have fallen asleep because I didn’t want to wake up Iris and it feels like a thousand needles are embedded in my skin.
Will puts a finger against his lips and leads me into another room. A miniature kitchen, with pink cupboards and shelves lined with teacups and mismatched China plates.
I forget about the pins and needles in my feet, the various muscles still burning from the hike and the trail ride, when Will opens another door. On the other side is a narrow staircase that spirals to the second floor.
Curiouser and curiouser, as Alice would say.
I follow Will and the staircase opens into a circular room with more windows than walls. I can see the branches that cradle us and a ribbon of moonlight on the lake.
Will reaches out and turns on a lantern that illuminates the space. I pull in a breath because it feels like I’ve stepped into the turret of a castle.
This is incredible. Like something from a dream.
Without a word, Will drops into one of the large cushions on the floor.
“What did she say?”
His voice is low and the question gives me permission to sit down next to him.
“Nothing,” I admit. “She didn’t want to talk about it.”
Will scrubs his hand across his face. He looks so defeated that I have to ask.
“What happened?”
“Brighton called. She can’t come home until Thursday and she’s supposed to help Cab plan her birthday party.
” He sighs. “Which is Friday. We can’t change the date because Cab already sent out the invitations and you can probably guess that a thirteenth birthday bash isn’t in my wheelhouse.
I mentioned pizza and bowling …” He shoots me a wry look.
“Yeah. I’m pretty sure a shudder was Bright’s reaction, too.
She feels terrible, but there’s nothing she can do.
She’s been traveling through Europe with her college orchestra this summer and their last stop is Paris.
The conductor accepted an invitation to play at the American embassy and Bright is performing a violin solo. ”
I want to call a brief timeout, wrap my head around the fact that Will’s missing sister is a violinist on a tour of Europe, but he keeps talking.
“Cab overheard our conversation and she got pretty upset. I figured she’d come here and I wanted to give her some space before we talked.”
“And here is … what exactly?” I glance at the ceiling. Flecks of silver in the blue paint shimmer like a night sky filled with stars.
My clients would hand me a blank check for one of these.
“Cab’s thinking spot.” Will settles against the wall.
In the small space with its scaled down furnishings, he looks like Gulliver among the Lilliputians.
“After our parents …” He pauses, as if he still has trouble saying the word.
“Died … Cab kept disappearing. I’d go crazy looking for her.
She’d be in the woods, or sitting in one of the boats tied to the dock, or an empty cabin.
I didn’t know what she needed, but I knew that I needed to be able to find her. So, I built this treehouse.”
I shouldn’t be shocked. After all, Will is the one who singlehandedly keeps Pinehart going. It may not be with a lot of fuss or frills, yet the resort is perfect in its simplicity. But the treehouse … it’s whimsical. Another side of Will I haven’t seen.
“You. Built. This.”
“Uh huh. It’s close enough to the house that I don’t worry about her safety, but far enough away that Cab feels like she has a place of her own to escape.”
“It’s incredible, Will. How did you even come up with the idea?” As I look around, I’m amazed all over again by the creativity and attention to detail that went into this place.
“It helped to have a degree in architecture.”
I try—and obviously fail—to hide my reaction because Will’s lips twist in a smile.
“When I was in middle school, my class took a field trip to Taliesin. I was so fascinated by the integration of nature and design that I decided I was going to be the next Frank Lloyd Wright.”
My imagination tries to draw a picture of College Will, but I fail at that, too. I can’t imagine him spending his days in a classroom, listening to lectures and taking notes.
“So, yes. I went to college.” He read my mind. “And then a month before graduation … I came back. The department chair granted an extension on my final project and I got my diploma in the mail a few months later.”
There isn’t a hint of resentment or regret in Will’s voice, but my heart breaks for him anyway.
“How …” I stop. I don’t want to dredge up painful memories, but there is so much more to the story. So much more to Will that I want to know.
“A car accident.” He answers the question I didn’t ask.
“I got the call when I was studying for finals. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.
It was late spring and our parents hit a patch of black ice driving to pick up Cab from school.
Dad … he died at the scene. Mom lived for two more days, but she never woke up.
” Will’s throat convulses. “Sometimes I think that was a … a good thing. She never knew Dad was gone.”
And Will was the one who would have had to tell her.
I want to say I’m sorry, but I can’t say anything. I was devastated when my parents divorced, but I saw it coming from a distance. I wasn’t blindsided by a phone call that turned my entire world upside down.
I want to say the right thing, something, but it’s my silence that gives Will permission to go on.
“I was the only one living in the state at the time. Lexi got married at eighteen. Her husband joined the Navy right out of high school and they were stationed on a base in Guam. Bright was a freshman at Julliard. I’m the oldest, I knew how to run the resort, so it made sense that I was the one to come back and take care of Cab. ”
If Will’s dream had been to take over the family business someday, he wouldn’t have left. Returning didn’t “make sense”. It’s pure Will. He steps up. For his sisters. His friends.
For me.
“Did you ever think about selling? You and Iris … you could have made a life somewhere else.”
Will sucks in a breath. I’m not sure if I crossed a line or no one was ever brave—or stupid—enough to ask him that question before.
“Cab was only five years old when our parents died. Pinehart was home and she’d already lost so much. How could I uproot her and take her away? She belongs here.”
“But … here isn’t what you wanted,” I murmur.
He leans forward. The moonlight casts his features in silver, deepens his eyes to navy.
“What I want is for Cab to be happy.” His voice is low. “To thrive. I might not love running the resort, but I love my sister, so I’m exactly where I want to be. Sure, there were people who said I’d be sacrificing my future career if I came back, but it’s not a sacrifice when you love someone.”
I’ve never met anyone like Will and I’m falling hard. No, I already fell. My head is finally catching up to my heart.
“It’s getting late.” He rises to his feet. “I should get Cab home.”
He won’t make eye contact now and I’m wondering if he already regrets opening up to me.
I follow him down the spiral staircase. Iris is still asleep, Juni’s head resting on her leg.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he murmurs.
When I turn in my key.
Because I’m going home tomorrow.
In spite of what Nona claims, I don’t have any other options.
But maybe …
I have a choice.