Chapter 1 #3
That was normally fine. But right now it felt a little bit lame. Because they were all going riding, and she didn’t even know how to do it.
Marlowe had learned how. Marlowe had taken this move and really grabbed the bull by the horns. Or the cowboy by the horn, so to speak. Cara had… launched a successful business. It wasn’t nothing, but in terms of personal growth, it wasn’t really as much as she had been hoping for.
“I think I’m going to be busy.”
She wasn’t that thrilled with herself for that decision.
Because it would be so much better to go with them.
It would be so much more… It would be a bigger move.
But they would have to take their time to teach her how to ride, it would cut into their trip.
Maybe sometimes she would ask for help learning to ride.
Maybe she would ask Walker. Because he was easy.
Or even Cody, because he was like the big brother that she’d never had.
But she didn’t need to go cramping their style.
She would just close the bakery like usual tomorrow, go back to her house, make a cup of tea, sit down with her crochet, and watch British murder shows.
That seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do.
“Okay,” Lila said, though she looked disappointed.
Cara knew that Lila really wanted to befriend her. It wasn’t that they weren’t friendly. It was just that Lila was prickly and brash, and liked to do outdoor activities, and Cara was not those things.
She also had minimal experience befriending people her own age. She’d spent many hours in the kitchen of her childhood home chatting with her mother’s friends who came to visit when her mother was too unwell to go out.
Lila had a reckless confidence to her that Cara found intimidating. And also, she didn’t know what they could do that they would both enjoy. Cara didn’t have the lay of this land yet.
Cara loved living here. It was beautiful. She had always lived somewhat in the country. Though, her family home had been in a nice neighborhood, not outside of town. But they had lived in a small town, a tight community where everyone knew each other.
It was idyllic, except for her circumstances. She could remember riding her bike around town before she could drive, picking up groceries, and taking them home in the basket on the front of her handlebars.
The owner of the grocery store would always chat with her, the baker would always wave as she rode by while he was loading bread into his delivery truck, and ask how she was doing.
Everyone did.
They would ask how her mother was doing.
That became stifling when the answer was always bad.
When she couldn’t tell them that she was getting better. Couldn’t tell them anything at all except lies, because who wanted to pause their momentum to say: she remembers less every day, and I’m living with my mother’s ghost while she’s still breathing?
It was easier to say: She’s doing great.
She’d told herself that was a fine thing to say as long as her mother wasn’t actively dying.
It was only when her mother had been put on hospice that Cara had felt obligated to say that. When her mother passed away, she just didn’t want to stay in that town anymore.
She couldn’t imagine. Because people asking how her mother was were going to turn into people asking how she was. Or telling her stories about her mom, telling her how much they missed her.
And Cara did too.
But Cara also knew the great and terrible guilt of feeling relieved that her long years as a caregiver were over.
She didn’t think she could ever bring herself to speak those words out loud to anybody.
She got her steak and sat down. It was Marlowe who settled up next to her, looking concerned.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, thinking it was somewhat ironic that her sister-in-law had just asked her that when she had been thinking about how much she didn’t want random people around the town asking her that very question.
It was different with Marlowe, though. Because she actually knew her.
And around Mustang River, people didn’t. Which was honestly a relief. Because when they asked how she was doing, it was just a pleasantry. A light greeting.
It didn’t mean anything.
“I’m fine. Really. You know how Zane is.”
“Intense.”
“Very.” Thinking about his intensity made her shiver, and she tried to hide it by taking a particularly fierce bite of her food.
“He wasn’t mean to you, was he?”
“A little bit mean, but I can handle it.”
She and Marlowe took turns babying each other, which was a little bit silly. They were both tough, resilient. But when Marlowe had been at her lowest after Cara’s brother had left her, Cara had done her best to make sure that her sister-in-law was still doing okay.
Marlowe bumped her shoulder with her own. “You could come riding.”
Cara grimaced. “Honestly. I’m happy with a night in.”
As she drove home, she had to wonder what it was going to take to get her to make some changes. She couldn’t help but feel frustrated.
She was nothing like Zane Barton. Nothing at all.
And yet, maybe she was destined for that kind of future. To be alone, by herself, walls up around her heart, her life, but instead of doing whatever he had been doing, off in the woods without a shirt, it would be her, her cup of tea, and her murder mystery shows.
It was a sobering thought.
Then she pushed it out of her mind as she picked up her yarn.
This was a problem for another day.