49. Chapter 49
Chapter forty-nine
Frankie
W hy did she insist on doing this to herself?
There were dozens of other snowshoe routes she could have taken that didn’t conjure feelings beyond awe and the standard appreciation of Mother Nature’s vast beauty. But no, she had to do things the hard way and twist the knife a little bit more.
At the very least, the weather conditions along Highway 2 were impeccable. Cloudless cobalt sky, no wind, a balmy thirty-nine degrees. The weather was so perfect, in fact, that it made Frankie that much crankier. She wanted a good old-fashioned sulk. One final mope about the last time she’d clomped along Skyline Lake Trail and ended up stranded with the most infuriating asshole she’d ever met.
Convincing herself to move on had been more challenging than she’d anticipated. She’d never been dumped, always the one to break ties when a “relationship” had run its course. She’d also never had sex quite like what transpired between her and Benjamin. And his total disappearance from the college should have been helpful in putting the extremely sexy past behind her. But for whatever reason, this struggle was outside of her wheelhouse, and his eyes and smirk and uninhibited sexual utterances flitted through her mind nightly.
Who was she kidding? They plagued her daily too.
She even took drastic measures and said yes when one of the students in her MSW cohort asked her out for drinks at a local trivia night, but then she chickened out. She wasn’t sure if he believed her strep throat claim. Probably not, since she moseyed into class fit as a fiddle the next morning. He hadn’t approached her since then.
Just as well. She should be focusing on her studies anyway.
So she trundled through the winter quarter, acing every exam and paper the professors threw her way. She’d worked so hard that her advisor recommended she apply for an internship with the Community Youth Justice Council, the most coveted placement organization among her peers. Despite being flattered, she couldn’t help but want to spend her time with the family resource counselor at the local Boys & Girls Clubs. Since her goals involved working closely with foster kids, the experience shadowing and assisting the FRC made much more sense long term.
Spring break had snuck up on her, but she was happy to head home and help out at the family business. Focusing so much on school, she’d, again, neglected her ingrained sense of adventure and needed a big hit of the outdoors before the final leg of her program.
And since Jon didn’t need her to lead a group until the following morning, she found herself with a wide-open blue-bird day.
Naturally, unapologetically torturing herself seemed like the thing to do.
Huffing and puffing up the final switchbacks, bursts of cloudy breath erupting from her mouth, she felt like the little engine that could.
I think I can make myself suffer a bit more. I think I can make myself suffer a bit more.
Frankie stopped as she reached the fork leading to the lake. The banks of the small body of water would likely be frozen all the way around. The center would be thawed but flat as ice from the lack of wind. The sun would glisten off the surface. There’d probably be birds chirping as they fluttered from branch to branch. She might even spot a couple critters hopping around the snow, digging for new shoots and leftover seedpods they’d buried the previous fall but hadn’t been able to find in time for hibernation.
Sitting on a log, taking in the beauty, and basking in the lingering chill would do her some good. It would help her collect her thoughts so she could return to Seattle clearheaded and whole.
And yet.
Begrudgingly, like habitually poking at a canker sore inside her mouth, Frankie turned right instead, following the path past the lake turnoff. Her feet led her without conscious control.
Clomp. Crunch. Clomp. Crunch.
The rhythmic progression toward where she and Benjamin shared their first kiss urged her onward. In no time, she stood at the drop-off, scanning the wide-open view of glittering white peaks and peppered splotches of green trees and bare grass in the valley. It was beautiful.
Seattle had been an interesting change, but she was excited to return home after graduation in June. Once her MSW program ended, the real work would begin. The three thousand experiential hours she’d need to complete to be able to gain licensure from the state of Washington was only the beginning. Fortunately, Child Protective Services in Wenatchee was always on the lookout for interns. Double fortunately, they paid their interns—modestly, but she could supplement her income by guiding for OtB a few times per month.
Clomp. Crunch. Clomp. Crunch.
Someone approached from behind. The intrusion sent a twinge of irritation rippling up Frankie’s neck but abruptly dissipated. With the day being so stellar, it was foolish to think she’d have the trail to herself. But that didn’t mean she’d have to stick around and chitchat with the newcomer.
She stood, preparing to turn, wave, and stride briskly past the approaching snowshoer, when a deep voice froze her in place.
“Francesca.” Her name was spoken so heavily, like the weight of his future hung in every syllable.
She didn’t need to turn to know who had invaded her solo trek. His voice was ingrained in her memory—and fantasies—and continued to plague her thoughts. Unprepared to face him again, she considered her options for escape. Upon finding none (unless tumbling down the embankment again was an option. Spoiler: it wasn’t.) she steadied her shoulders and turned.
Laughter bubbled up inside her at the sight of Benjamin. His choice of winter wear was ridiculous, and not just because he had borrowed her brother’s beloved knit hat, complete with ear flaps and a bushy pompom on top. He clearly had not been prepared to snowshoe, nor had he deemed it necessary to change before descending upon her peace and quiet.
Tailored brown trousers clung to his long muscular legs, along with a white button-down shirt stretched against broad shoulders, sleeves rolled up to reveal corded forearms dusted with dark hair. His navy blazer slung across his hips, tied at his waist like a grungy plaid a Nirvana groupie would have worn in the 90s. But of all that, this fish out of water’s footwear was the most ridiculous because Frankie had no idea that snowshoes could be strapped onto perfectly buffed loafers. His feet had to be soaked, toes frozen, while sweat collected at his chest and armpits.
The sight of Professor Prick in such a state of disarray was too good for words.
Still, she schooled her features, warning her lips to quit their smiling and start frowning already.
The scent of heated cinnamon and fresh perspiration clouded her senses as Benjamin stopped an arm’s length away from her. His chest heaved, cheeks flushed, bare hands curled tightly around his trekking poles.
“Well?” he gasped through ragged inhales.
What was he looking for? A high five for making it to the end of the trail in the stupidest outfit imaginable? Hugs and kisses and tears saying how much she missed him? She had, but he would never hear it from her lips.
“Well, I’ll be off. Enjoy the rest of your hike,” she deadpanned, brushing past him.
She halted when his large hand encircled her wrist. The brush of his cool fingers against the exposed strip of skin between her weather-appropriate coat sleeve and mittens tingled in response. His thumb found her traitorous pulse as it hammered frantically at his touch.
“Francesca,” he pleaded with a little more warning than supplication.
All right, fine. I’ll bite.
“What are you doing here, Benji?” Sliding from his grasp, she crossed her arms—no small feat with a ski pole in each hand.
“Out for a stroll. Thought a tromp through hell was in order,” he teased. The swirl of stormy blue scanned her straight face, taking measure in a way that made her squirm. One side of his mouth quirked. “I came to find you.”
“Clearly. Why?”
“To apologize—”
“Good.”
“—among other things.” The heat in his words was unmistakable. His once unreadable face, one so skilled in maintaining a flat, neutral expression, hid absolutely nothing from her now.
Her disloyal lady parts screamed their consent for the “other things,” while logic, self-preservation, and pride battled valiantly to be heard above the horny protests. She refused to get sucked into this cycle. The night of the wedding was the last time she would allow him to fuck and then leave her in the same breath.
“Here.” He reached into his pocket and handed her a little white business card.
“Let me guess, subtle coloring, tasteful thickness? Has a watermark, perhaps?”
He chuckled, and the sound was like warmed maple syrup. “Does that make me Patrick Bateman?”
“Might as well be.”
“Read it,” he urged, pressing the bit of card stock into her palm.
She sighed and scanned the words.
The Family Law Offices of
Benjamin Clark, Esq.
Attorney & Counselor at Law
Frankie shrugged. “So, what is this supposed to mean? You left NWU and got a new job? Neat. Good for you.”
“Francesca,” he said as he accepted the card back and replaced it in his pocket. “This is because of you.”
“I’m not following.”
“After my mother died, I left divorce law behind. It broke me knowing I was helping men like my father get away with destroying the lives of their spouses. So, I redirected my efforts and began teaching, all under the guise of creating quality lawyers who would do some good someday. To offset the damage I’d done.”
“You told me all of this in the cabin.” She shifted from foot to foot, feeling antsy and ready for the interaction to end. She didn’t understand what any of this had to do with her. He’d been crystal clear about his intentions. Looking toward the trail, she considered how fast she’d be able to tromp out of reach, but knowing Benjamin, he’d figure out a way to outrun her.
“You’re right,” he said, tracking her twitchy eyes as they mapped out an escape route. “Please don’t bolt. If you want to leave, I won’t stop you, but please let me explain something.”
The bitter part of her, the part that resented him for dipping out on her twice immediately following sex, wanted to make him feel the same way she had. She longed for him to know how blatant rejection like that felt. But the other part of her, curious and foolish as it may be, needed to hear his explanation. If nothing else, perhaps listening to him would provide something she’d been grasping at for months: closure.