Chapter 12
Every evening, the people of Grand Trees turn up in a rotating schedule meant to brighten Mom’s spirits and ease my caretaking load. But really, they bring chaos.
On the nights Abby is with him, Caleb stops in with her in tow, but we avoid additional awkward interactions because we are never alone.
Adelaide swings by at least once a day, and the other folks I met on Sunday take turns checking in.
There’s enough food to feed a cavalry, and there’s always a work party at the ready to do the cleaning, so there’s little for me to do, but it’s still exhausting.
Their polite curiosity about my job, my home, my friends, and my failed marriage feels like an extended interview.
On Thursday evening, the entire town shows up.
There are more names than even I can memorize.
I don’t know if they got their signals crossed and were all accidentally assigned to tonight’s shift or if someone sent out an SOS that we needed reinforcements.
And maybe we do. Mom’s silence has felt like melancholy.
She’s been withdrawn, and I’m ashamed to admit I don’t know whether it’s normal for her.
But I know that injuries can spark depression.
Mom has lost so much in the last few years, and now her independence is slipping away.
We’re not able to talk about real things yet, and I don’t know how to get there.
I want to, even if I have no experience turning that want into reality.
Adelaide pours drinks, serves appetizers, and insists that Abby provide musical accompaniment.
Because, of course, Sonny taught her to play guitar.
And piano. And she has a singing voice that rivals his.
It makes me miss him. And missing someone who died while you were estranged is a special kind of torment.
I always understood how Mom fell in love with Sonny.
I loved him, too. He was light and sound and joy and optimism.
He was everything Dad was not. And because I made that connection—even after the discovery of their affair—I felt complicit in Mom’s betrayal.
I couldn’t still love Sonny. I couldn’t forgive him and still be worthy of Dad’s love.
Being back here, in this house, surrounded by the community that Sonny built—it’s all too much.
I need fresh air. I find my way into the kitchen and escape out the back door, but I hadn’t thought this through.
The expansive deck extends over the ravine, and the perilous elevation makes me lightheaded.
I hurry back toward the door when Adelaide calls to me from where she’s perched with a group of people in a circle of Adirondack chairs.
They’re a murmur of soft voices rising from the half-light of the firepit.
“Eden!” she calls. “Oh, Eden, I have a question for you. Come sit with us, dear.”
I should make an excuse and seek solitude elsewhere, but I’m finding it hard to speak, so I walk on shaky legs toward the edge of the deck, shoving my hands in the pockets of my fleece jacket.
The night is cool and dewy. The towering pines watch over the landscape like sentinels, the same pines that hovered over me during my darkest time.
Adelaide pats a chair beside her and I drop into it, focusing on her face, with my back to the menacing view.
“We were just talking about how cut off we are out here, and the county supervisors have basically written us off. But Caleb has all these ideas to make us safer. The festival last week was one. But we need to cut down all those dead trees up at the camp next to the state land, get the main highway back open, and convince the old town holdouts to clear overgrown vegetation, and . . .”
I look around the circle as Adelaide barrels on without taking a breath.
I didn’t notice Caleb sitting across from me because his face is refracted through the blaze, but I see him now.
His eyes are fixed on me, laser-like, but his body is relaxed; he’s leaning against the armrest, his chin in his hand, foot hitched on his knee.
He has no business being so fucking hot.
“But it all takes money,” Adelaide finishes. “And I was just telling everyone that you’re a grant writer.”
“Not really. I do work in fundraising, but I’m not technically—” I start.
“But you know how to raise money.” Adelaide’s expression is hopeful, and I realize this is not small talk.
“Yes,” I say cautiously.
“Well, we’re looking for some help, and I bet you’re just the hotshot we need.”
“Okay . . .” It’s a prompt for more information about what exactly they could want from me, hoping to wrap up this conversation so I can go back inside.
Adelaide claps her hands together, a grin breaking loose across her round face. “Oh, that’s wonderful, Eden. Thank you so much. We’ve been lost trying to figure out how to fill out all those forms, but I bet this will be a piece of cake for a professional like you.”
Shit. What did I just commit to? She reaches out and clasps my hand between hers.
This woman is dangerous. My life gets upended every time she begins a monologue.
Ian is grinning at me, a knowing smile from someone who may have been roped into things by Adelaide a time or two.
I bet everyone in town has been a victim.
“Some things are just meant to be.” Adelaide glances at Caleb. “Don’t you think, Caleb? You two will make a perfect team.”
“Oh, they will.” Ian appears to be enjoying this spectacle.
I’m so confused by his relationship with Caleb.
I couldn’t sit beside Nadia around a firepit and pretend we’re friends.
“Maybe you two should start with the camp project. Spend the spring outlining the plan before the kids come back this summer. Have you ever been there, Eden? I’m sure Caleb would give you a tour. ”
“I spent every summer there as a kid.” My words come out dry as kindling.
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot you were a Colibri Camper,” Adelaide exclaims. “Caleb, you should take Eden with you the next time you do your rounds. Show her all the improvements and your new ideas so she can visualize them.”
“You run Camp Colibri now?” I ask Caleb from across the fractured light of the fire.
“Just the land and buildings. Ian runs the program.” I have to strain to hear him above the crackle of flames. He and Ian are not just friends—they’re business partners?
“I don’t have the patience to manage all that acreage,” Ian says.
“And Caleb doesn’t have the patience to manage all those people,” says Bob, who’s sitting to Caleb’s right. He laughs and nudges Caleb with his elbow. “Can you imagine dealing with all those entitled parents?”
“Oh, tsk, Bob. Caleb’s all teddy bear.” Adelaide is indignant on Caleb’s behalf. “He has plenty of patience for people.”
I try to school my expression but fail, and Caleb catches me cracking a smile.
He raises his brow at me, and I bite my lip, looking away.
Caleb’s patience is selective. For Abby, my mom, his unruly dog, and his ex-wife’s new husband, it’s limitless.
For me, it’s nonexistent. But even at his best, his surly disposition isn’t suited for customer service.
“I’ll stay with Nicolette so you two can get started.” Adelaide charges ahead. “Tomorrow? How does tomorrow work?”
“I have to head over there anyway. What about you?” Caleb asks me, and he sounds like he’s calling my bluff.
Everyone’s watching the exchange, expectant, while Caleb waits for me to back down.
“I’m free tomorrow afternoon,” I say.
“Great,” Adelaide says. “I’ll swing by after lunch.”
And that’s how I agree to visit Camp Colibri for the first time in twenty years—with Caleb Connell as my escort.