Playing with matches, p.5
Playing with Matches, page 5
Liz didn’t like this part of the day. Because this was when she had time to think. When she wasn’t busy, her brain would shift and refocus, and she’d remember why she was here, why she’d had to come home.
April was continually reminding her that she was not a failure, but a failure was exactly what she felt like. She’d left Crimson Valley ready to take on the world. Ready to get her degree and a high-powered, high-paying job and to live her best life. Instead, she’d graduated and worked three different low-powered, minimally paying jobs in a row that had sucked the life right out of her. How she’d gone from knowing exactly what she wanted to drifting around like an empty plastic bag blowing in the wind, she had no idea. She hadn’t seen that coming. At all.
“From most popular to doesn’t know what she wants, that’s me,” she said into the quiet of the room.
A knock at the top of the stairs caught her attention, and her father called out, “Everybody decent down there?”
“Nope. Doing naked yoga.”
His chuckle preceded his descent. He was carrying two glasses of wine, and he crossed the room and handed her one, then took a seat in the chair near the foot of the bed. “To my girl being home,” he said and held out his glass so she could touch hers to it. “I’m glad you’re here, even if you’re not.” Her parents knew her so well. She tended to forget that little inconvenient fact. Her dad gave her a serious look. “How’re you doing, kiddo? Really.”
She sighed and munched on the last bite of her pizza and pondered the question. Lifting one shoulder, she said, “I’m fine.” At her father’s clear head tilt of skepticism, she laughed. “Really. I’m okay.” She knew he wanted more, so she tried harder. “I’m adjusting and…just taking some time to figure out my next steps. And staying busy is helping.”
“Well, I’m sure your sister appreciates the help.”
“I’m sure she’d like it to be coming from somebody other than me, but whatever. This wedding party coming in next weekend…that’ll keep me occupied.”
“Definitely.” He glanced up at the ceiling, then lowered his voice. “Hey, you guys are keeping an eye on your mom, right?”
“I mean, we’re doing our best, yeah. Why?”
A shrug. “I just worry she’s overdoing it.”
“Dad. Have you not met Mom? Of course she’s overdoing it.”
They laughed together, and he pushed himself to his feet. “All right. I’m off. She’s in bed watching TV, but check on her in a bit, yeah?”
“I will.” She watched him climb the stairs, then set her wine on the little table next to the bed and propped her pillows up so she could lean against them. She should change into her pajamas. The engine of her dad’s car turned over, and she heard the crunch of tires on the snow as he pulled away. A couple minutes later, the back door opened, and she knew Lauren had come home.
She lay back, listening to the soundtrack of her youth. Footsteps above her. Creaking spots in the floor. Muffled conversation. Sound from a television. She could follow Lauren’s path from the kitchen into their mom’s room, then into her own room, the bathroom, and back into the kitchen. The slam of the microwave door and the beeps of buttons being pressed, then the whoosh of it beginning to heat whatever Lauren had popped in. Velveeta Shells & Cheese, if she had to guess. Lauren was a terrific cook but rarely cooked for herself, and the quick and easy, highly processed and freaking delicious macaroni and cheese dish had always been her favorite.
Back in time.
That’s how it felt. Like she’d gone back in time, but was still thirty-four years old.
With a groan, she stood and headed up to check on her mom.
* * *
She didn’t need to be up early on Sunday, but Liz was. It was interesting to note how she’d grown from teenager-slash-young adult who loved sleeping in to a thirtysomething woman who rarely slept past seven. She lay in her bed for nearly an hour before the soft light of the sunrise and the sweet birdsong outside coaxed her out of bed and convinced her she should take a walk before her day got busy. Lauren had breakfast covered, and Liz wasn’t needed to help clean rooms until after checkout.
Her weather app told her it was a crisp thirty-five degrees and would be sunny once the sun was fully up. But she didn’t mind going out early. She’d get to see the sunrise, something she rarely paid any attention to while living in the city.
It wasn’t until she was all dressed in her winter garb and headed out back behind the family’s property that she began to realize just how much she actually missed this. The woods. Nature. The quiet sounds of birds and squirrels and other creatures that didn’t hibernate in the winter.
Their property backed up to woods, and if you took a walk about a quarter of a mile into them, you’d come out on a nature trail owned by the state. Motor vehicles were not allowed—which meant no noisy snowmobiles would come whipping through—but it was a haven for snowshoers, cross-country skiers, and winter walkers alike. That being said, it was barely seven in the morning, so Liz felt like she was the only person in the world on the trail.
She inhaled deeply, taking the cold, clean air into her lungs and holding it. When she was a kid, she always complained to her mother or father that the cold air was freezing the inside of her nose, creating ice boogers. That became a running joke well into her teen years, and whenever she’d sniffle in the winter, one of her parents would inevitably ask her if she had ice boogers. She smiled and shook her head at the memory as her feet crunched through the snow and the sun began to shoot its rays between the bare branches of the trees.
Sometimes she came out here to think. Sometimes she came out here to forget.
That was the beauty of this trail. And she had to admit, much as she was feeling dejected about being back home, there was something almost magical about these woods, about this trail, about Crimson Valley in the winter. It was part of who she was, deep down in her heart.
So, today she was forgetting. She just wanted to walk along and listen to her own footsteps in the snow, maybe catch sight of a deer or two or maybe a woodpecker. Any of those things was to be expected. What she didn’t expect was the big, golden dog bounding through the snow like he was having the best day of his life. He ran right up to her, and something about his soft eyes and the way his tongue was lolling out of the side of his mouth—not to mention the puffy green coat that was Velcroed over his back—told her she had nothing to fear. And she was right. He came right up to her, snuffling and whining his excitement at her, and she couldn’t help but bend down to lavish him with attention. She took her gloves off and let him sniff her hand, and there was a love fest, as there should have been.
“Hi there. Hi. Oh, hi. What are you doing out here”—she looked at the nameplate on his collar—“Bear? Are you all alone? I hope not. It’s cold out here.” The words were barely out of her mouth when she heard a voice in the distance.
“Bear! Don’t get too far ahead, buddy!”
Liz was relieved to hear it, and since Bear made no move to return to his mom, she held on to his collar while continuing to pet him and talk to him until his owner came into view. When she saw her, she murmured into the morning air, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
It was Cori Stratton.
She was hiking through the snow in a black down coat, boots, and matching mittens and hat in a creamy ivory. Her dark hair was down, and when she saw Liz, she did a little stutter-step before continuing forward until she stopped directly in front of her. “It’s you again,” she said, but in a fun way, and then she smiled, and Liz felt a tingling low in her body.
She held her arms out to her sides as if presenting herself. “It’s me again. This guy is super cute and friendly, by the way. I think he wants to come home with me.” She ruffled Bear’s ears, and he pushed himself against her thigh.
“He probably would, though it would make me so sad.”
“Well, we can’t have that.” There was a moment of awkward, and Liz could’ve just gone on her way, but she didn’t want to be finished talking to Cori just yet. “You walk out here often?” she asked, then winced at how very much her words sounded like a cheesy pickup line. To her relief, Cori laughed softly.
“Original. Yes, Bear and I try to walk at least some of the trail every morning. He chases the squirrels and sniffs all the trees, and I love the quiet. Helps me center myself for the day.”
“And here I come, ruining the quiet.” Liz shot her a half grimace.
“Not at all. Might be nice to have some company. Walk with us?”
Liz didn’t need to be asked twice. “Sure, okay, as long as you don’t mind.” Bear bounded ahead, then bounded back to them, pushing himself against Liz again.
“Pretty sure we don’t mind,” Cori said with a grin. They walked along in silence for a moment before Cori asked, “How does it feel to be home? Are you just visiting? I heard you were living in Syracuse.”
“It feels…” Liz sighed and it dissipated into the air on vapor. “It feels a lot of different things. I mean, I’m really happy to see my parents. I missed things like this, like walking in the woods. But…” She cleared her throat as she felt a weird sensation of wanting to be honest with Cori. “I got laid off from my job.”
“Oh no. I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“It’s the third job I’ve had since living there and…” Another sigh. She was doing a lot of that lately. “I don’t know, do you ever feel like your life just…isn’t what you thought it was going to be?” Immediately, she wanted to grab the question out of the air and stuff it back into her mouth. But Cori seemed to really ponder it, furrowing her brow and pursing her lips.
“I mean, I don’t think that’s an uncommon feeling. I don’t know that I thought I was going to own Whimsy and be crafty, but that’s what’s happened, and I’m good with it.”
“Yeah, I think it’s the good with it part that makes me struggle.” She made air quotes and grinned so Cori would know she wasn’t mocking her. “I mean, we have a big wedding coming up at the B-and-B, so that’ll keep me busy. Keep me from wallowing for a bit.”
“I know. I’ll be helping out with decorating the house and the barn for it.” They walked for a moment before Cori continued, “I just think that sometimes, we get so caught up in what we think we wanted that we forget to notice what we already have.” She gave a little shrug, then sliced her mittened hand in front of her like she was erasing a whiteboard. “Listen to me, getting all philosophical. Ignore me.” Her soft laugh was cute, echoing into the morning air.
“No, no. That’s a good point.” And it was.
Another stretch of silence—which was surprisingly not uncomfortable—as Bear bounded through the snow after another squirrel.
“Has he ever caught one?” Liz asked.
Cori snorted. “Are you kidding? He eats too well to move that fast. Plus, if he did, he wouldn’t know what to do. He’d want to be its friend.”
Liz laughed. “I can totally see that. He seems to like everybody. Have you had him since he was a puppy?”
“No, I rescued him from the shelter. His family surrendered him after they had a third baby because he was too much.” Cori’s face darkened. “You should’ve seen him. He was clearly heartbroken. Didn’t understand what had happened. Even after I adopted him and took him home, it took some time before he pulled out of his depression. I felt awful for him.”
“That’s so sad.” Liz swallowed down the unexpected lump that had formed in her throat as they walked. “I’m so glad you rescued him.”
“We rescued each other,” Cori said but didn’t elaborate, leaving a little mystery for Liz to think about. Or obsess over, which was more likely. She nodded instead, and they walked on for another few minutes before Cori inhaled deeply and stretched her arms out and said, “God, I love the morning air.” She turned to Liz, dark brows raised in expectation. “Don’t you?”
“Sure. Yeah.”
Cori stopped walking and gave Liz a look. “Unconvincing.”
Liz laughed. “What?”
“That was unconvincing. Come on. Breathe it in!” Cori demonstrated by taking another deep breath. Loudly. “Come on.”
She couldn’t help it. She laughed some more and then copied Cori, sucking in a huge breath of fresh, cold, clean, crisp Adirondack air. She could almost taste it, and it filled her lungs. And it felt good.
“There ya go,” Cori said, her voice laced with happiness, and right then, in that very moment, Liz wanted to make Cori’s voice sound that happy all the time. She wasn’t sure what to make of that feeling, but she liked it. “Again,” Cori said, interrupting her thoughts, and she sucked in air once more. “And out.” Liz obeyed. “See? Isn’t that amazing?”
“It is.” Liz had to admit it. “I mean, it’s not a foreign concept to me—I did grow up here. But it’s been a long time since I just, I don’t know, felt the mountain air in my lungs.” She smiled at Cori with gratitude. “Thanks for reminding me.”
Cori held her gaze for a beat, and Liz couldn’t tell if her cheeks were red from the cold or she was blushing. Either way, she looked super cute, and Liz had a hard time looking away as Cori said softly, “You’re welcome.”
They circled around until they were back near the Brennan property. Reluctantly, Liz said, “This is my stop.”
“Oh.” Was it her imagination, or was Cori reluctant to say good-bye as well? “It was nice walking with you.”
“Same. Kinda glad I crashed your party, not gonna lie.”
And there was that smile. God, that smile. “Kinda glad too.” Bear let out a muffled woof, as if he was trying not to be rude but also didn’t want to be left out. “And this guy was definitely glad. I’m sure he gets tired of only seeing my face out here.”
“Somehow, I doubt that,” Liz said softly.
Gazes held again, and another beat went by before Cori seemed to shake herself back to reality. As she began walking away from Liz, she waved to her and said, “Maybe we can do it again sometime. We’re out here pretty much every morning. Just FYI.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Liz called after her. She stood there for a long moment, watching Cori walk away, her dog at her side, until they crested the hill and descended it, out of her sight. “That was a morning I did not expect,” she said softly to the trees and the clouds and the birds. Then she turned in the snow and followed her own tracks back to the cottage house.
* * *
For the most part, Suzanne and Cori traded weekends. Cori had a couple part-time employees who filled the in-between hours as needed so that either she or Suzanne would have the entire weekend off.
The exception was when Cori had an event to supply. She wasn’t technically a party supply house or a party rental place, but she had a room in the back filled with decorations and such that worked nicely for parties, weddings, gatherings of all sorts, and word had gotten around town that she was willing not only to rent out her wares but to help set them up. People thought she had an eye for such things.
She supposed they were right. But more than having an eye or the right vision for a place, she enjoyed the act of designing, of creating the right look, evoking the exact desired mood of a gathering. It was fun for her, yet another creative hobby in her arsenal that she’d learned to profit from. So this weekend, Suzanne would cover the shop, and Cori would begin setting things up for the upcoming wedding week of the guests at Brennan House.
The Brennans’ B-and-B was not unfamiliar to her. She knew its colors, the size of both the dining room inside and the barn outside, the textures, all those necessary details. In Lauren’s email, she’d also let her know that the bride’s chosen colors for her wedding were ruby reds and emerald greens and pearly whites, and really, what else would you choose for your Christmas wedding?
Bear snorfled in his sleep on the hard cement floor nearby. She swore that dog could sleep on a bed of nails. In his defense, though, his morning walk had been extra energetic as he showed off for Liz. And then that had her mind drifting over to those memories. Running into Liz in the woods, the pleasant surprise not only of seeing her pretty face, but the rest of her, bundled up as it was. Cori had crushed on her in high school—that wasn’t something she’d try to deny—and it seemed she was destined to do the same thing more than a decade and a half later, now that they were adults. Not that Cori didn’t indulge in her fantasies a little more now that she was a grown-ass adult and understood her own sexuality rather than was freaked out about it. Liz was still gorgeous, still fun to listen to, to look at, and she hadn’t wanted their walk to end, even as her fingertips and toes started to tingle, heading toward numbness. So, yeah, her attraction was still very firmly in place, and she was going to enjoy it for the time being.
As she packed up several strings of twinkle lights, she sighed, smiling. Life, man. It was so confusing sometimes. Her phone pinged, alerting her to a text. The screen showed her a blond twentysomething making a goofy face, eyes wide, mouth open in an O. Her little sister Jo.
Dinner @6
Jo didn’t use a single letter more than she needed to when texting.
She typed back. Got it.
The gray dots bounced for a second or two before Jo’s next message. Don’t make me come find u
Cori chuckled. Wouldn’t dream of it. Her family did pizza Fridays religiously, every week without fail. It was really the only time both parents and all four kids were ever in the same place at the same time. And there were always extra bodies. Boyfriends or girlfriends. Besties. Work pals. Cousins. Cori’s parents ordered a huge sheet pizza and dozens of wings from Calzone’s over on Sycamore, set it all out on the table, opened a couple bottles of red wine, sodas, beer, and it was pretty much a party. Her parents were never happier than when they had a huge houseful of people.
