“Yes.”
Smitty nodded, then led the way through the Quonset hut and out the other end. The backyard was big and well maintained. Flowers grew in riotous clumps along the walkway. There, a thicket of towering evergreens stood clustered behind the small log cabin. Moss furred the roof; the front porch sagged precariously.
“You were a teenager the last time you lived here. I couldn’t keep track of all the girls you dated.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Yeah,” Smitty sighed. “Helga still keeps it spick-’n’-span clean. She’ll be glad to have you back.”
Joe followed Smitty to the cabin.
Inside, it was as clean as always. A red-striped woolen blanket covered an old leather sofa and a rocking chair sat next to the river-rock fireplace. The yellow Formica-clad kitchen appeared well stocked for appliances and pots and pans, and a single bedroom boasted a queen-size four-poster bed.
Joe reached out and shook Smitty’s bear-claw hand. “Thank you, Smitty,” he said, surprised at how deep his gratitude ran. His throat felt tight.
“There are a lot of people in this town who care about you, Joe. You seem to have forgotten that.”
“That’s nice to hear. Still, I’d be happier if no one knew I was here, for a while, anyway. I don’t … feel comfortable around people anymore.”
“It’s a long road back from something like that, I guess.”
“A very long road.”
After Smitty left, Joe burrowed through his backpack for one of the framed photographs that he’d taken from his sister’s house. He stared down at Diana’s smiling face. “It’s a start,” he said to her.
Meghann woke up disoriented. In the first place, the room was dark. Second, it was quiet. No honking horns and sirens and the beep-beep-beep of trucks in reverse gear. At first she thought a radio was on, in a room down the hall. Then she realized that the noise was birdsong. Birdsong, for God’s sake.
Claire’s house.
She sat up in bed. The beautifully decorated guest room was oddly comforting. Everywhere were handmade trinkets—proof of time spent on the little things—as well as Ali’s artwork. Framed photographs cluttered every surface. In another time and place, Meghann might have laughed at the crudely painted macaroni-coated egg carton that acted as a jewelry box. Here, in her sister’s house, it made her smile. When she looked at it, she pictured Ali, with her pudgy little fingers, gluing and placing and painting. And Claire, clapping with pride when the project was done; then proudly displaying it. All the things their own mama wouldn’t have had time for.
There was a knock at the door, then a hesitantly called out “Meg?”
She glanced at the bedside clock.
Ten fifteen.
Oh, man. She rubbed her eyes, which felt like a sandpit from lack of sleep. As usual, she’d tossed and turned all night. “I’m up,” she said, throwing the covers back.
“Breakfast is on the table,” Claire said through the closed door. “I’m going to go clean the swimming pool. We’ll leave at about eleven, if that’s still okay?”
It took Meghann a second to remember. She’d promised to join Claire and her friends in town. Wedding-dress shopping in Hayden with grown women who called themselves the Bluesers.
Meghann groaned. “I’ll be ready.”
“See you then.”
Meghann listened to the footsteps as Claire walked away. How long could she keep up this charade of I’m your sister, I support your wedding? Sooner or later, her head would pop off, or—worse—her mouth would open and her opinion would explode, bomblike: You can’t marry him. You don’t know him. Be smart.
None of these opinions would sit well.
And yet, because Meghann couldn’t return to work, had no friends to call, and no true vacation plans, she found herself preparing to plan her sister’s wedding. Honestly, who could possibly be worse for the job?
She couldn’t even remember the last wedding she’d attended. Oh, yes she could.
Hers.
Of course, it hadn’t been the wedding that sent them on the wrong road; it was the pairing up that had done it.
She got out of bed and went to the door. Opening it a crack, she peeked out. Everything was quiet. She hurried down the hallway to the small second-floor bathroom. An unopened traveler’s toothbrush lay on the side of the sink, no doubt a quick repossession from the “resort’s” mini store. She brushed her teeth, then took a quick, very hot shower.
Thirty minutes later, she was ready to go, re-dressed in yesterday’s clothes—a white Dolce & Gabbana blouse, a pair of low-rise Marc Jacobs jeans, and a wide brown belt with a silver circle buckle.