People change. Dreams change, too.
When I get back to the house, I sit on the end of my bed in my damp bathing suit, towel around my waist. I pick up the diary from the nightstand and run my fingers over Mom’s writing. I want to tell her I’m going to stay. I want to ask her for advice. I want her to tell me how proud she is. I want my mom.
After I’ve wiped away tears with the edge of the towel, my gaze lands on a name on the page, and I pick up my phone and press the call button.
“Fern?” Peter’s deep voice sounds in my ear.
“Hey, Peter. I wanted to tell you first. I’ve made a decision about the resort.”
* * *
—
“It hasn’t changed at all,” Jamie says as he looks around the living room. “I haven’t been in here since we were dating.”
I’m not surprised. As much as my mother lived and breathed Brookbanks, she kept her relationships with the staff professional. Peter was an exception.
I always thought Mom’s reserve was purely about establishing boss-employee boundaries. Now that I’m reading her diary with adult eyes, I’m certain that’s not the whole story.
But I’m not my mother.
After I got off the phone with Peter, I asked Jamie to come by the house.
He’s wearing a hunter green tie with white pine cones printed on it. It’s something I noticed only a few days ago—he always wears a tie with at least a splash of Brookbanks green. I wonder how much time he spends online, hunting for green ties. I wonder when he morphed into the Jamie he is now, organized and tidy.
Maybe it was when he lived in Banff. He stayed there for a few years, working his way up at one of the resorts before moving to Ottawa to manage a hotel downtown near Parliament Hill. It was Jamie’s parents who told my mom how much he enjoyed his summers at Brookbanks and suggested she give him a call.
Her text message arrived out of the blue a few years ago.
We still like Jamie Pringle, right?
I hadn’t heard his name in years. We didn’t really stay in touch after our breakup.
We do, I wrote back. I hadn’t said much to Mom when we’d split, and I knew this was her roundabout way of asking.
Thinking about hiring him for the manager job.
He’d be great, I texted.
Aside from my mom, no one loved the resort as much as Jamie.
“I really appreciate all the support you’ve given me the last few weeks,” I tell him once we’re seated at the kitchen table. My voice sounds stiff. I don’t know why I’m nervous.
“What the hell, Fernie? Are you firing me?”
“What? No.”
He lets out a gust of air and then drops his head to the table. “I really thought you were going to fire me,” he says, voice muffled.
“Why would I do that?”
He looks up at me with a lopsided grin. “Because you’re still in love with me, and you can’t stand to be in the same room without wanting to tear my clothes off?”
“Am I that transparent?”
“The drooling gave you away. You drool when you’re turned on.”
I laugh. “I brought you here because I wanted to tell you that I’m not going to sell the resort. I’m going to stay on as owner.”
Jamie slaps his hand on the table. “Now, that is excellent news.”
“But there are going to be changes.”
Jamie has some understanding of Will’s consulting work, but I explain more about what we’ve been doing. “You know Brookbanks and the guests,” I say. “I’d love your input.”
“Of course, Fernie. I would be honored to help.” Honored. He’s serious, too.
“You really thought I’d fire you because we dated?”
He eyes me. “I was worried you might. We have a history, and I thought you could want a clean slate.”
“I have a history with a lot of people here. At least half a dozen people on staff changed my diaper. A couple of the guests, too. There’s no such thing as a clean slate for me.”
“But how many of them have you slept with?”
I blink. An image from last night slinks through my mind. Will beneath me, his swollen lips around my nipple, looking up at me with darkened eyes.
“Wait a sec, who else have you slept with, Fernie?”
“No one,” I say, cheeks burning. “We can’t talk about our sex lives if we’re going to work together.”
“Okay.” He flashes me a grin. “Though we’ll have to if we start sleeping together.”
I kick him under the table.
Two hours later, I’m curled up on the couch while Jamie warbles out a shockingly good version of “Ironic.” He insisted that we celebrate, insisted we needed to do that with the good stuff, and insisted on it being his treat. He called the lodge to have a bottle of “our finest, cheapest sparkling wine” sent over.
“Your Alanis is unreal,” I cry, clapping my hands when he’s done.
“I know.” He flops down on the sofa, putting his socked feet up beside me, and sips his beer. The bubbly didn’t last long.
I sigh. “I can’t believe they’re going to let us run this place.”
Jamie bumps my leg with his foot. “I’m happy you’re back. I missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” I say, because it’s true. I lost a close friend when I lost Jamie.
“All right, Fernie. You’re up.”
“What do you mean, up?”
“The floor is yours.”
“Nope, sorry. You know I don’t do karaoke.” Public displays of tone deafness are firmly on the list of embarrassing things I do not take part in. Also: kitschy holiday sweaters, bachelorette party games, sparkly eyeshadow. But Jamie razzes me until I relent.
I’m almost through “Insensitive” (Mom was a major Jann Arden fan) when Jamie turns toward the doorway. In it stands Will. He’s wearing the full Will Baxter: jacket, tie, combed-back hair, and an unreadable expression.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t notice me,” he says. “Please, continue.”
I shake my head, mortified. “How was your meeting?”
“Fine. It ran long.” Will looks at Jamie and the empty bottle of cava on the table. “I got here as soon as I could.”
“Fernie and I were celebrating her good news,” Jamie says, standing.
Will flinches at the word Fernie and runs a hand down his tie. “What news is that?”
“I’ve decided to stay,” I tell him.
Will glances at Jamie and back to me. “Congratulations,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Sorry I interrupted the festivities.”
“You didn’t,” I say.
“You definitely did,” Jamie says. “But I was just leaving. Show me out, Fernie?”
Will’s eyes slit, and Jamie winks at him.
“That guy?” Jamie whispers once we’re at the front door.
“I can’t believe you, trying to bait him like that,” I hiss.
“Come on. I get some leeway to hassle him. Four years together buys me that, doesn’t it?”
“You don’t still . . .” I start, narrowing my eyes.
“Have feelings for you?” Jamie tugs a strand of my hair. “I’ll always love you, Fernie. But don’t worry. I can be professional.”
I’ll always love Jamie, too. “I don’t want it to be weird with us. I want to be friends.”
“Same,” he says. “And as your friend, I don’t like him for you. He’s too uptight, too serious, and there’s something shifty about him. It’s like he’s hiding something. What do you see in him? Does he play an instrument?”
“Goodbye, Jamie.”
He kisses me on the cheek. “And he’s way too tall.”
When I get back to the living room, Will is on the couch, his hands between his knees, staring at the floor.
“You’re looking a little broody,” I say, sitting beside him. “What’s going on?”
“I was thinking about how much I used to hate that guy, and I’d never even met him.”
“Really? If we’re being honest, I wasn’t a big fan of your girlfriend, either.”
Will’s lip quirks. “I could tell. You aren’t the most subtle person, Fern Brookbanks.”
I wince.