Camp Lost and Found, page 8
Right then, the deer and her grown babies wandered across the lawn, looking for food, their hooves leaving tracks in the new-fallen snow. Frankie relaxed into the hammock chair and sipped her wine and watched the deer and smelled Cassidy’s bath, and for the first time in weeks, she felt almost content.
Chapter Seven
Cassidy jerked awake, the same fucking dream robbing her of any semblance of restful sleep. She blinked rapidly, and when she rolled over and almost dropped off the tiny bed, it took her several moments to remember where the hell she was. Then her memory cleared, and her ragged breathing evened out and she lay there, staring at the water-stained ceiling. A twin bed. She snorted in derision.
She’d promised herself when she’d aged out of the foster system and enrolled in community college, taking as many business courses as she could handle while working three jobs, that she would never sleep in a twin bed again. It was double or nothing. At least. And then she’d met Jenna in Economics. Jenna, who hadn’t been in the system, but had had just as rough a childhood and had made the same promises Cassidy had made to herself. They’d recognized that they were kindred spirits, had become BFFs and business partners, and Scentsibilities was born. Thank God for Jenna or Cassidy wouldn’t be able to be here, doing what she was doing.
What was she doing, anyway?
She’d accomplished nothing. She’d been here for three days now but still felt lost and confused and alone. Mason was still dead, and she still hadn’t been there for him, just like she hadn’t been there for him for the past five years. Okay, more than five, if she was honest. Seven. At least. Probably ten was more accurate.
They lived across the country from each other but talked on the phone pretty regularly. Or FaceTimed. Whichever worked. But then Mason married Emily, and she wasn’t a huge fan of their friendship—something Cassidy never really understood for many years—and they sort of drifted.
The dream was the same every time—Mason calling out to her from every single direction and Cassidy never able to find him. The foggy vapor of a dreamscape made visibility nearly impossible, and she’d spent what felt like hours running around, trying to find the source of a voice she knew so well and hardly knew at all, and she’d wake up fucking exhausted, as if she’d gotten a total of zero sleep.
This morning was no different. So much for the relaxation of the wine and fire and hot bath from the previous night. She might as well have stayed up and run around in the cold for all the pleasure she felt right now. A glance at her phone told her it was barely five a.m., but she already knew she wasn’t going back to sleep. Might as well get up and get some coffee. She threw off the covers with a resigned sigh.
She was surprised to see the kitchen light on and smell the wonderful scent of coffee as she reached the bottom of the stairs. It was still fully dark out, and the fire looked like it had burned down to embers and had then been rekindled, the flames licking at some new wood almost cheerfully.
Frankie stood in the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee from the ancient Mr. Coffee, and if she was surprised to see Cassidy so early, she didn’t show it. She simply held up the pot and, when Cassidy nodded, pulled down another mug and filled it as well.
“You’re up early,” Frankie said.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“I hear that.”
As if by unspoken agreement, they both headed into the living room. The lights were off, the fireplace the only source of illumination, and they took their spots from the previous night in front of the window.
It must have snowed all night because there was a good six inches or more on the ground. Cassidy had always loved the snow, the way it gave everything a clean, fresh look, like the world was helping you start over. Clean-slating things. It was the one thing she missed, living in Southern California.
“Are you warm enough up there?” Frankie asked, and even though her voice was low and quiet, it seemed loud in the silence of the morning. “I tried to build up the fire last night before I went to bed, and the heat should rise…” She didn’t finish, just lifted one shoulder.
“I’m fine. Though I almost fell out of my bed a little while ago. Been a long time since I slept in a twin.” She chuckled, realizing that, annoyance aside, it actually was kind of amusing.
“Does anybody sleep in a twin bed once they’re an adult?” Frankie’s dark brows furrowed. “I don’t think I know of any.”
“Now that I think of it, neither do I.”
They grinned at each other for a moment, then sipped in tandem.
“You know,” Frankie said, “you could move to a different room. There are a couple in the back near mine. Double beds. One might even be a queen.” She gestured with her head in the direction of the bedrooms on that floor.
“Maybe I’ll take a look in a bit.”
Frankie nodded, and they got quiet again.
That was the thing with Frankie—Cassidy was beginning to understand. She was quiet, and that was okay. She didn’t pry. And Cassidy returned that favor. She suspected they were both there for their own reasons, sort of kindred that way. Oh, she wanted to ask Frankie all kinds of questions. Wanted to dig, to probe, to learn all about her. Where was she from? Why was a culinary-school-taught chef out here in the woods of the Adirondack mountains in a run-down summer camp all by herself? She was young—Cassidy put her in her thirties, maybe. She was gorgeous. Not for the first time, Cassidy wondered what it would feel like to dig her fingers into all that dark hair. She had people. Besides Reiko and Eden, Cassidy had seen Frankie’s phone buzz with texts. Somebody was in contact with her.
So what was her story?
Before she could even think about broaching anything close to the subject, she heard Frankie’s breath catch, and she pointed out the window.
“The fox,” she said softly.
Sure enough, a fox was slinking across the front of the house. If it weren’t for the snow, they probably wouldn’t see her so clearly, her rust-colored body with the black legs, her big eyes carefully watching for any kind of predator.
“She’s so small,” Cassidy breathed. “I don’t think I realized.” Frankie nodded in seeming agreement.
There was something indescribably peaceful about that early morning, sitting in the quiet, watching nature and sipping coffee as the world woke up, and they stayed that way for a long time. She got up to refill their mugs once, and Frankie stoked up the fire, and then they reclaimed their seats like they’d lived that way for years. No words. Just presence. Cassidy had no idea how long they sat like that until things started to become light outside, the sun eventually peeking over the horizon in a big ball of crimson pink, the trees gradually going from one mass of dark to individual trunks and branches. The birds came alive, flocking to the feeders Frankie had around the property, squirrels helping to clean the seed off the snow.
“I need to fill those feeders,” Frankie said finally, and Cassidy wasn’t sure if she was speaking to her or just in general.
“I should probably check my phone.” She only just then realized she’d left it upstairs. Jenna had likely sent several messages by now and would send a search party if Cassidy didn’t respond soon. How strange that it never occurred to her to even check in. That wasn’t like her at all.
She was reluctant to let the peace of the morning end, but when Frankie finally pushed herself to her feet and reached out a hand for Cassidy’s empty coffee mug, she had no choice. She smiled up at Frankie, who took the mug and headed into the kitchen.
Upstairs, she was right—there were four texts and two missed calls from Jenna, the last one saying Jenna trusted her if she needed time and space, but she wasn’t allowed to just go MIA without some kind of a heads-up. That was beyond reasonable, and Cassidy felt instantly guilty—both for not calling and for not caring about her own business right now.
With a sigh, she sent off a text, and Jenna immediately responded with, You’re alive. Thank fucking God.
And then the phone rang in her hand. She sighed again, did her best to put on her CEO hat, and then pressed the green button.
* * *
Frankie’s grandmother would be so amused by how much she loved birds now. How well she took care of them, out nearly every day filling feeders, spending too much money on birdseed and suet. Hell, she had a bird book sitting on the end table next to the hammock chair, so she could look up what kinds of birds landed out her window. Binoculars, too! She shook her head and smiled to herself. She was clearly an eighty-year-old woman in a thirty-three-year-old body.
The chickadees were her favorites.
They were small and chubby and black and white and tough. They stuck around through the winter. No wimpy flying south for them, no sir. They weathered snowstorms and wind and frigid temperatures to sit high among the bare branches and sing their little hearts out. The least Frankie could do was keep them well fed.
She unhooked a feeder from a branch and set it on the ground so she could pour fresh sunflower seeds into it, and as she did, she thought about the last two and a half hours of her life. Sitting there quietly with Cassidy, sipping coffee, watching nature and, eventually, the sunrise. It had been weirdly not weird, and she had no idea what she was supposed to do with that. Her opinion hadn’t changed—she still preferred to be there alone, at least until she could figure how to live with her past. That’s why she’d taken this job, to be alone. Cassidy Clarke was still infringing on her peace, her quiet, her penance. And she’d had the damn nightmare again last night, which was why she’d been up so early. But there was something comforting about Cassidy’s presence, and Frankie didn’t want to admit that, to herself or anybody else.
And yet…
Her train of thought was broken by the sound of tires slowly crunching through the snow up the driveway, and as expected, the red pickup soon came into view, though slower than usual, the tires on it old and spinning in the fresh snow. It finally pulled to a stop, and Frankie approached it, Eden in the cab.
“Morning,” Eden said, then handed a box through the open window. “Margaret made you some doughnuts.” Margaret Brookstone owned Baked Expectations, a local bakery. Frankie met her the first day she’d arrived in Shelton and had been buying supplies to stock up. The second Margaret heard that Frankie was staying at the camp by herself, she’d leapt into something like mother mode, popping up to check on her, bring her baked goods, and subtly remind her that she was uncomfortable with Frankie up there alone. “She says the extra calories will keep you warm.”
Frankie rolled her eyes, but it was good-natured, and she added a smile because Margaret meant well, always. The truth was, Frankie’s parents would be thrilled to know so many folks in Shelton were looking out for her. It was clear that Frankie had no say in the matter, so she just accepted it. What else could she do? She opened the box to see what today’s three flavors were, as Margaret only made three flavors a day. Boston cream, crullers, and powdered jelly.
“How’s it going with your houseguest?” Eden asked.
Frankie shrugged. “S’okay.”
“She driving you crazy?” Eden clearly expected the answer to be yes. In the two months she’d been at the camp, Eden had gotten to know her pretty well, much to Frankie’s surprise. Eden was what Frankie’s sister Ashley would call an intuitive, meaning she could sense things, feel things, pick up on the emotions and feelings of others, and be disturbingly accurate.
“Nah.” Frankie glanced toward the house, wanting to look away because the way Eden intuited was to look in your eyes. But it was too late, damn it.
“Interesting,” was all Eden said, but she drew the word out like she was rolling it around, examining it. And then she let it go, maybe sensing that Frankie was in a precarious spot. “Luthor says to plan on coming down for Thanksgiving.”
That got her attention, and she turned back to face Eden, astounded. “Thanksgiving?”
Eden blinked at her for a moment before giving a snorted laugh. “Um, yeah, it’s next week. In six days, to be exact.”
To say Frankie wasn’t keeping track of time was a gross understatement. She hardly remembered what month it was, let alone the exact date. “Wow.”
“Yeah.” Eden gestured toward the house. “Think she’ll still be here?”
It was a valid question, and one Frankie hadn’t considered yet. She shrugged again. “No idea. I mean, I don’t know why she would.”
“What’s she doing here, anyway?”
“No idea,” she said again, and it was a surprising truth. She didn’t know a whole lot about Cassidy Clarke, and that’s because she simply hadn’t asked.
“Reiko said she’s the head of a big lotion company?”
Frankie nodded. “Seems so.”
A quiet growl escaped Eden. “You understand that you are the worst at information, right? Like, you legit suck at it.” But her eyes were bright, and there was a ghost of a grin on her face, so Frankie knew she was teasing.
“I know that, yeah.” She grinned back.
“All right.” Eden waved her away. “I’ve had enough of you.” She shifted the truck into gear but stopped and met Frankie’s gaze, her face suddenly serious. “You’re okay, though?”
A wave of gratitude for this person, who had known her for a mere tiny fraction of her life but was always concerned for her, hit Frankie hard right then, and she smiled. “I’m okay. Promise.”
Eden took a beat to study her face, something that always made Frankie want to squirm, but she forced herself to stay still. Finally, Eden gave one nod, apparently satisfied, and was on her way, leaving Frankie standing in the snow with a box of doughnuts in her hand.
* * *
Cassidy had been on the phone with Jenna for almost a half hour, and it was freaking her out a little bit. Not because of the time, but because of the clear role reversal they were suddenly playing at. Normally, it was Cassidy who was demanding and hyperfocused and driven. Today, it was Jenna, and Cassidy felt like she almost couldn’t care less.
What was happening to her?
“Cass? Cassidy, are you listening to me?” Jenna’s voice held an unfamiliar edge.
“Yeah. I’m here, I’m here. I hear you.” She wasn’t being fair. She knew it. She’d dropped so much in Jenna’s lap. Yes, they were business partners, and Jenna could handle it. She could make major decisions without Cassidy’s input, but she didn’t like to, and Cassidy knew it. Lately, Jenna liked to emphasize the word partners, and Cassidy couldn’t blame her. She was pretty much absent.
Jenna sighed. “Look.” Her voice went soft, as if she’d made a conscious effort to take that edge away. “I know you’re struggling. Grief is hard. It can suck you dry or shove you into a corner you never want to leave. And I want you to take whatever time you need.” A pause. “But I don’t want to run this company without you. I need you to at least check in, okay? I don’t want to have to chase you down.”
She wasn’t asking a lot, Cassidy knew. It was fair. More than fair. But in that moment, all she felt was irritation. She knew it was unreasonable. She knew it wasn’t a good balance. But she couldn’t seem to tamp it down. “Fine,” she said, and it was one bitten-off syllable.
Jenna paused, so Cassidy knew she’d felt it. Jenna knew her better than anybody at this point. She didn’t sigh, but Cassidy heard her let out a breath, as if she was resigned to making no more progress on this call. “I’ll email you a couple things I need your input on. Please look at them. Today.”
Cassidy forced herself to take a second before she answered. “Okay. I will.” There. She sounded better. Friendly. Grateful. Didn’t she?
She hung up the phone and sat there, on the twin bed that wouldn’t let her sleep. At the camp that was the only steady place she’d had growing up. With snowflakes beginning to fall again. In the company of a woman she didn’t know, who clearly had ghosts of her own, whose space she was inarguably infringing upon.
“How the hell did I get here?” she whispered to the empty room. She should just pack up her shit, get back in her rental, and get the hell out of there. Go home. Back to the West Coast. Back to warmth and sun and unchanging weather. Back to crazed days and working well into the evening and having zero time for anything or anybody else…
Yeah.
That’s what had gotten her where she was now, wasn’t it? And the weirdest part of it was that she—workaholic, woman-on-the-move, entrepreneur extraordinaire—had absolutely no desire to go back to that. She should miss her company right now. She should be missing the hustle and bustle, the endless phone calls, the travel and sales meetings and pitches. She should be worried about who was handling what because she felt better doing most of it herself. But the truth was, she wasn’t. Not even a little tiny bit. And that scared the hell out of her.
Her gaze wandered from her clasped hands in her lap over to the dresser where the wooden box sat. She had so many things she wanted to say to Mason. So many questions. So much catching up. So many apologies.
Except it was too late now, wasn’t it?
“I’m so sorry, Mason.” The words seemed loud in the quiet house, the quiet bedroom. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you.” Her vision swam as her eyes welled up, irritating her, but she was unable to stop it. The gentle knock on the door startled her. She flinched where she sat and used her fingertips to wipe the tears. “Yeah? Come on in.”
