Page 23 of When I Fall In Love

“What?”

“It’s… it’s so gorgeous.” My voice catches as I take in the space. Jessie had sent me the link to see what it looked like, but between wrapping up several loose ends at work, I didn’t have time and just trusted her common sense. Now I regret not giving the web link even a swift glance before flying out here. As I sweep my gaze over the interior, everything reminds me of the home we loved and lost.

“Put me on video so I can see and live vicariously through you.”

Ever since I bought my plane ticket, Jana has been green with envy. I switch the phone to video and wave at her quickly before I turn the screen around to let her have a look-see with me.

“It’s sweet,” Jana says. “Open plan but cozy.”

“Yes.” The big space has a living room with a wood-burning stove in the corner, an open-plan kitchen and four-seater dining table.

“Looks like you’re going to be cooking?”

I glance up at the collection of copper pots and pans that hangs from the exposed wooden beam over the kitchen island, winking at me in the light. “Good grief, I hope not too much.” My plan to shop in Burlington didn’t pan out and I’ll have to drive over in the morning to stock up for the week. I pluck open the fridge. “I’m sorted for breakfast at least.” Thank you, Jessie. Milk, eggs, half and half, some fruit and spreads are in the fridge and in the bread bin there’s a fresh loaf.

I open the freezer section and blink. Ice cream. From Ashleigh Lake Organic Ice Cream and Dairy. Two pints. Nutticrust and Strawberry Shortcake. Dang it. The Nutticrust I don’t know but the Strawberry Shortcake was always my favorite.

“Is that ice cream? Do they all do this there in Vermont? Let you arrive to a fridge full of food?”

“I don’t know.” It does seem too good to be true.

And Hunter is here already, maybe not in body, but in product, reminding me of everything I missed. I swallow and close the freezer door. “Right. I’m sorted in the midnight depression binge-eating department.”

“Come on, Beth, none of that. I’m so glad you’re there, so relax, read, go on long walks, recoup, regroup, re-everything and send me just one photo every day, okay? I’ll need proof of life.”

Hmm. She wants to make sure I’m coming back to the office next week. “Okay. Will do.”

“I’ll check in with you later this week.”

I don’t doubt that for one second. “Thanks for calling.”

We ring off and I turn to face the living room. Two sofas and a rocking chair, covered in dark blue denim, with colorful quilted throw pillows that scream homey. The dining table with its mismatched chairs and a few other occasional pieces—a crockery cupboard displaying beautiful antique plates and cups—are all heirloom pieces. Heavy curtains hang all along the one wall, and I walk over to tug one open. Big windows and glass doors open to a deck and darkness.

I’m right on the lake and could dip my finger into the black ink of the water if I stepped five yards outside. With a groan I drop the curtain back. My heart is soaking this all up as if it’s been starving.

I tug my suitcase along to the only other door and walk into a spacious bedroom with a king-size bed, the beautiful quilt comforter reminding me of May with such ferocity that I drop everything to trace the quilting pattern with my forefingers. She used to make such beautiful quilts, and chances are that this is one of them. Hunter’s aunt was always stitching something to sell. Seven kids were no joke and like us, they’d been struggling.

May always had time for me—a side hug, a mug of hot chocolate, a whispered secret just between us. She chatted to me like a daughter. With her own girls the youngest in the group of seven rowdy kids, I was the one that ‘balanced out the boys’ who reigned at the top, she’d say on a soft chuckle.

I was stupid to have lost contact with May. Love like that—family like that—isn’t something that you order online and have it delivered the next day. This is something I’m starting to appreciate now that Mom’s gone. Those pints of ice cream have my name on them and they’re calling loud and clear right now, but I shrug off the depressing thought and make my way to the adjacent bathroom. There’s only a shower, sink and toilet, no tub and no big window overlooking the lake. No long relaxing baths are in my future then, but I suppose I can’t have it all.

With one big inhale and exhale, I relax my shoulders and force some of the stress of the past week to drain out of my body. I’m here, I’ve arrived, albeit in the dead of night, and tomorrow morning the splendor of fall will be literally on my doorstep.

I get busy with my nighttime routine, opting to take a shower to wash off the long journey. By the time I’m done and slip beneath the covers, I’m exhausted. The quilt is so soft and warm and smelling of that lavender laundry detergent Mom used back in the day when we lived here—as if I needed another thing to remind me of the nostalgia overdose I’ve dunked myself in. My thoughts drift back to May Brodie. Now that I’m here, I can’t come all this way and not go see May and Bill. They were always so kind to me. Kinder than a lot of townsfolk who didn’t take to my mom and her quiet, outsider ways. Maybe I’ll sneak in a quick visit right before I fly back to San Francisco, just to see them one last time.

One last time. For the first time I can’t stomach the thought at all.

A splash of water startles me and I sit up straight. It sounded like someone falling in, something falling in. I prick my ears and more water noises follow. It could be a loon or a deer… maybe even a black bear—I’m not even sure if there are any left in Vermont. I toss the covers to the side and scramble to the window and pull aside the curtain. I need to know what wildlife I’m going to encounter here. For all Jessie’s wonderful planning, she’d said nothing and I’m out in the sticks. I don’t want to walk out on my deck to find a bear lounging in a deck chair first thing tomorrow morning.

My God. It’s a man with a canoe. He’s wearing a headlamp that blinds me and throws the light in such a way that I can’t see much else except the silhouette of his body in the dark as he settles in his seat, lifts a paddle and slides it into the water like a hot knife through butter. He switches off his headlamp and disappears into the night, but I keep on staring into the dark.

At least it wasn’t a bear.

At least he isn’t going for a swim. The water must be freezing. I clamber back into bed with a curse. Great. Just great. I have a wacky neighbor who goes rowing in the dead of night. What’s up with that?

That thought is still floating in my head when the shrill ring of my phone jerks me awake. I grapple for my phone on the nightstand just as the ringing stops. Nice. It’s almost lunchtime. I was tired, but this? It’s unheard of.

My hand collapses to the soft covers, warm and comfy like a hug, and I just want to snuggle deeper and disappear into them, but my mind tugs in the direction of the work I left unfinished back in San Francisco. With a groan I turn my face into the pillow and think of Collingwood Farm instead. The farm is why I’m here in the first place. I eye my phone again. Several messages and a missed call from Brenda, Jessie’s boss and grande dame of the local real estate scene.

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