Page 31 of Just Trouble

Abbie and I went away to university, but when we came home for holiday breaks, there were Mackenzie and Willow. We always picked up where we’d left off, as if no one had ever been gone. Mackenzie went to a winemaker’s program in France for a year in the middle of our absences from Empire. Willow never left, just dabbled in online courses and hobbies and part-time jobs. Abbie took a job in Vancouver when she graduated and never came back. We keep a chair for her, just in case.

Damn, but I wanted her to have that house. Oh well.

A year ago, Cameron Sinclair just walked up and knocked on my door one Wednesday night. She’d bought the house next door, having discovered that real estate was significantly cheaper in Empire than in Havelock where she works. She’s not the kind of person to let a detail like not knowing anyone in town stand in her way. She’d noticed us getting together and self-invited. She’s a nurse and I like her. She seems aloof, even reserved, when you first meet her, but she slides in these wicked little comments that crack me up every time. She also has a gift for finding the only single guy in a crowded room/bar/event and charming him so completely that she ends up taking him home.

Every time.

After Cameron joined us, we tried to have a theme. We were a book club first, but then we couldn’t agree on what books to read. I like mysteries. Cameron is into thrillers, preferably of the medical variety so she can red-line all the technical errors. Willow loves romance. Actually, Willow loves pretty much every genre of fiction. She’s our official free spirit, filled with love for everything and everyone in the universe. (Thanks to Luke, that’s now reminding me of his description of Taylor.) Mackenzie never gets around to reading. (We have a joke that our book of the month should have always beenThe Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, because then Mackenzie would not only read it but quiz us on the content.)

We were a knitting club for a while, but I had too many scarves in a hurry. Cameron prefers to crochet and Mackenzie is still knitting a pair of fair isle mittens she cast on in 2014. They’ll be perfect if they’re ever finished, worthy of a blue ribbon somewhere, but they may never be done. Willow makes fuzzy amigurumi by the dozens and sometimes leaves them in unexpected places. There was a perfect plump crocheted penguin in my freezer the last time I hosted, waiting on the icecube tray for me to discover him. The expression on his face is priceless.

I’ll put him back in the freezer today so she can discover him there. That always makes her giggle.

I wouldn’t miss our weekly gathering for the world. I still miss Abbie, but this helps.

Willow is first to arrive tonight. She’s brought a spinach and artichoke dip that has to be heated up and gets busy in the kitchen. We’ve done this often enough that there’s no ceremony. We know each other’s kitchens and just dig in. I’m already setting out cold cuts and olives, cutting cheese into bite-sized pieces and generally admiring the layout of my masterful platter of goodness. Willow hums as she works and that always makes me smile. She’s the niece of Jim who runs the antique store, which is where she works sometimes. Mostly she repaints vintage furniture while he’s out picking, attending auctions and estate sales. I always wonder if it bugs him that some of her repaints go for more than the antiques.

My big bookcase is one of hers, the turquoise blue one in the corner of my living room that provides the perfect pop of colour. It makes me think of the Caribbean or maybe the trip to Greece I’ve always wanted to take.

Now it’s always going to make me think of Luke admiring it last night. How can he have infected my life in just over twenty-four hours? He’ll be the ghost at the banquet forever, but I’m not moving again, not just to exorcise him. (And I’d keep that bookcase anyway.)

The bell rings and I see Cameron waving through the window in the front door. She’s tall with dark hair that’s always cut short—she says it’s practical—but you know when she’s off-duty because she wears red lipstick and dangly earrings. I open the door, she charges in, hugs me, and manages to shove a wine bottle at me at the same time as she takes off her coat. Shechucks the coat in the general direction of my coat rack, and it snags a hook, seemingly of its own volition, then confronts me.

“Did I buy the wrong thing?” she demands and I look at the label on the wine. “The guy at the liquor store in Havelock recommended it, but it is entirely possible he was just trying to get lucky.”

Willow laughs. Cameron waves to her. “I hope it wasn’t expensive,” Willow says.

“He’s always recommending stuff to me,” Cameron complains. “He comes out of nowhere every time I set foot in the store.”

“Maybe he’s on commission,” I suggest. “Is he cute?”

“Not bad,” Cameron says. “But it feels like mixing work and pleasure.”

“You don’t work at the liquor store,” Willow notes.

“But it’s a cornerstone of my existence. I don’t need any complications when running errands.” Cameron eyes me. “Well?”

“This is from Rhodes Vineyard. It’s a vintage. How could it be wrong?”

Cameron makes a face. “But why is it still there? Does this vintage suck that badly?”

“Oh no, this one won awards. I remember. It’s in demand.” I show her the list of accolades on the label.

Cameron dismisses them with a gesture. “We know all that marketing crap is bullshit.”

“Don’t say that to Mackenzie!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, but I brought another bottle of Italian plonk just in case.”

Can an Italian primavera even be plonk? I’m outside my sphere of expertise and just take both bottles.

“We might need both, sincehe’sback,” Willow says with a smile. I know exactly who she means and I hate that I blush.Cameron doesn’t miss a thing. She looks between us, expectant. Willow brings her dip to the coffee table. It smells great. She winks at Cameron as she slips into a chair. “And theonlyperson he went to see was Daphne.”

“Who he?” Cameron demands.

I return to the kitchen to get the charcuterie tray. I get down the wine glasses while I’m there, upgrading to my better ones just because.

Okay, they’re in the cupboard on the other side of the kitchen, which means I can turn my back to my guests for a minute and compose myself. Sort of.

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