Page 6 of Secret Nights and Northern Lights
Marcus and Mason naturally take over the conversation in the name of filling me in on all things Iceland, and my chest tightens with each tick of their fingers as they list off all the top sites to explore.Exploreas in lots of walking, hiking, and climbing.In the elements.
I’m in decently average shape, I suppose. I’ve been known to accompany Jacklyn to a yoga class from time to time. Yet, as my brothers drone on and on about what all I’ll need for this trip—hiking boots, waterproof pants, thermal base layers, wool socks, a hiking backpack, collapsible trekking poles (what even are those?)—my worries compound with each addition to their lists.
Polishing off my glass of wine, I immediately pour another. Across the table, Carrie must register my alarm because she leans forward on her elbows and says in the calm, motherly tone one inherits the instant they become a parent, “Relax. You’ve got this. We can go shopping tomorrow for everything you’ll need.”
“Thanks, Carrie,” I say, a tiny glimmer of light twinkling at the end of the dark tunnel of panic. “That’d be great.”
“I’ll come, too,” Mason chimes in. “I have the day off from the hospital tomorrow and I could use a new pair of hiking boots.”
“So, uh, how much is all of thisstuffgoing to cost me?” I ask, trying to get an approximation of how much I’ll have to spend to make this trip happen.
“Doesn’t your company cover expenses?” Marcus questions, cutting a second slice of his favorite cake.
“They cover my expenses on the trip,” I reply. “They aren’t going to cover my expenses to add to my wardrobe.” At least that’s the answer I anticipate, not that I’d ever ask Calvin in the first place. I’d rather take on the credit card debt than put myselfin the awkward situation of having him shoot me down when I present a receipt for items Suki and Devon probably own in multitudes.
“I’ll pick up the tab,” Mason says then, catching me off guard. “Whatever you need.”
“No, you don’t have to do that,” I protest.
He waves me off. “It’s fine. Harry at the outdoor store gives me a steep discount ever since I patched up his wife when she slipped on some ice in their parking lot last winter. Consider it your birthday present.”
“Thanks, Mase.” Guilt fills me again over dreading this dinner. My brothers are good humans, they’re just…a lotsometimes.
“You’ll stay here tonight then?”
I shift my attention to the head of the table. My father’s bespectacled face is austere yet youthful at age sixty, despite the salt waging a solid battle against the pepper in his thick black hair.
“No need to take the train back this late.”
My heart warms to think this may be his inadvertent way of getting me to stick around a little longer on my birthday. Then again, he’s always been a pragmatist. “Sure. I’ll stay.”
Later, after exchanging goodbye hugs and kisses with my nephews and niece and helping my mother with the dishes, I climb the creaky wooden stairs up to my old bedroom. Everything about my room is still the same as when I left it. Cool blue walls. Overstuffed bookshelf. Metal-framed bed. Rustic wooden dresser that still contains some old T-shirts.
Well past eleven now, I change into an old V-neck tee and a pair of loose plaid pajama pants that belonged to one of the twins. Then I kneel to flip on the trusty night-light plug-in near the door.
A softpingstrikes the window behind me.
I freeze in place, arm extended.
Because it’s not any random noise, it’s a specific ping against my windowpane that I haven’t heard in fourteen years. A flutter stirs in my stomach.It couldn’t be…Could it?
Anotherping.
My breath catches.
I rise from my crouched position and close the distance separating me from what surely couldn’t be. Shaky fingers unlatch the casement window, and I press the panel outward, following it with my upper body, only to quickly reel backward when I spot another pebble flying directly toward my face. It misses and skitters across my bedroom floor. I pause to make sure there are no more flying objects being hurled my way before I lean back into the tepid night air and search below for any explanation other than the one my brain is unwilling to accept, the one that hasn’t made sense since high school.
As if this day could get any more unpredictable, Ben Carter stands in the grass below, face awash in the glow of a floodlight, hand full of pebbles from the nearby flower bed.
“Sorry about that,” he whisper-shouts with a wince. “Guess I’m a bit out of practice.”
Chapter 3
“Ben?What are you doing here?” I whisper-shout right back at him.
The motion-sensitive floodlight shuts off, leaving him illuminated in silvery moonlight. With the familiar way he sways back and forth on his feet and how the night camouflages any sign of age in his features, I swear I could have fallen years back in time, and that could be seventeen-year-old Ben standing in my backyard with a hand full of pebbles.
“Can we talk?” he asks. “Please?”
