Page 10 of Falling Slowly
But if I donated the last of Jack’s prototypes and materials, I’d be admitting defeat. I’d be giving up the story I told Celia about how this was all temporary and how we’d one day move into a nice apartment, and she’d get her own room and our memories would either be stored appropriately or displayed nicely, not in teetering boxes by the bedroom wall.
What would it be like to take her to the mountains? She got so excited about the swings that she squealed. It didn’t feel right to go away without her. How could I possibly relax and enjoy myself? And what was I supposed to pack? I hadn’t travelled in years. Did I even have a suitcase? Questions circled my brain as I brushed, flossed, and got ready for bed.
Thankfully, I still had a whole day and a half to stress about this before I had to leave. I curled up next to Celia, nuzzling her to the sloping side of the bed to make room for myself. What would it be like to have a entire cabin to myself?
I had to make the most of this. Not just for my sake, but for my daughter’s. If I eventually snapped under pressure, she’d suffer for it. God had decided to give me a break and I’d use it to recharge. I’d eat all that amazing food and breathe the healing mountain air. And I’d spread-eagle in that luxuriousbed, enjoying the space and privacy. Me, the pine trees, and the mountain tops.
It didn’t sound too bad at all.
Chapter Six
Bess
“Oohhh!”
My spontaneous reaction sounded so much like Mom’s that I had to smile. After a long, arduous climb that seriously tested the engine of my little Toyota, I was finally in Cozy Creek. The town center spread before my eyes like a breathtaking postcard, no Photoshopping required.
The majestic mountain range burned fire-red behind the decorative Victorian-era buildings. They looked like iced sugar cookies lining Main Street—too pretty to be real.
I felt a stab of guilt for not sharing the view with Celia or Mom, so I parked on the side of the road, got out of my car and sent them a photo. I briefly considered a video call, but it would have eaten up my data.
Wriggling my phone back to its hands-free stand, I got back on the road and followed the map instructions up a steep and winding road, shaded by evergreens. After a while, I emerged from the forest and spotted the giant building from a hundredyards away, perched on a gentle slope of windswept grass, with majestic rock formations rising behind it. Architecturally, the place looked like a modernized Victorian castle, complete with a pointy tower.
I felt underdressed in my black jeans and T-shirt, my shoulder-length bob hanging straight and limp. It was a style born out of budget concerns rather than preference. Mrs. Banshee, my downstairs neighbor, knew how to cut a straight line, and I applied the box color to hide my mousy brown.
The heavy oak door creaked as I pushed my way into an impressive reception area. Inside the building, the historical exterior gave way to fresh remodeling. Stark white walls showcased a variety of art, from traditional landscapes to modern ink blot tests and geometrical shapes. The receptionist, a young woman with high-maintenance rainbow hair, stood behind a desk adorned with bowls of giant pinecones.
She removed a piece of chewing gum from her mouth and smiled. “Welcome to Rubie Ridge. How can I help you?”
My gaze narrowed in on the name tag dangling on her shirt and I tried to memorize the name: Harleu. Was there a typo? No way was I risking the pronunciation of that one.
“I’m here for the… retreat?” I dug up the welcome letter from my backpack.
Harleu studied the paper. “You’re from Wilde Creative?” Her eyebrows drew together in confusion. “So, you’re Charlie Wilde?”
“What? No!” Panic flashed through me. Was I not booked in after all?
“I’m Charlie Wilde.” A familiar voice boomed across the reception, giving me a start.
I turned around, trying to hide my immediate unease. Why was he here?
Miss Rainbow Hair reacted like females always did. Sure, Charlie was six-foot-two of blue-eyed, annoying perfection that begged to be stared at. But I found it fascinating how his sheer presence could transform every woman into the sparkliest version of themselves. There were no resting faces around Charlie Wilde, bitchy or otherwise.
I’d seen this so many times I’d developed a habit of watching the gawkers rather than Charlie himself. I found it more interesting, and ultimately safer.
Charlie’s footsteps echoed off the high ceiling as he crossed the floor and appeared by my side. “Hi, Bess.”
“Hi, Charlie. Why are you here?” I tried to keep my voice friendly, just like at the office, but I couldn’t hide the undertone of alarm. This week was supposed to be relaxing. Six days with no reminders of work. Only art classes, round-the-clock catering, and a hot tub under the stars. As much as I’d rolled my eyes at Mom’s commentary, I was already invested. I’d let myself picture the absolute peace and relaxation advertised on the Rubie Ridge website.
“It sounded so good that I decided to hop onboard.” Charlie stretched his arms overhead and yawned. “Rest. Relaxation. New ideas.”
He offered me a smile. A lazy, lingering smile that both heated my chest and woke up nerves in my core, just like at the office. That’s what Charlie did to me. It was my dirty little secret, and the number one reason I preferred not to look directly at him.
“So, you’re Charlie Wilde,” the receptionist concluded rather dumbly, before turning to me. “And you are…”
I reached across the desk, pointing at the top of the letter she was still holding. “Bess Killian. It’s printed right there.”
I braced myself as she turned to her computer, clicking her mouse painfully slowly. “Right. Ms. Killian. I think we have a reservation for you.”
