Page 4 of Hideaway


Font Size:

“Yep.” I headed for the back door, knowing without asking that I’d find my dad tinkering in his garden. It was his happy place, especially after a long day at the office. “Hi Dad,” I called as I crossed the yard to find him crouched in the garden, examining a row of green spouts. “What’s growing this early in the season?”

“Snow peas,” he told me as he stood, bracing his hands against his thighs. He wore faded jeans and a Moo U T-shirt that I was pretty sure he’d had since college. “Hardy little things. They take our spring frosts like champs.”

“And they’re yummy when Mom cooks them in sesame oil,” I said with a smile. “Ready for dinner?”

“I sure am.”

He followed me into the house, and we sat at the kitchen table to eat Mom’s cheesy chicken and broccoli casserole. I came over for dinner once a week or so, usually stopping by after a hike like I had today. My phone rang about halfway through our meal. A quick glance showed that it was the Chittenden County Sheriff’s Department, which meant they’d probably handled a situation that had left them with a pet that needed to be processed into the shelter.

“Sorry, I think it’s work,” I told my parents as I slipped into the living room to answer the call. “Hello?”

“Hi, Taylor, it’s Laurie.”

I’d gone to high school with Laurie, who was Deputy Laurie Siegel these days. “Hey, Laurie.”

“Sorry to bother you after hours,” Laurie said, “but we responded to a well check this evening and found the occupant of the home deceased. She had two dogs, and so far, it’s looking like no one in the family wants to take them.”

“I can meet you at the shelter in an hour,” I told her.

“I appreciate it,” she said. “And just so you know, we’re pretty sure one of the dogs is pregnant.”

3

Phoebe

Downtown Burlington was busier than I remembered. As I walked through the pedestrian marketplace, I kept my head down, even though no one was looking at me. I’d come to Vermont to hide while I figured out how to pick up the pieces of my life, but after only twenty-four hours, my grandmother’s cabin had begun to feel too quiet, too isolated. I was lonely, despite having FaceTimed with Courtney earlier today.

So here I was, wandering past shops and restaurants with no real idea of where I was headed. I’d just needed to get out of the house and out of my own head for a few hours.

A brightly painted rainbow in a nearby window caught my eye. The sign over the door read Vino and Veritas, Wine Bar and Bookstore, and suddenly, I was in the mood for a glass of wine. The pride flag in the window definitely helped to make my decision.

I opened the door and stepped inside, finding myself in an entranceway with a door to my right leading into the bookstore and the wine bar on my left. I entered the bar. The space was warm and inviting, with lots of wood and earth tones, and soft music played behind the buzz of conversation.

The bar area had several empty stools available, so I made my way to the closest one. I slid onto it and hung my purse on the hook beneath the counter. A pretty bartender with curly auburn hair approached.

“Hi,” she said. “Know what you want?”

I hesitated, even though I knew she was asking about wine, but the truth was, I had no idea what I wanted anymore, not in this bar or anywhere else.

“We have a few specials this week, but whatever you’re in the mood for, we probably have it.” She pushed a leather-bound drink menu toward me with a friendly smile.

I glanced at it and then back at her. If I tried to peruse the wine menu on my own, the financial analyst in me would come out, crunching numbers as I compared flavors and ounces to price, and I’d spend half an hour choosing a glass of wine. “I’m overwhelmed just looking at that menu. What do you recommend?”

“You’ve got to give me something to go on,” the redhead said, leaning her elbows on the counter. “Wine, beer, or cider?”

“Wine,” I told her. “Something light and sweet…and not too expensive.” As of last Friday, I was living out of my savings account, and while it would tide me over for a few weeks here in Burlington, it wouldn’t last forever.

“I’ve got two specials you might like,” she told me. “The first is a Late Harvest Chardonnay. It’s crisp and sweet, with undertones of orange peel and honeysuckle. The other is a prosecco rosé, fresh and bubbly with a hint of strawberry. And my favorite part…it’s pink.”

“How could I turn down a pink drink?” I said with a laugh. “I’ll have a glass of that, please.”

“You got it.” The bartender turned away and reached into a small refrigerator beneath the counter. She pulled out a bottle and poured a glass of frothy pink wine, which she placed in front of me.

“Thank you.” I sipped. The wine was sweet and bubbly on my tongue. If I closed my eyes, I could almost imagine I was in my favorite bar on Tremont Street in Boston. I could pretend I was still a financial analyst at Bern Finance, that Sabrina was still my girlfriend, that my life hadn’t imploded. I could pretend that viral photo didn’t exist.

“How’s the rosé?”

My eyes popped open at the sound of the bartender’s voice, and I blinked, grounding myself in this unfamiliar bar in Burlington, Vermont. “It’s good. Thanks for the recommendation.”