“I wish my impulses were productive like that.” Trinity tilted her head and smiled sheepishly. “I’m beginning to run out of vases,androom to put all of these bouquets.”
“We’ll sell them,” Rachel assured, sliding her finished creation into the refrigerator before shutting the door and turning back to her coworker. “Always do.”
Sarah believed it. In fact, she decided in that moment that she couldn’t leave empty handed, not with the abundance of gorgeous arrangements surrounding her like a forest of flowers.
“Do you gals think you could help me pick out one to bring back to the library?” she asked. “There’s the perfect spot on the checkout counter, practically begging for a decoration.”
Trinity’s eyes lit up. “I’ve got just the one.” She held up a finger. “Wait right there.”
Sarah wanted to support her friend, and though buying a single bouquet was a start, she still hoped to do more. She’d have to do some brainstorming.
“She’s holding up okay, huh?” Nana Jo asked Rachel candidly once Trinity was out of earshot.
“As good as can be expected. Her mom has been a godsend as far as help with the kiddos. And as much as I push her to takesome time off to process her grief, I do think it’s good for her to be in the shop, doing something she absolutely loves.”
“As I said earlier, everyone’s timeline for grief is different, and so is the way we go about processing that grief. Seems like she’s exactly where she needs to be.” Upon hearing Trinity’s returning footfalls, Nana Jo hushed her volume. “Well, goodness. Would you look at that beauty?”
In Trinity’s arms was a navy-blue crystal vase, with peach peonies, white roses, and cream-colored ranunculi arranged within it. It was sophisticated without being pretentious, the perfect arrangement for the library.
“I experimented with the color palette for this one, but I think it might be just what you’re looking for,” Trinity commented as she gently transferred the sizable bouquet to Sarah’s care. “Something about the tones remind me of the pages of a cherished, well-worn book.”
Sarah had never heard of a floral arrangement described in that way, but that was precisely what it was. Trinity’s originality was inspiring, and in that moment, Sarah found herself motivated in a completely different way as an idea formed that might infuse some creative flair into the writer’s retreat—while at the same time helping out her friend’s shop.
CHAPTER 12
His voice came through the walkie-talkie like static on an old radio, crackly and broken up.
“Buddy, I’m having trouble hearing you.” Lance pressed the button on the side of the device and spoke loudly into it. “You keep cutting out.”
“Down…other side of the…gonna need help.”
Panic surged within Lance’s chest. Holden obviously needed him, but Lance still wasn’t sure in what capacity.
His buddy had taken one of the snowmobiles out for a solo run down the mountain to check the condition of the trails and paths that they typically ran with their customers. This was a routine procedure. Several times a week, one of them would ensure there weren’t any downed trees or debris blocking the way. Out on the summit, their motto was to expect the unexpected, but by performing these checks, they could exert some control over the unforeseen elements.
“Holden, I can’t hear you.” Lance enunciated his words, hoping his friend would do the same.
“Down by the…”
“Where are you?” Thrusting one arm into his coat sleeve, Lance switched the walkie from one hand to the other and shouldered into his jacket. “What’s your location, buddy?”
“Southside of…near the…”
The static between them was beginning to make Lance crazy.
But then Holden’s voice came through loud and clear. “Tree well.”
That single phrase was enough to kick Lance into high gear. He began to move without thought, rapidly suiting up and jamming his helmet down over his head before bolting through the back door and into the garage where they kept the snowmobiles. In one frenzied movement, he straddled his favorite ride and fired up the engine.
If his knee was bothering him, the rush of adrenaline did a good job masking it.
He flew around the corner of the building, cranking the throttle to shoot down the slopes. Snow kicked out in a fan behind him; wind bit his cheeks and chapped his lips.
Everything came flooding back like an unsuspected snowball to the face.
He was a kid—barely eighteen—and at the time, had thought he was invincible. Lance had skied the route so many times, he practically knew it by heart. He hadn’t intended to get that close to the tree line, but fueled by the rush of excitement, he operated by what he could see and not what he knew to be true.
And he saw the little flags that delineated the out-of-bounds areas well beyond where he was skiing. Still, he was raised on the Summit, well-versed in the perils of fresh powder and tall trees. He understood that even when an area appeared solid on the surface, something else entirely could be going on below. Oftentimes there were hollow spaces around tree trunks, gaps in the snow that could easily swallow up a skier or snowboarder if they weren’t careful.
