Shit.
The forest is dark and cold, like it’s ready to swallow me whole. If I was smart, I would have brought someone along. Heading out alone in the wilderness is never a good idea.
My ankle pinches as I push back to my feet.
“Ah! Oh geez,” I whine, rubbing the throbbing side of my foot.
I need to keep going.
I limp as fast as I can and finally reach the end of the trail where the wild meets the parking lot. Relief floods through me as I find my car where I left it, under one of the few lamp posts. My two-door buzz box fires to life when I turn her over and drop my pack to the passenger seat.
“Good girl, Buzzy.”
I reverse and leave the parking lot, hoping to make it home before Mom starts calling, worried about where I am.
I drive the twenty minutes back to Field, through Main Street, and turn at the second to last left, the corner at Mountain Lake Lodge. My home for the last twenty years, and my mom and my stepdad’s business.
The lodge is lit up. The enormous log-cabin-style accommodation is always busy, no matter the time of year. Coming and going between assignments, I notice the changes I would have never have before. The upgrades Brad and Mom have made. The peak season’s influx that’s bigger every year. The new staff and immaculate gardens and grounds. When Mom and I first took over the lodge, it was run-down and rarely booked to capacity even in peak season. I was just a little kid.
I pull into the parking lot on the southern side of the lodge and kill the engine. My ankle still throbs from the fall and the hike back to the car, and I make sure to brush off any evidence of a tumble before pushing out of the car.
Folks wander from the foyer and onto the sweeping porch that wraps around three sides of the big, old building. Large oversized multipaned windows afford a view of the packed restaurant and the chandeliers ablaze overhead of happy diners.
I smile, pushing through the front door.
“You’re out late.” Mom’s gaze finds me the second the door shuts.
“Sorry, had to get a shot.”
“Well, you could have got eaten. What do we keep telling you about going up there alone?”
Brad walks from the restaurant section to my left, his arm cradling me into a hug against his chest. “She worries about you. Text next time, hey.”
That’s all it takes for my nonchalant attitude toward my mother’s constant need to know where I am to die a swift death, letting guilt find me the next heartbeat over.
“Sorry, Mama.” I break away from the warmest of bear hugs. Brad ruffles up my hair like I’m five, not thirty years old. I smile up at the bear of a man who stepped in and loved us both after my father was killed. I know how lucky I am to have a father who loves me. Not everybody gets that. Brad didn’t have to love me, I’m not his flesh and blood, but he did.
Mama’s been through a lot, and her worry is justified after losing my dad.
“Wash up, hey. Looks like you climbed half the mountain.” She winks at me, her worry transformed to cheekiness.
“Only a quarter of it,” I volley back, shouldering my pack and making for the stairs to the right of the front desk.
“Oh, Terrance has a few new things for us to try for next season’s menu. Dinner’s in fifteen.”
“Shoot, I really have to send this submission in.” I grip the banister rail, hesitating on the first step.
“Alright, I’ll bring you a plate. We definitely can’t miss that.”
Brad rounds the front counter, taking the tablet from Mom so she can have a break. Always looking out for her, he is. And me, too. “You’ll have to show me what you got up that mountain later. Dying to see the last pieces to the Maggie Gallagher exhibition.”
I roll my eyes playfully. “Ifthey’re any good.”
“They will be perfect.” He winks at me.
Now I know where Mom learned it. With a chuckle, I spring up the steps, taking them two at a time. Pushing through my bedroom door on the third floor, I toss the bag onto the bed and head straight for my en suite.
Nothing like a warm shower to wake up cold and weary bones. Right now, I need to be awake. I need to bring my best game.
