‘Yes,’ Sam replied a little breathlessly. ‘Everyone has been super helpful showing me the ropes.’
‘Good.’ Sierra tapped the desk once. ‘Let me know if you have any questions. My door is always open.’
Sam beamed at her as she turned and aimed for the door, but Sierra didn’t see it. She was too tired, too focused on getting home to her glass of white wine and a hot bath. She wanted to turn off the lights, sink into scalding water, and just marinade in bubbles while an audiobook played.
She was so focused on the fantasy that she didn’t see her family until they were practically on top of her.
‘We were looking for you, Sisi!’ Poppy exclaimed, jolting Sierra out of her daydream. The five-year-old threw herself at Sierra’s legs, forcing her to brace against the weight. Poppy tipped her face up to grin at her. ‘We’re going dancing!’
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah, ’cause Neens says Daddy’s grumpy.’
Sierra shot her brother an amused glance. Mav stood behind Poppy, holding Nina’s hand. Markus hovered nearby. Even though he was getting stronger every day, Mav still looked pale and thin, so unlike himself. Sierra’s anxiety flickered when she thought again about how close she had come to losing him, and because she needed to squash the jittery crawling in her stomach before it took over, she teased, ‘From the mouth of babes, Mav.’
Her brother sighed. ‘I can’t even deny it. If I sit still for another minute, I’m going to lose it.’
Nina patted him on the chest, unconsciously consoling him. ‘We’re going to stop by the barbecue. Listen to the music.’
‘And dance!’ Poppy exclaimed.
‘And dance,’ Nina affirmed. ‘We figured we’d catch you before you headed back to an empty house.’
As they watched her expectantly, Sierra tried to summon the energy. She told herself it would be good for her to get out too, spend time doing something fun with the family.
But it didn’t work.
After the week she’d had, the notion only left her feeling exhausted. ‘I think I’ll rain check, if that’s okay? It’s been a long day, and I’m pooped.’ She crouched down in her heels and readjusted Poppy’s cowgirl hat. ‘Have fun for me, ’kay?’
When Poppy nodded enthusiastically, Sierra pulled her in for a quick hug, and then she watched as they walked off towards the Wagon Train, the resort’s outdoor entertainment area. Nina and Mav’s hands were linked, their faces turned towards one another. Watching them hurt. There was a time when that – what they had – was all she’d ever wanted. Worse, there was a time when she’d had it.
‘You need someone to drink and cry with?’ Markus asked. He was dressed fabulously as usual in tight taupe pants, a Western, shearling jacket, and his favoured snakeskin cowboy boots.
‘No.’ Sierra roped one arm around his waist and momentarily rested her head on his shoulder. ‘Go. Have fun.’
He returned the embrace. ‘You sure?’
‘Yes. I know you love to dance.’
‘I love to drink and cry too, and I’m about due,’ he argued.
‘Well, when you’re due, you call me. And I’ll drink and cry with you. But for tonight, I’m going to go home and soak in the tub with a glass of Chard the size of my face and a sexy audiobook.’
‘That is definitely a solo venture.’ He grinned, gave her a quick peck on the cheek, and started after the others with one last wave.
When Sierra got home, she kicked off her shoes at the door in an uncharacteristically slobby moment. Around her, the house was quiet, settled, the only noise the occasional creak as the old wood readjusted in the winter night.
As she’d promised, the first thing she did was walk through to the kitchen to pour a huge glass of crisp Chardonnay. She sipped it as she yanked on her blouse, untucking it from her skirt as she ambled upstairs.
She wasn’t sure what had her stopping outside the second guest room where her things were stored, the one room that everyone knew to avoid. Maybe it was the events of the night before, which had pried open the door on her memories even as she’d tried to hold it shut. Maybe it was her conversation with Benji, and the fact that he’d told her outright that he still wanted that future with her.
Whatever the reason, Sierra didn’t question her impulse to open the door and step inside. She had done so before, two days after she’d given birth, still bleeding, to paint over the pink roses she’d painstakingly stencilled onto the white nursery walls. She’d done so to pack all those tiny little clothes into boxes for storage. And she’d done so to take pictures of her baby furniture – the big rocking chair, changing table, and crib – so that she could list it all on Craigslist.
Now, she stepped inside. It was a small room, just big enough for the queen bed and side tables she’d replaced the nursery furniture with. It was staid, even for a guest room. Anyone staying in this room wouldn’t think it at all unusual – unless they opened the sliding door to the walk-in closet.
It was there that the boxes were stored, the plain brown exteriors hiding the hope and excitement and pain and grief that each item of clothing had once brought her, broughtthem.
Sierra took a long drink of wine and slid that door open.
