was already open.
But he wouldn’t be coming through it. That’s what
hurt so badly.
She hadn’t cried over him in a long time, and she
didn’t tonight, but she did go to bed feeling sad and extraordinarily bleak.
JOHN HAD BEEN taken aback when his sister leaped at his
invitation, confirmed that he had empty rooms the very
next weekend and showed up midafternoon that Friday.
Their older sister looked more like their mother. Both
John and Liz took after their father, with dark hair and
brown eyes. Liz possessed an innate sense of style,
although he knew well that it was careless; she rarely
expended much time or thought on what she wore, and
yet she never went out the door looking less than chic.
Unlike Fiona, she’d brought only a small bag. John
knew his sister well enough to guess that she was
unlikely to step outside until she left to go home. Like
a pampered house cat, Liz hated being cold or wet, and
her idea of enjoying nature was admiring autumn colors
from the comfort of her snazzy Nissan 350Z. She
always had a cute, sporty car, usually leased so she
could move on to a new one every couple of years.
He grinned at the sight of her picking her way
gingerly across the wet grass in high-heeled, completely
inappropriate boots. Waiting at the top of the steps,
shoulder propped against the post, he said, “You know
I live out in the woods.”
She lifted her head and her face lit. “The very reason
I’ve never visited. I’m terrified to find out what your
bathroom facilities are like. Please tell me I don’t have
to take a cold shower outside while yanking some string.”
“Nope.” He grinned again. “There’s no shower at
the lodge.”
“What?” His sister stopped dead.
“The bathtubs are nice.”
Grumbling under her breath, she climbed the steps
and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “I’ve arrived.”
“So I see.” Arm around her shoulders, he raised his
brows. “And to what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
Liz never bothered to be less than blunt. “I’m
worried about you. What else?”
“You missed me?”
“Well, of course I missed you! The fact that you
never visit is why I’m worried. Surely you occasionally
hanker for a really fine dinner, or a movie, or a trip to
Powell’s?”
He winced. He did love Powell’s, Portland’s famous
bookstore in which used and new books mingled in a
maze of rooms on multiple floors that covered a city block.
“So what’s up?” she challenged.
“Can we talk later?” he asked.
“As long as we do it.” She marched past him, then
waited pointedly until he opened the heavy front door
for her.
John showed her to Fiona’s room. He still hadn’t put
guests in here, mainly because the lodge hadn’t been
completely full at any time since Christmas. Just yesterday he’d made up the bed. Liz nodded her approval, 244
checked out the bathroom and said, “Okay, now that’s
a tub,” then asked what she could do to help with dinner.
High-heeled boots and all, she chopped and sautéed
and with aplomb served the two couples who were currently guests. She helped clean the kitchen after dinner, too. When they were done, she said, “Coffee.”
He poured two cups.
“Sit,” she ordered.
Crap. He sat.
“This is a nice place. It’s pretty.” Her tone said, For
those who like such things. “Last February, when you
bought the lodge, it seemed like a plan. Maybe even a
good investment. But now you’ve been here over a year.
It’s been almost a year since you visited Mom and Dad.”
“I love them, but I can’t talk to them.”
“A lot of people can’t talk to their parents. They still
show up for obligatory holiday visits. You know.
Thanksgiving? Christmas?”
“Those are my busiest times of the year.”
Momentarily diverted, she said, “Did you celebrate at all? ”
“I cooked a turkey at Thanksgiving. And all the trimmings. At Christmas…” What to say about Christmas?
I exchanged gifts in bed with the woman I love?