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Moving here—to Cascade Falls—allowed me to pretend she was back at home, rummaging through her antiques and playing bridge on Saturday afternoons, but my heart still knows she’s gone. If she were still alive, I’d be in the antique shop with her and not in this town, digging further into the documents I found after her funeral.
I take a long, deep breath. The cool air dries the tears on my cheeks, and I focus once again on the beauty of the nature around me.
I stand just off the trail, looking up at a huge sugar maple—one of the biggest I’ve ever seen. All around it are smaller maples and a few birches, but they all reach high into the sky. In a few weeks, their new leaves will come out, and the sun won’t be able to touch the forest floor.
I try to imagine working in a place like this, walking all around, counting maples and measuring the diameter of their trunks. Challenging it was not, but it would be a botany-related job, and that could be good for me later. I do love it out here.
Sitting down with my back against the wide trunk, I take a long, deep breath, enjoying the scent and the silence of the wilderness. I run my hand over one of the maple’s protruding roots, enjoying the bumpy texture on my palm, and try to remember everything I already know about maple trees.
I start with the basics. Maples are deciduous with palmate leaves that tend to have some of the most brilliant fall colors. They flower early and help with honeybee populations. I remember trying to catch their helicopter-like seeds as they fell in the summer months of my childhood. With their subterranean roots, they pull water from far below the ground to the top layers of soil, providing more moisture for nearby plants.
Sugar maple sap has a high sugar content, and the trees are some of the best for making maple syrup. When I look around, I see small, dark circles on the trunks of many of the trees, showing those that have been tapped for sap in previous years. A handful of trees still have small metal buckets attached to their trunks.
I rub my lower lip with my teeth, realizing that I have reached the extent of my knowledge when it comes to sugar maples and maple syrup production. Hopefully, that will be enough to land me the job.
With Nate’s help.
My brow creases as I consider this. Now that I’m sober, I’m not sure I want his help in finding a job. I don’t want to be indebted to someone I barely know. At least it would be a job working for the county, and he doesn’t own the actual forestry service.
What all does he own?
And what was with Jessie’s warning? She’d refused to elaborate as to why she thought I needed to be wary, but I’m sure it’s more than just the usual “be careful with men” kind of cautioning.
I shiver though I’m not sure if the cause is my thoughts or the fa
ct that the sun is now hidden by clouds, and the temperature under the bare trees is beginning to drop. A light rain begins to fall, so I head back to my car.
Deciding to take a slightly different route home, I pass by the Winter Lodge I keep hearing about and stop to check it out. I find a parking spot in the visitor’s section and head to the front doors.
The lobby area is huge with a pair of grand staircases spiraling up to the second level. A giant wooden carving of a grizzly bear stands on one side of the doors and a similar carving of a wolf on the other side. Aside from the reception desk, I see a gift shop, an arcade, and a coffee shop. Coffee sounds pretty good, so I stop in and order a latte.
The place is pretty packed, but I find a small table in the corner and sit, watching the tourists try to keep up with their rambunctious children.
As I sip the latte, a woman in a lodge uniform walks up and leans toward me, her curly ponytail flopping over her shoulder as she smiles warmly.
“Do you mind if I join you?” the woman asks. “I’m just on my break, so I’d only be a few minutes.”
“Sure.”
“Thanks so much! I’ve been on my feet for hours!” She sits with a groan and holds her legs out, flexing her ankles. Despite the groan, she’s all smiles as she turns to me and offers a friendly hand. “I’m Cher.”
“Hi, Cher,” I say, taking her hand briefly and smiling back. “I’m Cherry.”
“Ha!” Her smile broadens. “I’m Cher with a shh, and you’re Cher like a cherub!”
“I can’t argue with that!” I laugh along with her.
“Are you visiting with your family?” Cher asks.
“Oh, no, I’m not a tourist,” I say. “I’m just new in town and thought I’d check the place out.”
“Oh really?” Her head bobs up and down as she stares at her feet. The air of friendliness is still there but muted. “Where do you live?”
I stiffen slightly. I know exactly what she’s asking—am I Eastside or Westside? I bite my lip and take a deep breath.
I need some answers.
“Before I answer that question,” I say slowly, “will you answer a couple of mine?”
