His eyes twinkle. “You’ll have to find it yourself.”
“How about a hint?”
“It’s a small cottage. With a little bit of persistence, you’ll find it.”
I follow him out to the front porch. “I love the upgrades on the bike.”
He stops and eyes me solemnly. “It’s not an easy trip to Paradise Springs. I know you’re in great shape, being a ballerina for years, but you’re not here to suffer physically. You’re here to recuperate, find comfort and solace. And to think of what you want to do next. And where.” His eyes are gentle even if his words seem to hit a little too hard because it’s a tender subject. I think of Fox’s offhand comment about self-torture. “Maybe take me up on my offer of a ride into town at least once a week if not more? At this point, I’m going in most days. And there’s room for Monster if he wants a change of scenery.”
I look down, away from his kind, sincere gaze, which has the same effect as the cool, comforting spring water washing over me this morning. An errant tear plops on the wood plank right in front of his foot.
He pulls out a handkerchief and hands it to me, and I scrub at my eyes. “Honestly,” I say softly, “I don’t know if I’m punishing myself or not. Sometimes I feel like Ishouldpunish myself for getting myself in this stupid mess. But keeping busy, keeping my mind and body moving and active, helps me not to… think so much.” I look at him, and he nods without saying anything. “And the bike ride from here to town and back… it forces me to be a part of all this.” I wave my hand around. “To smell the pine trees and hear the birds chirping. To feel the windon my face and the sun on my back. To be more present. And that’s not punishment.”
“Okay. I’ll keep asking you to take me up on a ride, though.” His gaze lands on my bike. “See what you think about the upgrades.” He takes my hand and pats it gently. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. You’ll tell me if you need anything?”
I nod.
When Ned leaves, I study the incoming thick, gray sheet of clouds. The wind has picked up and carries the smell of smoke with it, and I’m reminded of when Cain, Trudy, and I would camp together. Cain would be in charge of the campfires even though it took him forever to get them lit, and then they’d smoke too much until I puttered around and fixed them. “We’re a good team,” he’d tell me. And now, my team is gone, and I’m standing here alone.
As if he’s reminding me that I’m not alone, Monster chuffs up at me. “Okay,” I tell him, “let’s go find that secret compartment.”
I search for it without success, scrubbing, dusting, and sweeping as I go until the cottage smells like lemons and lavender. I decide to continue the quest after Monster’s walk. The second I slip my shoes on, he’s right by my side.
“One more walk before it starts raining buckets,” I tell him. “We might be cooped up for a while.” I hand him a treat then stuff some more in his treat bag. “How about some peanut butter treats for this walk?”
His tail wags madly, knocking over the umbrella stand by the door. I right it, then lace my tennis shoes and glance in the mirror one last time.
“Would youreallyhave let me leave the house like this?” I scold Monster. “Even if there won’t be a speck of sun by the timewe step off the porch, I need my hat.” He nudges at the sunhat hanging on a hook by the door.
“You’re a genius!” He wags his tail, and I bend down and hug him. “What would I do without you?”
Monster is unlike any of the dogs Cain and I ever had. We always ended up with adorable mutts that had been abandoned by everyone else and were virtually untrainable in anything but cuddling and loving. Monster is smart as hell. Sometimes I have the uncanny feeling that he’s smarter than me.
With the growing thick layer of clouds, I doubt I need a sun hat. There’s very little sun, and it’s unlikely I will run into anyone. But I tug on the hat anyway. The sides droop down, like two wide, floppy ears. It’s too big to wear when biking, but I keep it by the door for Monster and my walks.
Cain used to tease me that I always looked incognito when we were on vacation, wearing sunglasses and wide-brimmed hats. “I’m trying to keep my skin pristine, so you don’t leave me for a younger woman,” I’d tease him. When Cain and Trudi died, I was in the news for a while, the paparazzi furiously snapping photos of me, Honey Hale, the grieving widow and grieving mother, I tried to remain as unseen and unnoticeable as possible. The media’s interest in me died out, long enough that I could forget anyone even cared about me. For a while, I was just another woman walking down the street. A year later, on the anniversary of Cain and Trudi’s death, someone snapped a photo that went viral—me walking out of a liquor store with two bags of wine, no makeup, and bags under my red eyes, the still-grieving mother and widow incapable of getting her shit together.
6
HONEY
I let Monster lead me.He veers off course every once in a while to sniff at a tree or skitter after a lizard zipping across the path. The air is fresh, and the paths are empty. I try to clear my mind of the ever-looming threat of Trey. Ned’s kindness, which showed me that I’m not as alone here as I thought, has lightened my steps. Monster shoots off the path and flushes out a pair of wild turkeys then returns, wagging his tail and triumphant that he's accomplished something grand. When my mind starts wandering to John Fox and how frustratingly persistent and handsome he was, Monster stops at a fence, then turns around and sits, looking at me—a signal that he’s ready to return home.
Back at the cottage, I move some of the pots on the front porch to the back screen room in case the wind picks up even more. When Ned saw my piddling attempt at potting some dune daisies I found on one of my hikes, he brought me some more pots. “They’re just sitting around, unloved and unused,” he’d said. “My wife, Deb, used to love to stick her fingers in the soil.”
I miss the rich, dark soil of Montana, where Cain and I used to live. I miss burying bulbs, pulling weeds, taking Trudi out to our berry patch and letting her pick berries until she couldn’t eat another one. Ever since I left Montana, my hands have feltemptier. My home in Monterey was never quite the same. It never felt like mine. It was just another yard—not land I could sink my fingers in and grow things. It was a rash move even though the house I chose was beautiful. I thought I’d be able to leave behind some of my grief if I moved. I couldn’t bear being in the same state, let alone the same house, and walking the same land, without Cain and Trudi. The house in Monterey was a place to live without really living. At its worst, it felt like an in between—between my happy life with Cain and Trudi and my death, when I would join them again.
I lay on the bed without pulling any of the covers down and think of what Cat said when I moved to Monterey. “You sure you want to do this? You’re going to take the grief with you. Is this where you want to take it?” A cold statement but so very, very true.
“I need to be in a different place. Somewhere they haven’t been.”
“Don’t sell your Montana property. You might want to come back to it.”
I thought I needed to let it go.
Cat was right. I didn’t need a different place. I just needed time. Time gave me some solace. Time healed me enough that I was no longer dragging through life. And then I met Trey, the worst mistake I ever made.
Monster softly sighs on the floor. I curl into my pillow, whispering to myself:Trey’s no longer a part of my life now. I just need to wait it out until his obsession with me wanes. I can do this.
