Page 69 of If You Were Mine (After We Fall 3)
“Yes, actually. It did. But I want to talk to you about it in person.”
Part of me wanted to give in and see him, but I’d learned my lesson with Theo. “Well, I can’t. I’m going up to the cabin for a few days.”
“What cabin?”
“My family’s.”
“Alone?”
“Yes, alone,” I snapped, aggravated that now he cared about my plans. “Want to know why? Because I couldn’t bear to let you ruin my Christmas Eve dinner by announcing our breakup, so I made up a lie that we were going on a romantic vacation together.”
“Let me come with you. For real.”
“Why? So you can fuck me and leave me again?” It wasn’t like me to be so crass, but he pushed all my buttons. Now he wanted to be real? Too late!
“No. Please Claire, I just want to talk. I won’t even touch you.”
“Ha! I don’t believe you, Mr. I’m Not Good At Stopping.”
“There’s a lot of snow headed our way. The roads will be bad—you shouldn’t drive alone.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
He exhaled noisily. “What do I have to do to convince you to hear me out?”
“I don’t know, Theo. I really don’t.” I hung up.
Then I burst into tears.
* * *
The drive to the cabin usually took about four hours, but snow started to fall about an hour in, so it took me closer to six. I spent the time trying to take my mind off Theo by listening to an audio book. However, my audio library was full of nothing but romance, and three hours into the story, I was annoyed and frustrated with the heroine’s reluctance to commit to the amazing guy who wanted her.
“Grow up!” I shouted at her. “Do you know how many women would love to have a man like that fall for them? I can’t even take you right now!”
I turned it off in favor of catching up on NPR podcasts, but I was still grumpy when I pulled in the long driveway that led to my family’s vacation house.
My mood improved slightly when the cabin came into view, covered with snow like frosting on a gingerbread house. We’d always called it “the cabin,” but the only cabin-like thing about it was that it was built from logs and located in the woods. In reality, it was four thousand square feet of luxury. Since my mother is afraid to fly but my father loves to get away, they built the cabin after they got married to have a place to go. My sister and I had spent every summer here growing up, and my parents planned to retire here.
Summers were beautiful, but I’d always loved winter up here too—the snow made it look like a wonderland, and the play of light and shadow as the sun shone through the bare branches of the birch trees was exquisite. I was always inspired by it, and by the tiny bursts of color when a cardinal or bluebird or robin stopped to eat at one of the bird feeders my father and I hung in the trees. First thing, I wanted to walk one of the hiking trails through the woods, but I needed to get some winter gear on first. The snow was a foot deep.
After deactivating the alarm, I let myself in the front door and locked it behind me. I took the bag with my clothes up to my room and left the bag with the supplies by the giant floor to ceiling windows overlooking the woods and frozen lake. A quick check of the pantry, fridge, and freezer told me I had plenty of staples but I’d have to hit the grocery store for milk and fresh produce. Not right this second, though—I was antsy to get outside and move my legs after the long car ride. A quick walk would be perfect, then I’d brave the slippery roads again.
I tugged on ski pants and snow boots I found in the mudroom, traded my wool coat for a ski jacket, and rummaged through a bin for a warm hat, scarf, and mittens. Tucking my phone and the cabin keys into one pocket, I set out, inhaling deep breaths of fresh cold air, watching snowflakes on my tongue. It was so quiet—all I could hear was wind through the trees, birds singing, and the crunch of snow beneath my feet.
But I couldn’t find peace or inspiration. Both eluded me as I walked, pausing only when I came to the tire swing that still hung from a tree not far from the house. I gave it a push and watched it sway back and forth, but I didn’t get on it. Instead I imagined a little boy clinging to the tire…a beautiful little brown-eyed boy trying to escape what was going on inside his house. My throat tightened.
Had I been too hard on him? He’d had a rough start in life. I wished he’d been more open with me about it, but he’d only seemed willing to talk about his brother’s issues. Maybe if he’d shared some of his own experiences or feelings with me, I’d understand him better.
Sighing, I walked back to the house, giving my easel a sad glance before grabbing my car keys. I didn’t feel inspired enough to paint, so I might as well go get some groceries for the next few days.
The next seventy-two hours loomed long and lonely in front of me.
* * *
Snow was falling even heavier now, and the roads were worse. It was dark when I finally got back from the store, and I was chilled to the bone. I put on a pot of sweet potato chili, and while it was simmering, I took a long, hot shower and put on my flannel pajamas. That was one good thing about being up here—I could lie around in comfy pants all day.
