“Thank you,” he said, his free hand crossing over his chest so he could cover mine. He squeezed where my fingers rested on his forearm and smiled. “You know there’s a pretty great diner not too far into town, about a twenty-minute drive or so. You should let me take you there sometime. I mean, can you really say you lived a summer in Gold Bar without trying the pie at the Mountain View Diner?”
I laughed, pulling my hand back and tucking a strand of fallen hair behind my ear. “How can I say no to pie?”
Tucker smiled, and finally the mood was lifted. “You can’t.”
The conversation stayed light the rest of the way down, and when we finally hit Momma Von’s cabin we all jumped out of our tubes, walking against the icy current to the bank where she had carved out a little beach among the rocks.
I wrapped myself in one of the towels she’d set up there as everyone made their way up. Tucker and Davie volunteered to drive back and get the trucks along with Zeek, and Julie waved as she trailed behind them. Yvette and Sarah laid out their towels a ways down to soak up the last of the sun before it was gone for the night.
Momma Von sighed as she sidled up beside me, toweling off her hair as her eyes followed mine to the curve of the mountains in the distance.
“You know, I’ve lived out here for twenty-three years now, and this view still takes my breath away.”
I squinted at her with a smile, noting the lines on her face. It was the first time I took the time to appreciate the life that had been lived by the woman who wore them, the stories and memories that etched each one into place.
“This is a healing place, Wren.”
Neither of us said another word, but my mind was heavy as we stood on that bank. I thought of Julie and Zeek, their love so fresh and new—so innocent. And of Tucker and Dani, a young love cut short, the flower not allowed to bloom. Momma Von had loved so many, yet really only truly loved one, and now here she stood next to me, both of us single, but I was the only one alone. She’d filled her life in different ways, and I wondered if I could ever do the same.
I was beginning to realize that there was no one path for love, no right or wrong way. Maybe I wasn’t broken after all, maybe I was only learning to walk on a new kind of path, a gravel road my tender feet had yet to master. And though I knew the night would usher in darker thoughts, ones of failure and uncertainty, I smiled despite them. Because right then, if only for a moment, it felt like everything would be okay.
I would be okay.
REQUISITE
req·ui·site
Adjective
Essential : necessary
The sun had set by the time I made it back to my cabin, and I was exhausted as I waved goodbye to Davie and Yvette, who had been anxious to get back to Benjamin all day. It was cute how excited they were to get home, and I tried to imagine having a child who was my world. It was hard to do.
My designs had always been my children. I poured everything into each one of them, building them with pieces of myself. The day a new line launched and I saw customers walking out of our boutique with clothes I’d brought to life with my own hands was the closest experience I had to birthing a newborn.
I’d started my first “line” when I was only sixteen, but it had mostly been a project for me and my high school friends—including Keith. We had just started dating, and he loved to talk to me about my dreams back then. We talked about everything then—our families, our fears, our hopes for our own lives. We used to stay up every night on the phone until after midnight, and at seven in the morning, he’d pick me up to drive me to school.
But back then, my designs were juvenile and unrefined. I worked on them relentlessly, pouring over magazines and watching not just the live streaming of fashion shows, but the behind-the-scenes documentaries, too. I studied the art of sewing, played with pattern after pattern, bought dresses and shorts and blouses at my favorite stores just to take them home and deconstruct them. I wanted to know how they started, see how they had become that finished product, and ask myself what I would have done differently if it had been me starting with those scraps.
Still, I wasn’t sure if I had what it took. There were millions of girls who wanted to be fashion designers, and I was just one of them.
It wasn’t until my junior year of college that my professor convinced me I had a unique talent. She was the one who put the thought in my head that maybe, just maybe, I could really make fashion my career. And when Adrian showed his faith in me by offering to be my business partner, everything just clicked into place.
As soon as I graduated, I got to work on my designs and forming a business plan for the boutique while Keith started dental school. Those were actually some of the best times, both of us working toward our goals, making the most of what small time we did have together.
I remembered one night when I was buried in breaking down the finances of renting out retail space, Keith came into the bedroom and cleared all the paperwork off the bed. I’d objected at first, but when I’d looked up, he was wearing nothing but a bow tie, and he made a joke about being the mannequin in my store window before hilariously stripping it off.
We’d spent the rest of the night in the sheets, not doing anything we actually needed to get done, and it was one night that I’d never forget. Sometimes that was what hurt the most, that our love had started strong and burned bright through so many hard times. I wondered where it all went wrong, where it shifted. I wondered where I’d failed.
Going through a divorce wasn’t an overnight process. The emotions didn’t stop as soon as the papers were signed. My heart would always hold Keith inside, even if it was just a small or rarely visited part of it. And there was something kind of beautifully tragic about that, holding onto the best parts of our love even after living through the worst.
I groaned against the ache in both my muscles and my heart and shook thoughts of Keith from my head.
The day had been long.
I was surprisingly sore from an activity that sounded so relaxing. It turned out “floating down the river” involved a lot of exertion, and my limbs were heavy as I climbed the stairs with an oversized yawn. It wasn’t until I was halfway up that the motion-censored light flicked on and I saw him.
My heart thumped once in my chest at the sight of Anderson’s shadowed frame sitting there, his back propped up against my front door. I slowed, noting the hard edges of his jaw, the line of his nose pointed down at his boots. His knees were pulled up, elbows resting over top of them, hands locked tight and knuckles white as he bounced one leg softly.
“Anderson?”
He glanced up at me with red, swollen eyes, half of his face still hidden by the night. My throat closed in on itself as I looked down on him.
I’d never seen anyone so small.
He watched me for a moment, asking me for something—permission, maybe? Then he stood, slowly, moving away from the door without a word.
My hands shook as I unlocked it and stepped inside, dropping my towel near a few pairs of my shoes. I tossed my hat on top and turned just as Anderson closed the door behind us. His shoulders sagged with what seemed like the weight of the entire world, and he looked as if he’d aged ten years in the eight hours since I’d seen him last.
But through his anguish, there glimmered a hunger in his eyes, and it nailed me to the spot where I stood.