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CHAPTER THREE

It wasn’t her place, but it was home, and the familiarity brought that comfort.

The big, shaggy dog her parents had named Mop lumbered over to greet her. As he wagged head to tail, Sloan scrubbed at his long, fluffy gray fur.

“There’s that boy. Been rolling in the snow again.”

“Nothing he likes better unless it’s jumping in the lake for a swim. I’m going to run up to my place, check on some things. I’ll be down a little later.”

With that, Drea peeled off in her nice, new boots to climb the steps on the side of the garage to her apartment above.

With the dog leading the way, Sloan went into the house with her parents.

The old stone fireplace with its thick wood mantel and flanking bookshelves dominated the living area of what had been—in her paternal grandfather’s day, before his marriage—a one-bedroom cabin.

Ezra Cooper had started the business, bit by bit, then added to the original cabin when he started his family. He’d added a second story, the big country kitchen, and a dining room used almost exclusively for holiday meals and company.

With his two sons, he’d added on the decks, a garage, widened windows. And all the while had invested in other cabins, boats, gear, until All the Rest provided rentals, sales, guides, and more for the tourists who came to Mirror Lake.

Dean’s older brother had stepped out of the business, continued his education. A professor of history at West Virginia University, he and his wife had settled in Morgantown.

Though since their parents’ retirement, Dean and Elsie ran the business, Archer could and would step in when needed. His oldest son, Jonah, lived a stone’s throw away with his young family, and worked as Dean’s right hand as well as a white-water rafting pilot—and whatever else All the Rest needed.

With Drea handling marketing, community relations, and sales, and her mother dealing with decor, supplies, and inventory, the business thrived with three generations.

Like her uncle, Sloan had stepped away. But it didn’t lessen her pride in what her family had accomplished with All the Rest.

The home her grandfather and his sons had built and rebuilt over the years welcomed her back as if it had been yesterday.

“We put your things away in your room.” Elsie skimmed a hand down Sloan’s hair when Sloan pulled off her winter cap. “The doctor said the one flight of stairs was fine, but if it feels like too much, we can set you up in the den.”

“No, don’t. I need to move.”

She did so now to the big front window that faced the lake and its reflected snowcapped mountains.

“It never gets old.”

“Sure doesn’t. How about I fix you a snack?”

“Mom, you’re not going to wait on me.”

“Just for today.” Elsie slid an arm around Sloan’s waist, tipped her head toward her daughter’s. “Indulge me a little. It’s so good to have you home for a while. It’s so good to see you looking more like yourself.”

“I don’t feel like myself yet.”

“You will,” Dean said. After he shed his coat, hung it in the coat closet (house rule), he walked over, crouched down to set kindling to light in the hearth.

The dog immediately plopped down in front of it.

“Now, big question and no wrong answer.” He rose, a fluid motion, an athletic one. “Thanksgiving’s Thursday. If you don’t feel up to having a houseful of relatives, say so. Everybody understands.”

“No, no, it’ll be good to see everyone. Honestly. I need some normal, and a houseful at Thanksgiving’s normal.”

She turned to them, and thought as she always did: Unit. They were as connected as any two people she knew.

And she was a blend of them—as Drea was. She had her mother’s coloring, and Drea their father’s. She had his eyes, and Drea her mother’s.

They’d made her, and not only stood together but stood by her.

“You want to fuss, and I get it. All of this, all of it, had to be scarier for you than it was for me. I was too doped up to be scared. And it’s good to be home. Really good. But if I’m going to get back to feeling like me, I need to do things that feel like me.”

“A houseful it is.” Elsie stepped over, wrapped Sloan in a hug. “Not scared. Terrified. But that’s behind us now. So I’m going to fix you something to eat.”

“Don’t the two of you work for a living?”

“Drea’s up in her place right now doing just that. Jonah’s got things covered otherwise. Tomorrow we’re back to it.” Dean patted her shoulder. “We’re taking today.”

Elsie tempted her with homemade soup, fresh bread, and Sloan did the best she could. The appetite still wasn’t there.

But the need to move was.

“I’m going to take a walk—a short one,” she promised. “Fresh air. It feels good to be out in it. Feels like me,” she added.

“One favor, for today?” Elsie said. “Would you stay in sight of the house?”

“Like you used to say when I was eight?” But Sloan laughed with it. “That’s a deal. The soup was amazing, Mom. Like always.”

“Mop’s going to want to go with you,” Drew warned her.

“Mop’s always welcome.”

And the minute she put on her coat, the dog got up, stretched, and wagged.

Since she wanted the lake, she went out the front. The dog immediately raced ahead, bulling his body through the snow like a canine plow.

The air bit, but felt good, so good, breezing over her face. She scented the lake, the pines, the snow, and all that said home, too. She’d do this every day, she promised herself, as many times a day as she could manage. Down to the lake, or out the back and into the snowy woods when her mother wasn’t so worried about her.

And in two weeks, at her follow-up, she’d get the all clear from Dr. Vincenti. And by Christmas, she swore an oath, she’d be back all the way.

She walked down to the dock, where there would be a sailing sloop through the season. This summer, she thought, she’d take a real vacation, come home for it. Spend hours sailing, hiking, kayaking, and appreciating what she had.

Maybe it had taken dying for a few minutes to make her realize she’d let too much of that go. Time for another vow, she decided. She wouldn’t fall into that trap again. Work satisfied. God knew she loved her work, but for the last few years, she’d let the balance tip.

As she walked the path around the lake, the dog trotted ahead, trotted back, ahead. And reminded her she walked like an invalid.

“Sorry, Mop, not at full capacity.”

In fact, she had to admit she hadn’t covered an eighth of a mile, and was flagging.

She felt weak, breathless, and not a little pissed off.

Her ears still worked just fine, so she turned when she heard footsteps. And waited, giving her heart a chance to slow as Drea approached.

“I’m not going to bitch.”

“Damn. I was counting on it. Then I’d point out that a week ago, you could barely walk two minutes down a hospital corridor.”

“I pointed that out to myself, which is why I’m not bitching. But—”

“Here it comes!”

“Not a bitch, just a fact. I still feel so wrong. Drea, I feel so wrong.”

“Here’s more fact.” Reaching down, blue eyes on Sloan’s green, she took her sister’s hand. “You look tired, and you’re pale, so you’ve done enough. So go in, do your breathing exercises, take a nap. Then get up and do it all again.”

“Bossy pants.”

“Worn with quiet pride and innate style. Come on.” Drea hooked her arm through Sloan’s and gave her little choice.

“Will you do me a favor?”

“Maybe.”

The answer made Sloan laugh. “Just talk them down from worrying about me when you can. It’s a weight. I don’t want to tell them it’s a weight. They’ll just worry more and try not to show it.”

“When they see you following doctor’s orders, they’ll worry less. And I’ll talk them down when I can because you’ll follow doctor’s orders.”

“That’s not a favor, that’s a deal.”

“Take or leave.”

“Take.” When they reached the front door, Sloan paused. “Start now.”

As she opened the door, Sloan plastered a smile on her face. “That felt good! Wore me out a little, which also feels good. I’m going up, do my breathing thing, maybe take a short nap.”

“If you need anything,” Elsie began.

“I got it all.” Deliberately, Sloan hung her coat in the closet, used the basket for her scarf, cap, gloves. “I plan to blow the doctor away at my follow-up.”

The stairs felt like a mountain, but she made it. She turned down the hall, used the bathroom to splash cool water on her face.

Her childhood bedroom, just across from it, held a bed with four short, turned posts and a snowy white duvet with a deep blue throw at its foot. The reading chair, another throw across its back, angled cozily in a corner.

Its walls, a misty, soothing blue, held the local art her parents collected. Springs and summers here, of the lake, the mountains, wildflowers streaming through the woods.

Because she’d made the deal, she did the breathing exercises, coughing, as instructed, after the long exhale.

It tired her, too, and made her grateful her mother had put a covered pitcher of water and a glass on the bedside table.

Flowers—mums in rusts and golds—sat on her old dresser and gave a hint of spice to the air.

A short nap, she thought, and lay on top of the duvet, pulled the throw over her. Twenty minutes just to recharge.

She slept for ninety, and didn’t wake until the nightmare tossed her out of sleep.

The next day, Sloan laid out a routine. She showered, changed the dressing on her chest wound—which she assured herself was healing well. She studied her body, trying for dispassion.

Day One, she thought. A baseline. Yes, she looked frail. Yes, she’d lost weight and muscle tone. But she could stand and walk, and while things ached, she didn’t have active pain.

Like the chest wound, the one on her forehead would leave a scar. But they’d remind her she’d survived.

That made her a survivor.

She dressed, then considered makeup. Then decided some blush, mascara, all the rest wouldn’t fool anyone.

When she went downstairs, she found her parents lingering over coffee at the kitchen table. They both looked over at her, and she felt their study down to the bone.

The parental X-ray.

“We thought you might sleep in.” Elsie started to get up. “How about some breakfast?”

“Mom, sit. I mean it. I’m going to put some coffee in a go-cup and take a walk—doctor’s orders on the walking. Don’t the two of you have to get to work?”

“I’m about to head out,” Dean told her. “How’d you sleep?”

“Like a rock.”

“I thought I’d stay home today,” Elsie began. “There’s a lot of prep for Thursday, and I can get started.”

Sloan detoured from the coffee, sat. She took her mother’s hands.

“I need you to go. I need you to do whatever you’d do today. I know you’d take off half on Wednesday to make the pies and all that, but you need to go to work. I need to feel capable of spending a day on my own. I know I’m not a hundred percent. Not even close. But I have to start. I know my limits. Trust me, my body doesn’t let me forget them.”

Elsie shifted her gaze to her husband. “I can hear you thinking I told you so . Knock it off.”

He just smiled, shrugged.

“You’ll keep your phone with you?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“And call or text if you need anything?”

“Yes, Mom.”

Elsie’s lips twitched at the tone. “And you’ll eat something. Then the One Bite More.”

Sloan had to laugh at the old childhood refrain. And as she had as a child, rolled her eyes.

“Yes, Mom.”

Dean rose, took the empty cups to the sink. “Mop’s staying. He’ll walk with you—that’s the deal.”

“I accept. Now go, add to my inheritance.”

In the end, she walked out with them, Mop at her side. She waved the humans off, then laid a hand on the dog’s head.

“Let’s get started.”

Though the sun beamed, the air snapped with cold, edged by a rising wind that rippled over the lake and sloughed through the trees. She watched a heron glide and swans sail. Focused on them, she made it to where she’d stopped the day before. Breath labored, she stopped to let her system recalibrate. Mop left her side long enough to leap into the snow and roll.

Ten steps more, she told herself, and took them.

Not pushing, she thought. Improving.

“That’s all I’ve got,” she said to the dog. “We’ll do it again later, and again. Ten steps more.”

Despite the cold, she felt sweat slide down her back as she walked back to the house. Her legs trembled some as she let herself back in, and her head felt light enough she just sat without taking off her coat.

“Just need some fuel.”

She added some to the living room fire before tucking away her outdoor gear.

In the kitchen she made herself a bowl of cereal, added half a banana and blueberries.

She managed half of it before even the idea of eating exhausted her. She took a breath, then one bite more.

“Don’t rat me out, Mop.” She set the bowl on the floor, watched him gobble up the contents.

She made herself get up, fill an All the Rest water bottle.

“Next on a daily agenda: PT.”

Obviously pleased with the company, Mop went with her to her parents’ exercise/yoga room. Maybe it hurt the pride to pick up two-pound weights instead of twenty, but… Day One.

She sat on the bench and did steady curls until her arms burned. Then did two more. After managing a handful of shoulder presses, she tried a few kickbacks.

She rested, drank water, and did it all again.

“And that’s all I’ve got.”

She wrote it all down. How long she’d walked, how many curls, and so on.

Keeping a record, she decided, added incentive.

When Mop laid his head on her knee, she stroked his head. “We’ll try yoga tomorrow, slow and easy. But I think I’ll stretch out on the couch for bit.

After building up the fire, she closed her eyes.

Maybe she’d do one of Drea’s famous crosswords—exercise for the mind. Even as she thought it, she dropped off.

She woke up with the dog sitting politely, staring at her.

“You need to go out again?” Groggy, she reached for the phone she’d set on the table. “Oh, for God’s sake. I was down for over an hour.”

Pushing up, she took mental inventory. She could handle it. “Give me a minute. It’s time to walk again anyway.”

The wind still kicked, and had pushed the clouds to dim the sun. More snow coming, she thought. She could see people—bright coats against the white—sledding on the east side slope. Smoke streamed out of chimneys. Despite the cold, a pair of kayaks plied the far side of the lake. Someone had built a pretty impressive snowman in front of one of the lakeside houses.

She made it to her first stop, had to rest, breathe, then took the ten steps more to her second stop. She wanted ten more, but stopped at five.

“Know and respect your limits, Sloan.”

If she had to stop twice on the walk back, she still made it.

She sat, recovered, and though she didn’t want it, heated up a little soup. Ate the one more bite.

When it was done, she looked at the dog.

“Now what? It’s barely one in the afternoon. If I lie down, I’ll sleep. If I get a book or try a movie, I’ll end up asleep. And don’t give me that sleep’s healing. I’ve had enough of it.

“Am I really stuck with crossword puzzles?”

She went upstairs, brought down her laptop. She’d make a spreadsheet of her activity, her progress. It would help to see it all laid out. She could even add the times.

Though it burned some, she added sleep into the mix.

There, less equaled progress. At least on her gauge.

She set it up meticulously, and felt organized and accomplished.

And bored beyond the telling of it.

Desperate, she brought up a crossword puzzle on her laptop. Then wandered the house just to stay awake. When wandering, she came across the basket her mother used for her when-in-the-mood knitting or crocheting.

Inspired, Sloan carried it into the living room by the fire, and found a YouTube video teaching the basics of crocheting.

When her brain went fuzzy, she rolled it back, started it again. She had to focus, concentrate, and with hook and yarn created a very precise run of chain stitches.

Because she had to listen, watch, count, it kept her mind engaged. After a painstaking hour she had the beginnings of a Christmas-red scarf.

She rewarded herself with a Pepsi.

“Okay, Mop, I can do this. I’m not sure I actually want to do it, but I can. I’m going to consider it occupational therapy. Now we’re going to walk again, then do another round with weights. I’m going to make myself eat some fruit or cheese or something, then we’ll get back to this.”

Before her parents got home that evening, she’d had to log another nap, but she offset that with more steps, more reps, and what by her measurements equaled about a quarter of a very simple red scarf.

Elsie looked at the yarn basket, the length—about a third now—of completed scarf, then at her daughter.

“When did you learn to crochet?”

“This afternoon.”

Elsie picked up the work in progress, studied it front and back. “This is very nice work. How many times did I try to teach you?”

“You always gave up because you said I wouldn’t sit still long enough.” She heard the sound of the snowblower roar to life, which meant her father cleared paths.

And Mop would be joyfully leaping into the blowing snow.

“I know I kind of have to now. Occupational therapy. You really have to think.”

“Good for you? A scarf?”

“Yeah, and when I finish, you have to wear it. The cost of being a mom.”

“The reward of being one. How about some hot chocolate, and you can tell me how you did today?”

“How about some wine, and we can tell each other about our day?”

“Even better.” Elsie laid a hand on Sloan’s cheek. “You look better.”

“I do?”

“In those magic eyes of yours, yes.”

Sloan felt tears burn at the back of them because she knew her mother wouldn’t lie.

“Today was Day One. I made a spreadsheet.”

“Of course you did. It’s our loss you didn’t come into the family business, Ms. Organized.”

“I came by that naturally,” she said as they walked to the kitchen. “But it’s good for me to track my progress. And we’ll get to that. You start first because Dad’s going to want to know what I did today when he comes in.”

“We got another three inches today, so he’s hell-bent to clear that before the next two or three fall overnight. Red okay? I still have plenty of sauce frozen from tomato season. We’re having pasta tonight.”

“Red’s great.”

“Let’s see. We rented about a dozen sleds and toboggans, and sold about half that many. I’ve got an order in for more. Are you sure you want to hear all this?”

Sloan settled at the counter. “I do.”

“We’re booked solid for December and January, and damn close to full for February. Drea’s Winter Wonders campaign did the job. Long-range forecast says the lake will freeze by mid-January, so we’ll have the ice-fishing tournament the first week of February. And we’re already half-booked for that.”

Elsie took a sip of wine, studied the glass. “Now, this was a fine idea.”

“I still got ’em.”

“Oh, news in Heron’s Rest. You remember the old Parker place?”

Sloan dug into her memory files.

“Great big ramshackle two-story, between here and town, with a wide, saggy front porch. If you walked back that way on a really windy day, you could actually hear the wind whistling through the windows.

“An even more ramshackle detached garage/workshop, all tucked into the woods by a long, narrow driveway always full of potholes.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself. Brady Parker let the place go to hell when his father died—what, about ten years ago—and it wasn’t in the best of shape back then. Well, he sold it a couple months ago.”

“Somebody bought that old place? For the land maybe? It’s not exactly prime, and yeah, the house needs serious work, but it’d be a shame to tear it down. It’s got all kinds of character.”

“Apparently that’s not the plan. Some New Yorker bought it, with the plan—I’m told—to rehab it.”

Sloan frowned over her wine. “Really?”

“Really. Word is he intends to live here, start his own business. Handyman kind of business, which if he’s any good, would be great. Further news, Maggie Wells finally talked Barry into moving to Florida. We depended on Barry to deal with whatever repairs or improvements your dad and Jonah couldn’t get to.”

“Maggie and Barry, what’ll the Rest do without them?”

“We’re going to find out. They’re leaving December first. I have to hope the New York transplant works out. With the rentals, the shops—and God help us, your dad has his eye on a little cottage that should come on the market around the first of the year—it’ll be hard to keep up without someone as good and reliable as Barry.”

As she spoke, Elsie took a clip from her pocket. She twisted up her sunny hair, clipped it up and back. Then she took a freezer bag of sauce out, set it in a pot to thaw a little.

“What part of New York?”

“The New York. New York City. Supposedly worked in finance or investments. Wall Street. But I don’t know if that’s reliable information because I also heard he was in real estate, and someone else said developer, and so on.”

Sloan thought of the old Parker place, the size and scope of it, the history, the character. And frowned again.

“He doesn’t sound handy.”

“He really doesn’t, but I’m going to hope, then hope if he is handy, he doesn’t expect to get New York prices for labor.”

On a sigh, she lifted her wine. “Well, change happens, whether you’re ready for it or not.”

“I’ll say.”

Elsie reached across the counter to squeeze Sloan’s hand. “I have to ask, and want points for waiting this long. Did you eat today?”

“Most of a bowl of cereal with fruit, and a bowl of your soup. I’m writing all that down, too. And tomorrow, I’m going to do it all again. When I’m not sitting here peeling apples or pulling out pumpkin guts for pies.”

“I’ll be home by one to get all that started.”

“I’ll be here.”

“I like hearing that.”

They both heard Dean come in the mudroom, scolding the dog. “No, you don’t, pal. You sit right there until I get the Abominable Snowman off you.”

“Now you can get started on your day,” Elsie told her.

“Not very exciting. In fact, I bored myself. It’s a lot of rinse and repeat.”

“We want to hear it. Dean? I’m having a glass of wine with Sloan. Do you want one?”

“Pour away. Give me another minute. Whose idea was it to get a dog who likes to bury himself in snow?”

“Yours,” mother and daughter said together.

“Oh yeah.”

A good Day One, Sloan congratulated herself as she readied for bed. She’d eaten what counted as three meals, done some strength training, had walked, when you added it all up, just under a full mile. And she’d made close to half a scarf.

Thirteen days to go, she thought, until she got the all clear.

She slept deep and dreamless until dawn slid silently across the eastern sky.

Rising, she welcomed Day Two.