Boys, Bears, and a Serious Pair of Hiking Boots(7)
Author: Abby McDonald

And I’m stuck with it.

5

When I’ve gathered enough courage, I reemerge and mumble good-bye to the boys before following Fiona back to the truck. She drives past Main Street, deeper into the forest. Now that the stereo is off, I can’t help but notice the silence here. No traffic noise, no airplanes, nothing — just a heavy kind of quiet I can almost touch. The rain has stopped, leaving the air fresh and crisp, and with water droplets shimmering off the trees it looks like —

“No. Way.” I gasp, staring out of the truck in complete shock.

For a moment, Fiona gives me a look as if we’re actually in this together. “They’ve been renovating for three months,” she says, stressing every word to convey the horror of constant construction. “We only got running water back last week. You’re lucky.” With that, she tugs the keys out of the ignition and disappears toward the house.

Except that calling it a “house” is being generous. A huge old clapboard Victorian looms up in front of me, but half the roof is missing, plastic sheeting is flapping in the place of at least two walls, and as I edge nervously toward the scaffolding, I can see a vast black hole in the middle of the main entryway.

“Hello?” I call into the void, careful not to trip. “Is anyone here?”

Susie warned me they’d be doing some work, but somehow, I pictured elegant faded wallpaper and a few broken tiles, not this . . . disaster zone.

“Jenna!” I hear Susie’s cry from somewhere inside. “Don’t move — I’ll be right there.”

Eyeing the dust and broken floorboards around me, I take her word as law and stay frozen to the spot until she appears at the far end of the hallway.

“Jenna!” she cries again, advancing to smother me in a huge hug. I wrap my arms around her tightly, both of us squealing like small children. We’re almost the same height, but she still manages to envelop me in warmth and motherly kisses. “God, how long has it been? Since that Christmas, right? And look at you now, so tall and grown-up!”

She holds me at arm’s length to study me, and I happily study her right back. Gone are the straight, glossy hair and the patent-leather boots I last saw tap-tapping their way down Manhattan streets. In their place are haphazard blond curls caught back in a bright green scarf, a paint-splattered man’s shirt and jeans, and a pair of scuffed sneakers.

She catches my stare and laughs. “Don’t worry — all this just means I know my way around a kitchen now. Come on, you must be starving — Fiona said the bus was delayed for hours.”

I don’t correct her, letting her pull me through the house to a room with four solid walls and the smell of cheesy goodness wafting in the air. I must look starving, because Susie doesn’t say another word before settling me in a chair and presenting me with a bowl brimming over with pasta. “You’re still a vegetarian, right?”

I nod, mouth already full.

“Adam will bring your bags in when he gets back — don’t worry. As you can see, we’re kind of rough around the edges right now.” Susie’s expression becomes kind of apprehensive. “Which means you’ll be doubling up in Fiona’s room for now. Just until we get another bedroom finished,” she adds quickly.

I nod again, admittedly with less enthusiasm.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Susie beams at me again. “I’ve missed you, kid!”

I swallow. “Me too — missed you, I mean. And I want to say thanks for this, letting me stay. I won’t be any trouble, I promise,” I swear. Given the choice between Grandma’s luxury condo and this construction site, I’d still choose Stillwater.

Susie looks amused. “You, trouble? Kid, you were always the one keeping me in check. Don’t tell me you’ve decided to become a rebellious teen?”

At that moment, Fiona slouches into the room and slumps at the table. She looks expectantly at Susie, who — to my surprise — goes over to the stove and serves up a plate of food, then deposits it in front of Fiona as if she’s a queen. I blink. Fiona doesn’t even murmur any thanks; she just picks up a well-thumbed book and begins to read, ignoring us both as she picks at her food. I squint to make out the title. The Bell Jar.

Cheerful.

“So, this place is pretty large.” I turn back to Susie, who’s pouring out a cup of coffee. Unless Fiona has a brood of (God, hopefully more upbeat) siblings, it seems kind of strange for them to be rattling around in such a huge house.

“Didn’t I say? We’re opening up a B and B,” Susie explains, obviously excited. “Stillwater’s first!”

“Wow.” I blink, trying to imagine the place as habitable, let alone a tourist spot. “That’s a big project.”

“Uh-huh.” She takes a sip from her mug. “But this will all be fixed up soon, and it’s such a perfect spot. . . .” Susie gives a contented sigh, as if she’s not sitting in the middle of sawdust and safety hazards. Then again, she did spend three months living in a shack in Ecuador, volunteering with drug-addicted children, so maybe this house — and Fiona — doesn’t seem like such a challenge to her.

“Anyway, we can talk about that all summer! Right now, I want to hear everything about your life,” Susie insists, so I begin to chat about school, and Olivia, and all the Green Teen work until Susie interrupts me for a moment to turn to the other side of the table.

“Fiona, honey — it’s time to put the book away. We have a guest.”

“I thought she was part of the family.” Fiona doesn’t look up, but her tone says plenty. “Isn’t that what you’ve been saying all week?”

“Yes, but you still need to put the book away.” Susie’s voice is pleasant. “Now.”

“Dad lets me.”

“I let you do what?” A tall, broad-built man walks into the room, hoists off his tool belt, and puts it on a counter with a clatter. He’s blond, with a fuzzy beard and wispy hair framing his tanned face. As he leans over to kiss Susie’s forehead, I catch the soft look that comes into her eyes and begin to understand why she was so quick to leave the luxuries of running water and move all the way out here.

“She says I have to stop reading.” Fiona pouts. “Do you want me to be completely illiterate?”

Adam laughs good-naturedly. “If it means we get a nice family dinner, then sure, pumpkin.”