Chapter 7: : Chapter 7

Just after nine, her mother brought her breakfast in bed—with a purple mum in a bud vase on the tray.

“Good morning!” Like the flower, the greeting aimed for extra cheer. “We peeked in a couple hours ago, but you were sleeping.”

After setting down the tray, Elsie offered Sloan an ice pack. “But you must’ve been awake at some point because you finished the scarf.”

“I slept, woke up, slept. I can come downstairs.”

“Why don’t you pamper yourself a little?”

Elsie’s hand brushed over Sloan’s forehead, checking—Sloan knew—for fever.

“You’ve got a video call with Dr. Vincenti at ten-thirty,” she continued. “Drea set it up.”

“Still organizing me.”

“As long as possible. And, for my contribution there, I’ll bring you up some more yarn.”

She wanted to get up, do something. Anything. But had to admit she felt as lousy as she’d looked in the mirror.

“I guess I half promised to make a scarf for Joel. A manly one.”

“I’ve got just the thing. I’ll go get it for you, and after we see what the doctor says, we’ll go from there.”

“If he orders me to stay in bed another day, I will. But otherwise.”

“We’ll go from there. I’ll go get the yarn.”

Her mother had scrambled eggs with chunks of ham—a childhood favorite. She did her best with it as she stared out the window at a pretty snow shower.

And yearned to walk in it.

Elsie came back with the yarn. “Definitely manly. A nice ombré that goes from black to light gray.” She glanced at the tray. “One more bite?”

“I took one already.” Sloan crossed her heart.

“All right then. I’m going to set this aside, then show you how to do a double crochet stitch.”

“Now you’re scaring me.”

“You can handle it.” She added a smug smile. “And now you have to sit still long enough to learn.”

After a few poor attempts, Sloan got the rhythm. And found herself ridiculously pleased.

“Soothing, isn’t it? And satisfying.”

“I stand—well, sit—corrected.”

“I’m going to take your tray down and give you privacy for your call with your doctor. And because I trust you to tell me everything he says.”

“That’s sneaky.”

“And it works. Drea’s sent you a link for the call. Let me know when you’re done, and—”

“We’ll go from there.”

Sloan set the yarn aside, shifted her laptop. Bracing herself, she made the call.

He came quickly on-screen. “Sloan.”

“Dr. Vincenti, thanks for talking to me. I want to say I’m sorry I screwed up. Honestly, I didn’t mean to. I just—didn’t think. He was crying, and held up his arms, and I just reacted. I promise you I’ve been following the discharge instructions. I have a spreadsheet. I can send it to you.”

Even in her rush to explain herself, Sloan caught his mild amusement. “A spreadsheet of?”

“Daily activities, food intake, sleep, all of it. I’ve been making progress, but I’ve been careful. Until.”

“I’d like to see the spreadsheet. Meanwhile, Dr. Marlowe’s report and attachments are very thorough. You estimate the boy’s weight at twenty-five pounds.”

“His parents weighed him, and he came in at twenty-three.”

“You’re lucky there’s no tear, no internal bleeding or damage. What’s your pain level this morning?”

“About four. I took an Advil earlier. It’s not severe enough for the heavy stuff. I’d take that if I needed it.”

Once again, she crossed her heart, and made Vincenti smile.

“I’m on RICE. Dr. Marlowe indicated I could resume light activity forty-eight hours after the injury.”

She’d expected a lecture and when she didn’t get one, couldn’t decide if she felt relieved on mildly disappointed.

But she answered the battery of questions, lifted her top, eased off her compression bandage so he could see the wound.

“It’s unlikely I’d order anything Dr. Marlowe hasn’t. If your symptoms increase, I want you down here. Otherwise, we’ll keep our current appointment for the follow-up. Understand, Sloan, a pectoral muscle strain will take a few weeks to resolve. No lifting, not even light weights, for the next couple days. I’m going to send you an exercise plan tailored to your injury.”

“All right.”

“You’re motivated,” he added. “Dr. Marlowe and I fully agree on that. And this is a setback, but only an additional two or three weeks.”

“Do you mean two or three weeks before I’m cleared to go back to work? Even desk duty?”

“This is going to add a couple of weeks, yes. We’ll reevaluate when I see you. Any increase in symptoms, contact me. Send me the spreadsheet, and follow the plan I send you.”

She ended the call, closed her eyes.

Like starting over, she thought. Day One all over again, and today wouldn’t even count for that.

Since he hadn’t ordered her to stay in bed, she got up. Went across the hall to brush her teeth. Since the movement of brushing her hair caused pain to flare, she left it alone.

She went down and found her mother in the home office with Mop snoring on the rug behind her.

“Sloan, I’d have helped you downstairs.”

“Walking’s okay. Not a lot of it. And everything else is off the table for a couple days. I’m trying not to be a baby about it, but—”

“You’re my baby.” Rising, Elsie crossed over to hold her. “He doesn’t need to see you today?”

“No. That’s a bright spot.”

“I know it’s hard for you to stay planted, but it won’t be for long. You can keep busy sitting down for a couple days.”

“Can we go outside, just for a few minutes?”

“All right. You don’t have to get dressed. We’ll just bundle up, put some boots on, and take Mop out.”

She got her few minutes while the snow fell cool and light, and the lake went to silver.

And in the cool and light, felt calmer.

“It’s so beautiful. Every season, it’s just so beautiful. Look at all the people sledding.”

“Long weekend, no school. We’ve got a lot of kids. Snowpeople contest tomorrow in the town park.”

“That’ll be fun. I remember one year Drea and I—and Hallie, Hallie Reeder—did Captain America.”

“Drea had such a crush on Captain America.”

“Probably still does. It was fun. All the Rest always brings the fun.”

“We do our best. Hallie’s engaged.”

“Really? She sent me a card in the hospital, but didn’t mention it.”

“He’s the head chef at the Seabreeze. I think the wedding’s this spring. Maybe you’ll get in touch while you’re home.”

“I will.” Relaxed again, Sloan let out a sigh as Mop settled on a mound of snow like a man might in an easy chair. “This is better than eight hours’ sleep for me. Just a few minutes outside. And with this view.”

“I’ve always loved it here.”

“So have I. I know I moved away,” she added when Elsie said nothing. “That didn’t mean I didn’t love it here. Don’t love it.”

“You needed to spread your wings. And you did.”

“Won’t be able to spread them for a while now.”

“The business wasn’t for you. Your dad and I understand that.”

“Drea’s worth two of me there. Possibly three of me.”

“It’s what she wants. We want what our girls want. And now I want you inside by the fire.”

“Yeah. I’ve got a scarf to make.”

On the first Monday of December, the Littlefield brothers drove into Heron’s Rest. A small town with only a couple thousand year-round residents, it bustled. The winter season brought the skiers, the snowboarders, the hunters, and plenty who just wanted a cozy getaway.

The Rest offered the mountains, the lake, the slopes and trails, the campsites and cabins, and the lake houses and docks. A scatter of restaurants and bars, plenty of shops—retail and rental—a small library lined its Main Street.

The town had a reputation for friendly and picturesque. After all, it depended on tourists to eat, drink, shop, play, and stay.

Nash knew the town enjoyed glowing write-ups in magazines and blogs touting places to visit, hidden gems, vacation destinations.

He’d made the dramatic change in his own career and location because the practical part of his brain calculated he could make a decent living there doing what he’d finally admitted he wanted.

Then the house, the dilapidated wonder of it, had hit him hard. It was, to his eye, a sad and neglected treasure, and he could make it shine again.

Would make it shine again.

The challenge of it appealed to every part of him and stood as the perfect start of the new phase of his life.

Theo was the big bonus, the whipped cream and the cherry on top. There was no one he’d rather work with, partner with, build something strong and good with than Theo.

And today, on this first Monday in December, they’d begin.

“Where do you want to start?” Nash asked him.

“I figure to hit the All the Rest place. They own most of the vacation houses, the boat and equipment rentals.”

“And like I said, I checked before I settled on the house. They’ve got a contractor.”

“Yeah, but a lot of cabins and houses to deal with. Plus, you have to figure they know everybody. I’ll spread on the charm, then work my way, hit the shops, the rest.”

He patted the box on his lap. “The flyers look good. So do the business cards. We’re marketing, bro.”

“I’ll pick up the permits and catch up with you.”

“Don’t forget your flyers. You’ve got some charm in there.”

“I’ll see if I can dig it out.”

At the first of three traffic lights, Nash made a turn, then turned again at the next corner and drove into the town parking lot.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Nash grabbed his briefcase—flyers and business cards inside—before they walked back toward the corner of Main and Mallard.

“Yeah, I scouted it out. I’m that way.” Theo pointed left. Then right. “You’re that way. It’s pretty,” he added as they waited for the walk light. “Got the postcard vibe going. We’ve got to start coming in at least two times a week. Grabbing a burger, a beer. That’s marketing, too.”

“We’ll get to it. Later,” Nash said, and started his walk—or climb—up the slope of the sidewalk.

Theo tucked the box under his arm and strolled across the street.

He really did like the look and feel of the town. Maybe it should’ve struck him as weird that he felt so free just walking here. He’d enjoyed New York, he really had, but he’d always felt pressure. Constant pressure, he thought now, through college, through law school. Get the grades, push harder, intern at the right firm.

And he’d liked the law fine, but he’d never loved it. Not the way he’d loved the first summer he’d hooked up with Nash for Habitat for Humanity.

Building something, doing good work, learning how to make something last. And meeting people from all over who wanted to do the same. All that had left a deep impression.

He marked that summer, after he’d turned twenty-one, had defied parental expectations and done exactly what he wanted, a precursor to this.

He’d pull his weight, he’d learn more. And he wouldn’t let Nash down.

Optimistic, and pulling on the charm as easily as he pulled on a hoodie, he walked into All the Rest’s town offices.

It surprised him. It had a homey rather than a business feel with its focal point of a brick fireplace, logs simmering, the couple of cozy chairs angled toward it.

The mantel held artfully arranged greenery and pinecones, red and silver balls, red and silver candles.

Clever framed photographs on the spruce-green walls showed the hills, the lake, the trails, and people enjoying them in all four seasons.

A long table held an arrangement of flowers, a laptop, and several neatly placed brochures, maps, and, hey, flyers.

A Christmas tree stood in the corner by the street-facing windows. Its lights gleamed icy white, decorations sparkled on the boughs. A real tree, he realized, with a star on top, that scented the office air with pine.

They needed to get a tree, he decided on the spot. A real one, and stuff to go on it.

Then she walked in, and his brain glazed over.

She had long hair, kind of golden brown, that spilled down past her shoulders. And a face that made his mouth go dry. Blue eyes, like a summer sky, lips, Christmas red, that curved into a smile.

She wore a blue dress and short, high-heeled boots.

And when she spoke, he actually felt a little dizzy.

“Good morning. How can I help you today?”

“Ah…”

He couldn’t remember. Honestly couldn’t remember for a minute where he was, why he was there.

She filled everything.

“Are you lost?”

“Am I … No, no. Sorry. I, ah, lost my train. Of thought. I’m Theo … Ah…” Jesus! “Littlefield.”

Her widening smile had the tiniest little dimple flickering at the top right corner of her gorgeous mouth.

He feared he might drool.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Pretty sure.” He had to get a grip. He held out a hand, and when he gripped hers, lost his again. Her hand, so warm and smooth, felt perfect in his.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Drea.”

“Drea. Beautiful.”

“Thanks. What can I do for you?”

“Right. Right. I want to say it’s really nice in here. Welcoming. And reminded me we need to get a tree. And the lights and the rest.”

“If you want to shop in town, Happy Trails has a nice selection of ornaments and decor, and a few artificial trees. Otherwise—”

“In town’s good. In town’s best. But that’s a real tree, right? It smells great.”

So did she. Boy, so did she.

“It is. Your best bet there is Wilford’s Tree Farm. I can show you on the map.”

“That’d be great. So All the Rest means it. Full-service.”

“We do our best.” Taking a map and a pen, she drew a route. “Where are you coming from, Mr. Littlefield?”

“Theo, just Theo. New York, but I live here. We live here now.”

“Oh?” She glanced up with those beautiful blue eyes.

“My brother bought a house a couple months ago. Ah, it’s off North Lake Drive.”

“The old Parker place? That’s you?”

“Well, Nash, but I talked him into letting me move in. We’re—forgot what I came in for. Distracted.”

He opened the box, took out one of the flyers he and Nash had designed.

Angling her head, Drea studied it.

“The Fix-It Brothers. That’s clever. Licensed contractors.”

“Nash is already. I will be in a few weeks.”

“Mm-hmm. Home repair, remodeling, new builds. No job too small. Friendly, reliable service, seven days a week.”

“That’s the plan. We’re just getting started.”

“New businesses are always welcome. Why don’t you give me about a dozen flyers? Any business cards?”

“Yeah, thanks. Really.” He fumbled out the flyers, a small stack of cards. “We appreciate it. Ah, Nash would’ve come in, too, but he’s picking up our building permits. The house needs a lot of work.”

The phone rang. Drea held up a finger, picked it up. “Good morning, All the Rest. This is Drea. Could I ask you to hold just one minute?”

“So, I’ll get out of your way. Thanks again. And … just one thing? I have to say you’re really beautiful. Really seriously beautiful. That would’ve been stuck in here if I didn’t get it out.”

“We wouldn’t want that. Thank you.”

“Yeah, sure. So … thanks again.”

As he walked out, he heard her say:

“Thanks for holding. How can I help you?”

His heart just sang.

While Theo worked a candle and rock shop—purchasing some of each for community relations—then the bookstore—a buy of a history of Heron’s Rest by a local author—Nash dealt with the business at town hall.

He met the mayor, a sharp-eyed woman of about fifty who barely topped five feet. She and her husband also owned the hardware store on the far end of town.

Since Nash figured they’d do plenty of business there—keep it local—he had no trouble cooperating when she pumped him for information.

He left flyers and business cards.

Since it was right next door, he did the same in the town library, where the head librarian, a gangly guy of around thirty with a massive black beard, pinned a flyer to the bulletin board, took another handful.

Then asked Nash what he would charge to replace a bathroom vanity and sink, and paint.

They discussed; Moose, as he introduced himself, called his wife. Before he left, Nash had an appointment to meet Mrs. Moose at eight the next morning before she left to teach third graders at Heron’s Rest Elementary.

More than satisfied, he stepped out, texted Theo.

Where r u?

Happy Trails.

I’ll work my way up.

He handed out flyers, had conversations. And booked another job at the Snip and Style when Suze—with pink-streaked hair and freckles—asked him to come look at a leaky faucet.

“My no-good, lazy ex-boyfriend promised to fix it,” she told Nash, “but I booted him out before he did. Like he ever would anyway.”

After two more stops, he met Theo on the street. And stared.

“What the hell, Theo?”

“You give some to get some.” Theo shifted his mass of shopping bags. “Plus, we need Christmas stuff. And, this isn’t even the big news, we’ve got a job.”

“Doing what?”

“Replacing three bedroom doors. Ms. Haver knows what she wants—I got pictures. Her husband was going to do it, but he broke his foot playing with the dog, and they’re having their kids for Christmas. I checked, and the lumber center between here and Deep Creek has them in stock—I got them on hold, contractor’s rate. I gave her our hourly rate, an estimate of time, considering we have to pick up the doors, and said we could do it tomorrow.”

Theo grinned. “She pinched my cheek.”

“Let’s get this crap you bought to the truck. I’m nearly out of flyers anyway. And we’ve got to be back in town tomorrow to look at two other jobs.”

“Two?” Stopping, Theo beamed like the sun. “Are you serious?”

“Eight a.m., possible bathroom vanity and sink replacement, and new paint. Another’s just a leaky faucet, but—”

“No job too small. We did good, man.”

“We got lucky on top of it, as the local guy who’d probably handle most of this retired and moved south. Just. We’ve got an opening.”

“Charging through! We could pick up those doors now. Get them installed tomorrow. She wants these glass doorknobs—they’re in stock. Then if the faucet just needs a washer, or tightening, a simple fix, we could say it’s on the house. Good marketing.”

“Good marketing. And the faucet owner just kicked out her boyfriend. She’s cute. Looked like your type.”

“Nope.” Theo shook his head as they reached the truck and loaded the bags in the back. “Not for me.”

“You haven’t even seen her. She has freckles. You always went for freckles.”

“Not anymore.” He got in the shotgun seat, laid a hand on his heart. “Big news? Nash, I met the girl of my dreams.”

“That was quick.”

“Years in the making. Maybe centuries. I really have to marry her.”

“Does my future sister-in-law have a name?”

“Drea.”

“Drea what?”

“I don’t know.” He sighed it out. “Doesn’t matter. She threw me off my game, just by existing. But I’ll do better next time. She’s the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“Okay. Well, now that you’re getting married and, I assume, starting a family—”

“Absolutely.”

“Then you should be happy to know we’ve got our permits. We’re starting demo.”

Theo rubbed his hands together. “Nothing like demo. Oh, wait, one more thing. The tree farm’s on the way to and from the supplier. We can stop either way and get the tree.”

“We have dozens of trees.”

“Christmas tree, Nash. We need a Christmas tree.”

“We’re about to tear the house up. Where the hell are we going to put a tree? When are we going to have time to screw with a Christmas tree?”

“Here’s my motto,” Theo told him. “You gotta make time to screw with Christmas.”

“If we made pillows, that belongs on one.”

“We’ll find a place. I already got lights and a stand, and a shitload of decorations. Nothing like what they used to have decorators bring in and put up. Our tree, our way. Our Christmas.”

It had never been Nash’s favorite holiday. Always formal, stilted, perfection as fake as the soaring tree.

But he heard the yearning in his brother’s voice.

And why not? he thought. They could make it their own.

“Then here’s the plan. Doors, tree, unload back at the house. Then we’re tearing down a wall.”

Theo rubbed his hands together again. “I like this plan.”

They picked up the doors—good and solid—the doorknobs, the hardware. Nash took a turn through their lighting section, cruised the bathroom vanities, faucets.

In his judgment, somebody replaced a vanity, a sink, painted a bathroom, they’d decide to change the lights.

He let Theo talk up the manager, pass off flyers, business cards. His little brother had a knack for it.

Because he didn’t have a preference, he gave the choice of the tree to Theo as well. From what looked like acres of them, and plenty of people already in the holiday mood on the first week of December.

He tried to ignore the Christmas music playing on the outdoor speakers.

They strapped the tree—a nice six-foot blue spruce—to the top of the truck and headed for home.

“Damn good morning for the Littlefield brothers,” Theo declared.

“And a better afternoon when that wall comes down. I ordered the windows, and we’re going to need some help there when they come in. Maybe you could ask your bride-to-be if she knows anyone.”

“I’ll do that. Good opening. Now, about that dog.”

“Don’t push your luck, Theo.”

“Yeah, the dog should wait a few weeks anyway.”

When Nash made the turn back to the house, he saw the woman and the dog, slow walking on the lake path.

“There’s Lake Walker again.”

“Yeah, I see. That’s gotta be routine, right?”

“I guess.” And Nash had to admit it struck his curiosity.

Who was she, what did she do besides walk with the dog? And why did she walk like someone recovering from a long illness?

And because she did, he felt more admiration than sympathy, because she just kept taking one more step.

Sloan saw the truck, the tree strapped to the roof. The Coopers would put up the family tree tonight, and she wished she could push herself into the spirit.

She’d finally made it to the mark she’d hit on her very first walk out of the hospital. But she was out of breath, and her chest hurt.

Not enough for the big guns, but enough she’d take a couple of Advil when she got back.

“A few steps more tomorrow, Mop. But that’s it for this trip.”

At least she’d convinced her family she didn’t need watching and tending twenty-four/seven.

She’d lost progress, but she’d make it up.

Back in the house, she dumped her coat. She’d hang it up later, but she needed to sit, steady up.

When she felt able, she rose to get the Advil, drink water. She needed to eat something. She heated up a bowl of the turkey noodle soup her mother had made from Thanksgiving leftovers.

When her phone rang, she saw her captain on the readout.

She’d dreaded this. She’d put a call in to him—she had to tell him about her setback.

Nudging the soup aside, she answered.

“Captain, thanks for getting back to me.”

“Sorry for the delay. How are you, Corporal?”

“Well, sir, I had a little incident a few days ago, and pulled a pectoral muscle.”

“Well, damn, Sloan. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yes, sir. It’s not serious, and I can treat it at home, no problem. It will take a couple of weeks, possibly three, to fully resolve.”

“I see. And that’s a damn shame, Sloan. A damn shame. You’re missed here.”

“Thanks. I could possibly do some remote work. Paperwork, searches, background checks.”

“We’re covered there, of course, if something comes up…” He let that trail off. “I think it’s best if you remain on leave until after the first of the year. Your duties have physical requirements, and you can’t resume those duties until you have full medical and psychiatric clearance.”

“I understand.”

“I know it’s hard, I recognize that this is hard on you. But we have to think of your health and safety, and the health and safety of your fellow officers.”

“I understand.”

“I appreciate you telling me. We’ll make arrangements here to cover your duties. Take care of yourself, Sloan. You’re a valued member of the Natural Resources Police.”

“Thank you. I will.”

And that was that, she thought as she set the phone down.

She’d known it, and in her captain’s position, she would have said and done the same.

“No whining,” she ordered herself. “Absolutely none.”

Reaching up, she rubbed the scar on her forehead.

“I’m not going to bitch, not going to give in to that. Just because I can’t walk without huffing, can’t lift over a couple pounds. Can’t even brush my own damn hair without it hurting.”

She looked down at the dog, who sat faithfully at her feet.

“I can’t brush my damn hair. I hate seeing this reminder of that night on my stupid face. So, why don’t I just fix that? I can fix that.”

She pulled open a drawer, took out scissors.

“This is probably a terrible idea. I’m doing it anyway.”