Page 40 of Off the Trail

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t owe me an apology either.” I sigh. This is a lot, and I can’t process with her looking at me all concerned and guilty. “Do you mind getting a ride home from someone at the lodge?”

“What, right now?”

“Yeah. We’re almost done here. I have some other stuff to finish up, though.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

She frowns. “Are you okay?”

“I’m—” I stall by giving her another hug. “That was a lot of new information. You just have to give me time.”

“I can do that.” She squeezes me back, hard. “You know I love you, B.”

“I love you, too, B. And I’m happy for you. I mean it.”

Her smile is a little wobbly, but she nods. “That’s because you’re the best.”

“Damn straight.”

She leaves the boathouse, and I sit down at my desk and stare off into space for a while. Misty, probably sensing my mood, puts her chin in my lap, and I stroke her velvet ears idly. I woke up this morning thinking the world was organized one way, and it turns out I was completely wrong. It feels a bit too much like the day I woke up with two happy, living parents and went to sleep an orphan in charge of my little sister’s well-being.

Only now I’m looking at a future where I’m totally alone.

Chapter 16

Shawn

It’s getting dark by the time I’m heading back to Sanctuary Lake, so I make sure the truck’s headlights are on and stick to the speed limit, remembering what Blaze said about moose and deer, but I don’t encounter anything on four legs.

I leave the truck idling outside my cabin while I drop off my newly acquired work gloves, protective goggles, and tool belt, then drive back to the main lodge and park in the small lot.

As I head inside and make my way to the ballroom, I realize how ravenous I am. The scent of something savory lures me the way cheddar attracts the bass in the lake.

Also ensnaring me is the sight of Blaze at one of the tables set up near the floor-to-ceiling windows. He’s talking with Davy, the massage therapist I’ve had a couple of top-notch sessions with. Marika’s at another table, along with three other people who I think are retreat employees. A family of four sits at a third table, and a couple is alone at a fourth. I don’t hesitate before taking a free spot across from Blaze.

“Hey,” I say to him and Davy.

“Hi Shawn,” the massage therapist says with a friendly wave.

“Hi,” Blaze says, smiling but sounding a little less enthusiastic than usual. “How’d it go?”

“I built a stool,” I say proudly, because I am damn proud of myself.

“Where is it?” he asks. “I need evidence.”

“It’s at the shop. We stained them, so they need to dry. I’ll pick it up in a few days.”

“Well, good for you,” Blaze says, but his voice sounds different. Hollow.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, but before he can answer, a solemn man who looks more like a model than the chef he’s outfitted as comes through the kitchen door. The room falls silent. This must be Chef Nolan.

Guests and staff at attention, he announces, “Dinner tonight is Maine clam chowder and rustic sourdough. We eat family style. Enjoy.” He and a young woman wearing a crisp white apron set down steaming tureens on each table, along with baskets of crusty sliced bread and bowls of green salad. I notice for the first time the wine, beer, and canned sparkling waters lined up on a side table.

“Can I get you something to drink?” I ask my tablemates. Davy requests a water, and Blaze says, “I’ll have another beer.”