Page 10 of Pink and Country

A handwritten note on powder blue paper lay on the butcher block island.

Dear Ms. Simmons,

Hope you’ll have a marvelous stay.

Enjoy the view and fresh air.

Your host,

C. H.

Whoever this C.H. was, he or she was kind enough to welcome me personally. Everything about this place drew me in. A lone tear streamed down my cheek. Somehow, I felt as if I belonged here.

Back in the living room, I added wood to the fireplace—someone had lit the fire prior to my arrival—to warm up the cabin. Not quite warm enough yet, it served more as an element of decor than a source of heat. I cracked the thermostat up in the meantime and went to my room to empty my suitcase.

One cup of tea later, wrapped in the duvet on the bed, my eyelids heavy, I fell asleep on the soft mattress, dreaming I lay on the fluffiest cloud.

* * *

The sound of a car engine outside woke me up the next morning. One quick look at the alarm clock on the nightstand told me it was thirteen past nine. Wait, no middle of the night I-can’t-close-my-eyes-I’ll-see-the-minutes-tick-by episodes? No tossing and turning in bed for hours? I blinked twice, making sure I read the time right.

Curled on my side, my body buried under the white duvet, I failed to stop the grin growing on my face.

I’d been in Green Mountain for twelve hours, and already the mountain air worked wonders for my sleepless nights.

With lightness in my chest, I jumped in the shower. Singing at the top of my lungs, I let the hot water work on my knotted muscles. “Red dress, high heels, la la la.” Dressed in faded blue jeans and a cropped fuzzy pink sweater, with a cup of hot chocolate in hand, I sat in the hammock chair. The mountain view engulfed all of me, and I felt I was at the top of the world. I took in the red and orange leaves covering the ground, and the clear blue sky that let me see miles ahead. The view was breathtaking. I took a sip of my liquid cocoa indulgence, and warmth traveled from my head to toes.

With my mug in hand, I ventured on the back deck. A hot tub occupied the right-hand corner and two wooden Adirondack chairs and a small grill lay on the left side. The mountain air woke up all my senses. The cold breeze stung the tip of my nose.

Saunders truly had sent me to paradise.

I snapped a selfie and sent it to her with a heart emoji.

It took a few minutes for the message to go through. The reception wasn’t that great up here.

After devouring a light breakfast, I powered my brain, excited about where my creative mind would take me. Armed with a notebook and pen, I scribbled notes for my new book, comfortably tucked in my now favorite chair. Before I knew it, it was four o’clock.

Buried in my work, I’d lost track of time.

I fixed myself some homemade chicken and noodle soup I brought from home for dinner and relaxed with a glass of white wine on the sofa, my legs folded under a cream-colored Sherpa blanket.

The fireplace had warmed the air, and before I could make it to my room, my eyelids got heavy. And I dozed off.

* * *

The next morning, I woke up at eight, on the sofa, entangled in the Sherpa blanket, Bernice curled beside me. Butterflies danced in my stomach, and warmth spread through my chest. The lingering scent of pine filled my nostrils.

I stretched my arms over my head. “Good morning, Green Mountain.”

I’d slept over twelve hours. Whoa, I’d clearly misjudged how sleep deprived I was.

Could a change of air be all I needed?

I got up and reached the bathroom upstairs. My eyes widened when I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. Oh, my. My hair was a tangled mess, and I had dried drool at the corner of my lips. Who cared? The smile on my face had turned into a permanent fixture I couldn’t shake away.

I’d spent the last three years of my life in some kind of monotonous parallel universe. I lived through them, but instead of enjoying myself, I went through the motions. Days turned into months, and months bled into years. Except for my long-lasting friendship with Saunders, I lived a pretty lonely life. Now, for the first time since the day my world turned upside down, I felt free.

After Travis, the love of my life, passed, I barely got out of bed for weeks. We’d moved in together during our junior year in college, living in his closet-sized apartment for ten months, before making an offer on a house—a fixer-upper wet dream we’d spend years making ours. A little banana-yellow wood siding house with white shutters, a backyard, and a wrap-around porch. Nothing extravagant. But a place to call ours. It was like we both felt this urge to reach for our goals early on in life. We shared so many dreams together. Backpacking a summer through Australia, adopting a dog from a shelter, going bungee jumping in Europe—Travis’s dream, not mine. And raising a bunch of kids—somewhere down the line. But then Travis got sick. It shattered all our hopes and plans. Every single one of them.