Chapter 42

Chapter Forty-Two

Caroline

M en keep leaving me. Either by dying or by snowmobile.

I stare out the kitchen window. The snowman is shrunken, Calvin's father's hat askew. It makes me sad. Things are changing too quickly.

I considered leaving, going back to New York but deep down I know I need the time to think. Not just about my reaction to Calvin's news or even all that happened here between us. But about my life.

Things are going to continue to change whether I like it or not.

I tried calling Calvin to apologize, leaving messages when he didn't pick up. My behavior was unforgivable. I was harsh, holier than thou. Calvin is the most giving man I know. He's selfless and generous. Are there any better qualities for a good father than those? I'll let the dust settle then try again to reach him.

I'm in desperate need of a distraction and decide to listen to a voicemail from Sam. She sounds calm—a one-eighty from the previous call—like she phoned moments after her daily yoga class. I'm fairly certain the regular practice is what's keeping my high-strung friend sane.

She tells me that she's brought things under control. The sponsors are on board, crisis averted. The Shining Stars Gala, benefiting children with special needs, is back on track. The charity was Bernard's baby and I'm grateful to hear Sam handled it without me. I'm also extremely relieved that I don't have to fire my friend. She's got this.

She shares an idea for the event, her tone turning excited. Something about a high-ticket auction. It should bring in lots of new donations. She tells me to check my email and signs off with "Namaste."

There are two attachments in the email. The event invitation is professional and eye catching. A budget breakdown lets me see how she finessed getting low cost advertising on social media. Sam is savvy. I suspect we'll clear more for the charity than in previous years. Nothing about the auction idea though I'm intrigued. I'm sure she'll keep me posted.

I leave Sam a long, detailed voice note. It beats a conversation that will suck me further into the vortex. I end it with an expression of genuine gratitude.

With that done, I need another diversion. Outside, the roads are clear and the sun's glare blinding. I grab my sunglasses, deciding to take my chances and head into town. I find a worn pair of Calvin's boots in the front closet and put them on. They're old, ugly and a bit big on me but good enough. I then bundle up, check my phone's battery level, and toggle on my phone's GPS.

The air is fresh and invigorating and not as cold as it was when Calvin and I made snow angels. The house seems to sparkle under the clear blue sky like it's auditioning for a holiday movie. My feet create craters with each step. I trudge at a respectable pace, keeping my heart rate steady and body warm, passing evergreens dusted with snow and the blueberry bush where Calvin buried me. I double check my phone's signal. It works just fine.

I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the pristine air and I venture on to town.

When I arrive, I'm invigorated and proud of myself. If there was an Olympic sport for snow walking, I'd kill it. I note that most of the shops are open. These people are accustomed to brutal winters. I pick up dog food, a few treats, and swing by the Donut Hole Café for a much-needed coffee.

The woman behind the counter is giving me the once over. "You must be Calvin's friend."

She's a couple of years older than I am. Her hair is shorter and more stylish but I recognize her right away from the photo. "Jenny?"

She raises her brow. "You know me?"

"Well, you know me ," I say. "Sugarbush Falls is a small town, after all."

She laughs. "Very true. We don't have many secrets, just lots of snow and gossip. I heard about you from Pearl. Glad Calvin found the right one. I regretted our breakup for years."

TMI. TMI!

Jenny must see the look on my face. "Oh, I mean, that was a lifetime ago. I have grown kids and a grandchild on the way. I found my happiness. My only point is that Calvin is a giver and sometimes it's hard for him to receive. If you love him, don't let him go. If for no other reason than he needs love. Teach him that it's okay to be on the receiving end sometimes."

I'm speechless. Jenny is a total stranger, offering a stream of unsolicited advice about my love life with her ex. And yet, I feel an unexpected sense of appreciation. She's not being manipulative, only trying to help an old flame find joy.

I thank her and head out, an unplanned bag of donuts in hand. My mind is stuck on Jenny's words. She called me, ‘the right one.' Was that Pearl's take or Calvin's?

It's all I can think about on the chilly walk back home.

I spend most of the remaining days following the same routine, adding in the occasional new activity. I even started taking out the snowmobile, impressed with myself for learning how to weave through the forested trails on my own.

I am meeting the friendly locals. Like the helpful librarian who recommended a romance I devoured; and Jenny who sneaks an extra chocolate cream into my order when she thinks I'm not looking. Surely the long walks are beneficial, balancing out the sugar intake but I've given up counting calories and by some brain hijack, I don't care.

Thanks to Aunt Pearl who stopped by, I'm baking for the first time in my life. By some unspoken understanding, neither one of us mentioned Calvin or Chacha. Instead, we made an apple crumble I'm extremely proud of, even if it looks less like a dessert and more like a crime scene involving fruit.

She suggested I try needlepoint. Now I'm starting a pillow with a canvas I bought in town. Who knew stabbing fabric with a needle could be so therapeutic?

My life went from erratic and fast-paced to slow and meditative. It's almost like the universe is on reset after the storm. Things are blessedly calm.

I now have time to think about what I've neglected for too long. How Bernard's death affected me.

I miss him.

He jokingly called me his trophy wife. Sure, I met him in his twilight years but he was my rock. He was the Michael Douglas to my Catherine Zeta Jones. If I was dark and exotic looking.

Bernard's kids are convinced I married their father for his money, set on fleecing them out of their full inheritance. It's emotional, not logical. In any scenario, they would get the bulk of Bernard's estate. But toss in loyalty to their mom and we have the current powder keg.

I sigh deeply. Tomorrow, my week in Sugarbush Falls will be over. I need to face the music and not only with my attorney.

I park the snowmobile in the driveway, take off the helmet, and immediately spot man-size shoe troughs in the snow in front of the house. Someone is here.

I grab the packages, and excited, trudge across the lawn to the front door. Maybe Calvin is back, maybe he had a change of heart. I let myself in and stop cold.

Sitting on the sofa, holding Rezy in his lap, is my chauffeur.

I don't bother asking Paul how he got inside. I didn't lock up. I peel off my coat, set down the bags and kick off the boots. "Fancy meeting you here."

He smiles.

"Where's the car?"

"Round back."

I take a seat across from him, watching as Rezy snuggles deeper into Paul's lap. "Where's this little guy from?" he asks, petting the pup.

I've tried everything I can think of to find Rezy's owner. No luck. Or better said, my luck. Rezy has won me over, big time.

"I found him outside in the blizzard. His name is Rezy, short for resilient."

We sit quietly for a beat, Paul not filling me in.

"Why are you here?" I prompt.

"To check on you."

He says it as if driving across much of New England is an everyday occurrence.

No use in asking how he found me. Paul is an extremely resourceful man who will never reveal his sources. Besides, I already know. Sam was adamant about knowing my location and having Calvin looked into. The two are in cahoots.

He goes on. "The phones were down . . . and I made a promise."

"Right, the promise to Bernard."

Paul has referenced it several times without elaboration. Even so, I understand he feels obligated to look after me. But it's ridiculous. I'm a grown woman.

I go to the kitchen, put up the kettle and bring a box of assorted teas to the living room, setting them on the coffee table. "I don't need babysitting."

"I've done some digging," Paul says, ignoring my comment.

"Digging?"

"Investigating."

I shake my head in disappointment. Paul is overstepping his bounds, by a mile. I was only joking with Sam about having Paul check into Calvin's background. Seems she took the reins on this project as well.

I sigh. "Let's have it."

"Dr. Sinclair has a stellar reputation."

The kettle whistles. "You sound surprised," I say, heading back into the kitchen to let off some steam of my own.

I hear him call out, "Don't trust, verify."

I take a deep breath, returning with two mugs of boiling water. "Pretty sure that's not how the saying goes."

He shrugs.

I could ask what bits of intel he picked up about Calvin that led to his assessment, but don't. It feels invasive, somehow. And no longer relevant.

Paul helps himself to a tea bag, dunking it into the mug. "How was it being out here in the boonies?"

"Perfect."

He nods, sagely.

"You're here to drive me back, I suppose."

"Only if you want me to."

"I'm meeting with my lawyer in two days."

"Indeed."

I consider my options. Either leave now or wait for Calvin to pick me up tomorrow. It's a no-brainer.

I ask Paul to notify Calvin not to come for me. It's better this way. Sitting in the car for five hours with a man who wants little more to do with me would be torture.

I pack my things, grab the pup and let my chauffeur drive me home.