One Good Thing Read online

  “When did you redecorate?” My head swivels left to right, taking in the new rugs, the cognac-colored leather couches, the large painting of a wild stallion over the stone fireplace.

  “A few months ago,” she answers, hanging her purse on a hook behind the door. “I told you I was hiring someone.”

  “I know, but…” I keep looking around at the little touches, like the stack of coffee table books. The Illustrated Oregon Trail. Coast to Coast. Getting Lost to Find Yourself.

  “It’s warm and inviting.” It’s everything I need. It’s exactly why I came.

  Growing up, this is where I spent my summers. Mom and Dad brought me here as soon as school let out in June, and they came back at the end of August. They traversed the globe while I explored the woods and canoed on Lonesome Lake. They called weekly to report their explorations, and I happily told them about the tide pools I’d found and the bonfire Grandma and I had built on the beach.

  It sounds bad to leave your kid for the summer, but I was so happy at Sweet Escape with Grandma, I hardly missed my parents.

  Now my parents are settled in Florida, and we don’t talk all that much. They know what happened to Warren, but not much more. I saw them last Christmas, and there was nothing new to share. I didn’t tell them about the bakery. I’m sure I will at some point, but who wants to constantly be the bearer of less-than-stellar news?

  “I’ll let you get settled in, okay, hon? A new guest is arriving in an hour, and I still have a few things to do.” Grandma walks out of the living room and around the corner. From there she will either go into the kitchen or the master bedroom. My bedroom, plus two more, are upstairs. One is used as an office, one is a guest room, although I don’t think it gets any use. My grandma is too busy taking care of all her B&B guests in the cabins to host a guest in her home.

  It takes all my arm strength, but eventually I get the suitcase up the stairs and to my room. When I’m done unpacking, I lie down on my bed.

  I don’t know why, but I scroll through videos on my phone until I find the one I’m looking for. With a deep breath to steady my rolling stomach, I press play and watch Warren’s face come to life.

  He smiles, reaching forward to try and bat my phone away, but I step out of his reach and he misses. He’s wearing the shirt I gave him from the football game we went to when my Alma Mater crushed his. It was such a good, fun day, filled with beer-flavored kisses and nachos.

  “Addy love, turn that thing off.” My heart twists at the sound of his voice.

  Warren leaps for me, taking me by surprise, and the phone drops, capturing nothing but the carpet and my giggling pleas as he tickles me.

  I pause the video and toss the phone on my bed. My chest feels carved out, my entire body hollow.

  A childish shriek draws my attention outside. Scooting down my bed and closer to the window, I peer out, my nose pressed to the glass.

  Below, coming up the big lawn, is a family of four. The younger boy chases the older girl with something held in an open palm.

  I shudder. It’s probably a bug.

  They continue walking, and I watch them until they disappear from sight. From this window, I can see a lot of the property. The main house, where I am now, is on a small hill. This gives anyone on the second floor a view of most of the guest cabins. Beyond them is Lonesome Lake. Even farther than that, is the coast.

  Maybe tomorrow I’ll borrow my grandma’s car and take a drive to the beach. Maybe I’ll go for a walk around the property. Or, maybe I’ll stay in my pajamas all day and do nothing.

  Backing away from the window, I lie down on the bed and close my eyes.

  4

  Addison

  “This seems like a good crew,” I remark as I help my grandma carry in the serving dishes from breakfast.

  Every morning Grandma gets up at five a.m. and works on assembling the complimentary breakfast for the guests. I slept in yesterday, but today I woke up and helped her.

  She sets her armload down on the counter beside the sink. “These guests have been fun. Two weeks ago I had a crew who were hell bent on complaining. I could have given them a gold bar and they’d have complained it was too heavy.”

  “That’s too bad.” I frown, running the hot water and adding a squirt of soap to the scrubber. I don’t like to think of my grandma running this place alone and having to deal with asshole guests.

  “The good ones make up for it.” Grandma reaches around me for the containers she uses to store uneaten pastries. She pauses, peers out the window above the sink, then resumes her task of depositing croissants in the container.

  She’s snapping on the lid when she looks up again, her hands suspended. “The guy in cabin seven didn’t come up for breakfast yesterday or today. And unless I missed it, he hasn’t gone anywhere since he arrived two days ago.”

  I glance out the window in the direction of the cabin. “Do you think we should take him something?”

  Grandma shakes her head, finishing the final snap and placing the leftovers off to the side. “This is supposed to be a place for solitude. Says so on the website.” She winks at me. “He doesn’t need an old lady harassing him about food.”

  I finish washing the breakfast dishes while Grandma goes to prepare a cabin for guests arriving later today.

  My eyes fall on the container of pastries while I’m drying my hands. Again, I look out the window in the direction of cabin seven. It’s not visible from here, but I can easily picture it. From the front, it looks just like all the other cabins, aside from the metal number seven attached to the door. Right now, it’s the current inhabitant that makes it unique.

  Why is he holed up? What is he hiding?

  Or who is he hiding from?

  What if he’s a criminal?

  I roll my eyes at my assumption of the worst. He’s not a criminal and he’s not hiding from anybody. Probably. But if I bring him breakfast, I can suss out the situation.

  Besides, Grandma said he didn’t need an old lady bringing him breakfast. And since I do not qualify as an old lady…

  Before I can think about it any further, I assemble a plate and wrap it in plastic. Two croissants, one plain and one chocolate, and a side of fruit. Who wouldn’t be happy when handed a plate like that?

  I stop to refill my coffee and fill a thermos with coffee for the guy in cabin seven. I hope he likes it black because my arms are too full to carry creamer.

  Cabin seven is a little farther than most of the cabins. The crispness of the morning is already burning away, and before long, it will be warm enough to wear a bathing suit and head to the lake. Maybe that’s what I’ll do today, after I help Grandma prepare for the new guests. It’ll be cold, but that’s okay.

  Cabin seven comes into view. Like all the other cabins, it’s made of wood planks and mimics the main house. But I know what’s special about it. Unlike the other cabins, this one has a little screened-in porch off the back.

  I walk up the three steps and onto the front porch, stepping onto the mat with the words Go Away scrawled on it. It’s meant to be a joke. All the cabins have a mat with some kind of snarky saying. My favorite one is from cabin four: I’d answer the door but I don’t want to.

  I knock, and a minute later, knock again.

  After my third knock, I take a step back and look left to right. I want to peek in the windows on either side of the door, but I know better. Privacy, and all that.

  I’m on the bottom step when I remember the screened-in porch. I should probably leave, but, well, isn’t the guy hungry? And, if he’s a bad guy, I’d rather it be me who finds out about it instead of my grandma.

  I come around the side of the cabin and round the back, walking right up to the black screen. The position of the sun has left the porch in total shade, making it difficult for me to see in. Looking closer, I spot a figure in a chair. He’s leaning back, with his feet propped up on a chair opposite. Squinting, I make out a half dozen bottles on the ground around him.

  My
lips twist. Maybe he’s not a bad guy. Maybe he’s running from something painful, just like me.

  I feel bad for waking him up, but after the night it looks like he had, he needs sustenance.

  Raising my hand, I knock quietly on the wooden door. When he doesn’t move, I knock again, louder this time, and clear my throat.

  The man startles, pulling his legs off the chair and staggering to his feet. He turns my way, but I can’t see anything else. He’s just a mass of body, and he’s coming this way.

  He pushes open the door, but his head hangs down like it’s too heavy to lift. His messy brown hair flops over his forehead. He’s wearing low-slung jeans and he’s shirtless. He has abs for days, the kind that ripple. If I reached out, my fingers would bump bump bump over them. Good thing my hands are full. And that I have a brain. And a broken heart.

  “Hi,” I say, taking care to keep my voice low. “I work for Sweet Escape and noticed you didn’t join us for breakfast this morning. Or yesterday morning,” my voice falters and I feel flustered. Way to kick the guy when he’s obviously down. “I thought you might want to eat.”

  Taking a deep breath, the guy lifts his head and looks me in the eye.

  No.

  The universe is playing a cruel trick on me.

  I feel instant guilt for admiring his abs, so to make myself feel better I look at his hand, at his ring finger, and find the ring missing. “Where’s your wedding ring?”

  He says nothing. Instead he reaches out, unwraps the plastic, and grabs the chocolate croissant. He stuffs nearly half of it in his mouth, chews, and says, “I’m not married.”

  “You were wearing a ring. And just because it’s gone now doesn’t mean anything.”

  “I’m not married,” he repeats, eating the rest of the pastry and reaching for the second one. He walks back to the table and sits down. He looks at me while he chews, and I find it annoying. Liars don’t make eye contact like that unless they’re really good at lying. It’s even more annoying that he’s so gorgeous it almost hurts to look at him. He should grow a big green wart on the end of his nose.

  He opens his mouth to say something, but I turn around and hurry back to the path at the front of the house. His coffee is still in my hand, but that’s too bad.

  As I keep going down the path and into the trees, a nagging little voice reminds me who I really want to yell at. The person who should be on the receiving end of my venom is not that guy back there. He’s a proxy for Warren, for his mother, and for life in general.

  * * *

  Laundry calms me. I know it’s weird, but when I’m overwhelmed, I start washing.

  I switch the laundry from the washing machine to the dryer, then add a new load to the washer. Setting the timer on my watch for forty minutes, I leave the laundry room and grab my running shoes from the mudroom. A quick run should help me clear the cobwebs in my head. I feel tired, uneasy, and just plain weird.

  I’m positive it was my run-in with the guy in cabin seven that left me feeling this way. I’m mad at the wrong person, and I can’t talk to the people who deserve my anger.

  “Hello?” a voice from the back of the house calls.

  “Coming,” I respond, using my sweetened guest voice.

  I tie the last lace on my sneaker and jog out from the mudroom, skidding to a stop when I see who it is.

  “Is there something I can do for you?” I grit out. Despite my disagreement with his loose interpretation of marriage vows, he’s still a guest. A paying guest.

  Cabin Seven rocks back on his heels, surveying me from under dark, thick lashes. I could look in my grandma’s guest book and learn his real name, but I like calling him by his cabin number.

  He tucks his hands into the pockets of his shorts and grins. “Did that hurt?” he asks.

  I sigh. “You mean when I fell from Heaven?”

  Cabin Seven chuckles and removes a hand from his pocket, rubbing his fingers across his chin. “No. Asking me if there was anything I needed. Being forced to help me when you’ve decided you hate me.”

  A flush warms my face, and I push away the smile that almost surfaced. “Oh. Uh, yes. It was excruciating.”

  He nods. His hand tucks back into his pocket. “I came to see if there’s any coffee left. My head’s pounding. I need my daily dose of caffeine.”

  I walk toward the kitchen and nod for him to follow.

  “Are you sure that’s the only reason your head is pounding?” I ask over my shoulder as we walk. He’s a few feet behind me.

  He laughs again. “There might be more than one.”

  I move around the kitchen, preparing coffee for him. He takes a seat at the island and waits. He doesn’t say anything, and I’m grateful. I don’t know how to talk to him. Up until now, I’ve only yelled at him.

  I should probably wait for the coffee to be done, be a good hostess and all that, but I’m itching to get away from him. The way he stays calm while I’m upset unnerves me.

  “Cups are here.” I point to a cabinet. “There’s creamer in the fridge.”

  Cabin Seven watches me with shrewd eyes, and it feels like he can see all the way down into my soul.

  “Would you like to join me for a cup?” His voice is warm, his tone hopeful.

  “You need to stop—”

  “I’m not married. How many more times should I say it before you believe it?”

  My hands go to my hips. I take a deep, slow breath and shake my head. “It doesn’t matter if I do or do not believe you. It’s not my business. You’re here as a guest, so let’s forget how we met and move forward. Please reach out if there is anything more you need to make your stay more enjoyable.”

  He opens his mouth to respond, but it’s too late. I’ve already pivoted, and my quick feet are taking me away from the kitchen and the man I can’t figure out.

  The man I have no business figuring out.

  5

  Brady

  I smell a bit like beer. I’ve already showered today, and I haven’t had anything to drink yet. I think it might be seeping from my pores.

  Sad but true.

  Following an afternoon of doing nothing, I’ve decided to venture out of my cabin and go for a walk on one of the trails around the property. Aside from getting coffee from the main house this morning, I haven’t been out since I arrived a few days ago.

  It turns out licking wounds is boring. And lonely. And I’m not really sure it helps anything. I don’t feel any better here than I did in Chicago. Hearts ache no matter where you take them.

  My shoes kick up some brush on the outside of the path, and the tall, thick trees filter sunlight so that my arms appear dappled. There’s no denying it’s gorgeous here, or that it’s as peaceful as the website promised.

  Although the website failed to mention the heart-stoppingly gorgeous, angry woman who would be here. I haven’t figured it out yet, but she’s connected to the owner somehow.

  How was it possible that the airport girl was headed to the exact same place as me? I think I might have bad luck.

  First, Lennon chooses my best friend Finn over me.

  Then, the first woman to pique my interest turns out to be stubborn and irate.

  Supposedly bad luck comes in threes, so what the hell is going to happen next?

  I look down at the piece of paper in my hand. When I checked in here, the owner, Louisa, gave me a photocopied map and pointed out a lake on the property. She said it’s public, but a section of shoreline is for her guests only. You’ll see the signs, she pronounced, in that cocksure, irreverent style of hers. She waved her hand in a way that relayed how, through just that single interaction, she believed me to be intelligent enough to manage her property on my own.

  The map is hand drawn, I’m guessing by Louisa. It’s incredibly accurate. Every twist and turn in the path is reflected on the paper.

  After ten minutes of walking, I spot the lake in the distance. It reminds me of the lake behind Finn’s cabin in Arizona. It feels like a life
time ago I was there with him and Lennon. In reality, only eight months have passed since that fateful day, the one that caused Lennon to finally choose between us.

  Different trees, same rippling dark blue water. Light glints off the ripples, like a thousand diamonds sparkling off the top.

  A tiny sliver of calm slips through me as I make my way closer. Water has always had this effect on me. Maybe it’s from growing up in the parched desert. Maybe the incessant heat desiccated more than just the cacti and clay soil.

  As I walk I hear nothing but my footfalls on the ground. The silence is exactly what I came for. I may have spent my first couple nights here getting drunk and accomplishing nothing, and I’m not saying it’s the end of doing that, but this is really why I chose Lonesome, Oregon.

  I’m not sulking. I’m not hiding. I’m not running away from Lennon and Finn with my tail between my legs. I’m searching. For what, I don’t know.

  But it’s going to be something good. Something that sets my soul on fire. Something that startles my heart, that makes me incredulous at the fact I ever lived without it.

  Maybe I won’t find that here. Maybe it’s wherever I’m going next. Until this moment I hadn’t thought about next. There had been no second bounce of the ball when I made the decision to come here.

  Where should I go after my stay here is over? Somewhere tropical? Or maybe continue north. Seattle… Vancouver… Alaska…

  For the first time in a long time, I feel the tiniest shred of something that isn’t like what I’ve been inundated by the past eight months. I wouldn’t call the feeling happiness, but it’s a stop on the way there.

  With my gaze fixed firmly in front of me, I try to think of nothing at all. Not Lennon, not my old job, not that gorgeous blonde with whom I keep having unfortunate run-ins. I’m failing at the last one. It’s hard not to think of someone so fiery and passionate. Even when that fire and passion is taking the form of anger, and that anger is directed my way.