Until he had been right.
In a way she was glad for the pain. It brought her closer to understanding her brother’s fear, and she supposed Ryan was right: relationships were complicated, volatile things. They were riddled with lies, with hidden secrets, ones you only found out about when it was too late. She had loved Alex, convinced that they were destined to have a beautiful life together. And then it all fell apart—just as she and Sawyer had ten years before. With Sawyer, there hadn’t been another woman, but another city. Boston was a world away, and it was either her or an education that would lead to the career of Sawyer’s dreams. That was why she had forgiven him. A future was just that: the rest of your life. A relationship could crumble at any opportunity.
Taking a step away from the table, Jane wiped the palms of her hands down the front of her apron, smoothed the fabric across her thighs, and smiled at the perfection that was the dinner table. It was a fancy dinner party in a life that had become nothing but stillness: silence at work after her eight-year-olds went home to their mothers, quiet at home as silence rang in her ears.
Ryan slid up beside her, a green glass beer bottle held between his fingers. He took a swig, assessing the table before him. Jane sighed, motioning to his drink.
“Really?”
“I’m thirsty.”
“Isn’t there a rule about mixing beer and wine?” she asked. “You do realize I bought a bottle of Bordeaux.”
“One bottle for five people isn’t going to cut it, Janey,” Ryan told her. “Unless you’re feeding midgets.”
“It goes with the meal.” Jane turned back toward the kitchen. Despite the cabin’s size, there wasn’t a proper space for the table, just a large nook jutting out of the kitchen’s north side. The table their mother had bought hardly fit within it—Mary Adler had assumed it would go in the dining room, but their dad had already ordered a pool table and refused to send it back.
“Whatever. You want to drink beer with boeuf Bourguignon, suit yourself.” The Talking Heads drifted in melodic waves from the living room. She could hear the shuffling of cards, which meant a new game of poker was about to start. “Can you call everyone in?”
“Only if I can sit at the head of the table.” Ryan pointed the beer bottle at his sister, waiting for her to answer in the affirmative.
“What’re you going to do, give a speech?”
Ryan raised an eyebrow as if considering it, but simply bobbed his head to the music, the bottle’s neck still pointing at her like a distant microphone, waiting for her reply.
“Would you go get them already?”
He took another swig and wandered away while Jane pulled out drawer after kitchen drawer, searching for a wine opener among a menagerie of kitchen utensils. She smiled as her friends started to filter into the kitchen. Sawyer touched her elbow as he followed April in, and Jane closed her eyes after they had passed.
Opening her eyes, Jane shot Ryan a pleading look, but he was already on top of it, jiggling the bottle opener at her from across the room.
Jane held up her wineglass with a smile. Ryan sat in his requested seat at the head of the table, his wineglass full of lager instead of Bordeaux.
“To the next three days,” she said.
“To the mountain,” Ryan interjected. “Good powder.”
“To new friends,” Jane added, a faint smile directed at April. “And old.” Her gaze wavered, pausing on Sawyer a moment later.
“And an incredible host,” Lauren said, nudging Jane in the ribs.
“But most important, to my brother, who will be sending us obligatory boxes of Swiss chocolate from the foot of the Matterhorn for the next who knows how many years.” Jane’s smile wavered as she met Ryan’s gaze. “I miss you already,” she said softly, then lifted her glass higher to keep herself from tearing up.
Dinner was relatively quiet save for the music that filtered in from the living room, a hush that Jane was satisfied with as she watched everyone eat. There was an occasional quip between the boys, a random joke and easy laughter to accompany the quiet jingle of forks against porcelain plates. Afterward, Lauren helped clear the table while Jane replaced the dinner plates with smaller ones, the three-layer chocolate cake making its appearance on a footed glass stand. Sawyer rubbed his hands together childishly when Jane placed the cake between both boys. She caught April rolling her eyes at her boyfriend’s antics, but only smiled when she caught April’s gaze.
They drank coffee and stuffed themselves with sugar, talking about old times—about how the boys used to sled down the driveway when they were kids, nearly knocking their teeth out because the slope was too steep and Jane and Ryan’s dad would leave the Land Rover parked at the base of the hill.
“I’m just glad the road was clear,” Sawyer mused, a bite of cake balanced on the tines of his fork. “Walking up that slope, especially when it’s covered in snow…”
“It’s a killer,” Ryan agreed.
“You should install a lift,” Lauren suggested. Ryan leaned back in his chair and raised his hands, his eyes on his sister.
“Have I not been saying that for years?”
“He has,” Jane confessed with a laugh. “But it’s too late now, I guess.”
“Now you’ll be installing a lift in front of your Swiss chateau?” Lauren asked.
“If there isn’t already one there.”
“There won’t be one in Zurich,” Jane told him.
“But there will be in Zermatt. Nothing but snow and cheese fondue.”
“You’re going to gain a thousand pounds.”
“I think he’ll be okay,” Sawyer cut in, lifting another bite of cake. “If he hasn’t gained a thousand pounds living with you for the past thirty years, a little cheese isn’t going to hurt.”
“What’s it like?” Lauren asked, leaning in on her elbows. “Switzerland, I mean.”
“You’ve seen
The Sound of Music
?” Ryan asked, and Lauren nodded. “It’s like that, but multiplied by ten.”
“Raindrops on roses?” Sawyer asked.
“And whiskers on kittens…” Jane jumped in.
“Bright copper kettles?” Lauren singsonged.
“And warm woolen mittens,” they all finished together, laughing as April watched in silence, a smile pulled tight across her mouth.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t seen it,” Ryan said, his comment directed at the quiet one of the group. “‘Sixteen going on seventeen’?” he asked. “‘How do you solve a problem like Maria’?”
“Who’s Maria?” April asked, countering Ryan’s faux shock with a confession. “I don’t like musicals. They give me the creeps.”
“She won’t even watch
Rocky Horror
,” Sawyer told them.
“You know, we used to call Sawyer Frank N. Furter back in high school,” Ryan told her. “He had a fishnet and lipstick phase.”
Jane couldn’t help the laugh that burst from her throat, covering her mouth a second later. Sawyer slouched in his seat, looking a little embarrassed but far from annoyed.
“You caught so much hell.” Ryan chuckled, shaking his head at his best friend. “You remember Coach Miller?”
“Oh
god
,” Sawyer muttered. “I haven’t thought of that guy since we graduated.”
“What was with Coach Miller?” April asked, finally deciding to join the conversation.
“Coach Miller was our biology teacher, but he wasn’t qualified,” Jane explained. “They just stuck him there because there wasn’t anyone else to teach it.”
“So Sawyer walks into bio one on the first day of freshman year,” Ryan began, “his face full of makeup, his hair pulled up into a six-inch Mohawk—”
“That I had to iron to get to stand up straight, might I add—” Sawyer noted.
“And Coach Miller looks up from his desk like he’s just seen a goddamn nightmare. He looks straight at Sawyer and he goes…” Ryan squared his shoulders and squinted his eyes, scrunching up his face in an attempt to look seriously perturbed. “‘Son, what in the Sam Hill is wrong with your face?’ And Sawyer says…”
“‘I’m ugly, sir?’” Sawyer replied, a nostalgic grin pulled across his face.
“And
that
is why you should watch
Rocky Horror
,” Ryan concluded. “Because Sawyer used to be a sweet transvestite.”
April forced a smile, then covered her mouth, hiding a yawn. Jane looked down to her plate, a pang of irritation scratching at her heart. April wasn’t even
trying
. She wanted to ask her why she had even bothered to come at all. But she swallowed her annoyance and offered the table a conclusive nod.
“That’s our cue,” she said. “We should get to bed if we’re getting up early tomorrow.”
“Six o’clock sharp,” Ryan clarified, only to be met with a communal groan. “What?” he asked. “It takes an hour to get up there, not to mention packing up, eating breakfast…”
“Chocolate cake,” Lauren mused, sliding her finger across the bottom of the cake plate to scoop up a bit of frosting. “The breakfast of champions.”
Jane plucked the cake off the table, more than half of it still up for grabs, and Lauren picked up their dirty plates and icing-smeared forks, walking them over to the sink as the rest of the group stretched and rose from their seats.
“I should take a shower,” Lauren said. “Or I’ll have to get up even earlier, and you know me and mornings.”
Jane nodded. “Go ahead,” she said. “I’ll finish up here.”
“Are you sure?” Lauren asked, making a face at the stack of dishes on the counter.
“I’m just going to run the dishwasher. I’ll meet you up there.”
Lauren was the first to disappear down the hall, followed a moment later by April and Sawyer. Jane watched them for a long while, her heart twisting around a seed of jealousy.
“Hey,” Ryan said, snapping her out of her daze. “You okay?”
She turned to the sink and nodded sternly. “Fine,” she said. “Just tired.”
He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Thanks for dinner,” he said. “You’re tops, Janey. Just swell!”
Jane smirked and smacked him with a dish towel as he turned to join the others upstairs. “Idiot,” she murmured, turning on the tap.
After running the dishes beneath a stream of hot water, Jane arranged them in the dishwasher, occasionally glancing up at her own reflection in the window above the sink. She wondered what Sawyer saw in that girl. Maybe Jane was just being harsh—maybe April was great; she was just uncomfortable around so many new people. But the way she had sat at the table while they all laughed, stone-faced, like she couldn’t have been bothered to even try to be part of their group…it made Jane angry. It was as though April had come up to the cabin with Sawyer only to ruin his good time—their
last
time at their childhood haunt, at a place they’d never see again.
Jane squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the burn of tears at the backs of her eyes. Everything was different. Ryan was leaving. She and Sawyer felt like strangers. The house already felt like a memory. And then there was that girl, screwing it all up.
With a dinner plate in hand, she paused at what sounded like thumping on the deck. She knitted her eyebrows together, listening for it again, and there it was—a muffled shuffling against the wooden planks, like Oona wandering around just beyond the kitchen door.
“I swear to god,” she said beneath her breath, sliding the plate into the machine before snatching the dish towel off the counter and wiping her hands. She had warned Ryan over a dozen times that bringing Oona with them was more trouble than it was worth. Lots of guests meant lots of distractions, and this was the proof: Ryan had let her out, only to forget her again. Lucky for Oona that Jane was still downstairs, or that dog would have been frozen through come morning.
Squinting against her own reflection, she tried to see through the glare of the window. Sidestepping the sink, she cupped her
hands against the glass of the door and peered outside, looking for the husky. She flipped on the outdoor light, spotting a shadow just beyond the corner of the house. Unlocking the kitchen door, Jane stuck her head out into the cold.
“Oona?”
She puckered her lips to whistle, but all that came out was a squeaky breath of air. She couldn’t snap her fingers either. These were talents that hadn’t been bestowed upon her, no matter how hard Ryan had tried to teach her when they were kids, and up until now Jane couldn’t have cared less. Exhaling a sigh, she hissed the words into the cold.
“Oona, come!”
But she received no reply. The shadow loomed, seemingly alert but not responding. Shaking her head, she shut the door and went back to the sink. If Oona wanted to come back inside, she’d show her furry face before Jane was done with the dishes. If not, she’d have to tell Ryan to go outside in his pajamas and catch pneumonia, which she supposed served him right. She ran the water again, not wanting to do dishes at dawn. But as soon as she started clanging plates together the scuttling out on the deck returned.
“Not this time,” she said to herself, choosing to ignore it, scraping a bit of leftover food off a plate before hitting a switch next to the sink. The garbage disposal roared to life, chewing up bits of meat and vegetables. She killed it and looked back up to the window, only to have her heart launch into her throat.
Sawyer stood behind her, having sneaked up on her without knowing it.
“Shit, sorry.” He winced at his own reflection in the glass.
Jane closed her eyes, trying to regain her composure. The jolt of surprise sizzled in her blood before subsiding, immediately replaced with an unidentifiable warmth when Sawyer reached for a dirty plate, nudging her out of the way.
She kept her hips flush with the counter, not daring to face him, her bottom lip between her teeth.
“What’re you doing?” she finally asked, casting a sidelong glance at him.
He glanced at her through a veil of wavy hair a few inches shy of his shoulders.
“Dishes,” he told her, sticking a plate beneath the stream of the faucet.
A flare of hope ignited deep within Jane’s chest. Was Sawyer choosing
dishes
over going to bed with the nymph upstairs?
The water caught the plate’s beveled edge and sprayed sideways, soaking the hem of Sawyer’s Stabbing Westward T-shirt—washed-out black cotton immediately turning as dark as the sky beyond the window. He grumbled and slid the plate into the machine before pressing a dish towel to his shirt.