Bitterroot Lake

15

“Oh, shit. You scared me half to death.” Holly stopped short on the threshold of Grandpa Tom’s office. “What are you doing, just standing there?”

“Just—standing here,” Sarah echoed. She’d been listening to the lodge, to the hum of it, the low underlying noises you didn’t notice until they stopped. When she and Janine walked in the other night, the place had been spooky-still, only the old refrigerator muttering to itself. Now, though they’d barely dented the dust that caked every surface, Pam Holtz was right. The lodge was coming back to life.

“Whatever Janine’s making, it smells great.” She held up the grocery bag. “I may not be the cook she is, but I excel at buying cheese to go with your wine.”

“I like how you think, big sister. We will not go thirsty or hungry in this joint.” Then Holly dropped the good cheer. “I was missing Grandpa, so I decided to clean his office.”

This morning, she’d been focused on checking for damage. Now, Sarah gazed at the shelves, grateful that Connor and Brooke hadn’t touched th

is room. The photos and objects told the history of the logging business in the valley. Scaling tools and calipers. A sepia-toned photo of two men in high-waisted pants and suspenders, feet in heavy work boots planted wide as they worked a crosscut saw. A yellowed newspaper shot of the last three-log load pulling into the mill.

Outside, the lake rippled. “Whenever anyone asked how Grandpa got any work done with a view like this, he got all mock-gruff and said ‘discipline.’”

Holly joined her. “But Grandma always said the only work he got done here was the Sunday crossword.”

They shared a smile. It felt good. The way it was supposed to.

Sarah took a step toward her sister. But before she could say a word, her foot touched something, no doubt a stray stone or a bit of cat food.

But no. In a straight line on the rug lay three bright copper pennies.

What game are you playing, Jeremy? Sarah asked her dead husband. It’s starting to scare me.

She raised her head and met her sister’s gaze. “What were you saying about wine?”

* * *

“Did he leave them for you or Holly?” Nic asked. They sat on the deck, in the same chairs they’d taken at lunch. A tray of cheese, crackers, and grapes sat in the middle of the table, beside a bottle of something white.

“Sarah, for sure,” Holly said. “I’d just vacuumed.”

“We all know you had a thing for him,” Nic said. “That’s why—”

“Right. It’s all my fault,” Holly snapped. “Blame me for everything bad that’s happened in the last twenty-five years.”

“Hol.” Sarah stretched a hand across the table, though she couldn’t quite reach her sister. “No one’s blaming you.”

“There was never anything between us. You know that, right?” Holly’s voice took on a pleading tone. “It was a silly crush. I admit, when it was obvious, about two minutes after they got here, that Jeremy only had eyes for you, that he only came up here because of you, I was ticked. But I got over it. Especially after the crash. And he was a great brother-in-law.”

“I know,” Sarah said. “I know.”

If they were dredging up the past, there was plenty of blame to go around. If you wanted to play the “what if?” game, all of them had done something to regret that weekend. Except Nic. Who wasn’t a Deer Park girl. Who wasn’t part of the family drama. Who, if she had any sense, was regretting being here right this minute.

Nic had driven halfway across the state to help Janine. But if she was irritated to find herself literally in the middle of a tense conversation between the two sisters, she betrayed no sign, intent on clearing Janine from suspicion.

But the pennies were only one of the mysteries brewing at Whitetail Lodge. What was up with her mother? Pam Holtz had assured Sarah that Peggy wasn’t ill, but what if Peggy had kept the secret from her friends too? What did Connor want to talk about? And what was the deal with the letters, and the ribbons and mementos on the roadside cross?

She meant it when said she didn’t blame Holly. If they were taking responsibility for their own actions, as she’d said of Lucas, then she had to take responsibility for what she’d done. Or not done. For not speaking up about the dream, and then not being there to protect Janine. Not speaking up for her. For going along with the sheriff who said Janine might want to be careful what she said, who she accused, considering whose daughter she was, that it might come back on her and she might not like the outcome.

If only …

She could practically hear Jeremy telling her the dangers of those two little words. The man had made a religion out of refusing to be dogged by regrets. And of all of them, he was the one who’d suffered the most from that weekend. Except for Michael.

“Look at us,” she said, scanning the group. “Grown women, unnerved by pennies. We’re together again, finally, in a place we love. Maybe Jeremy’s just telling us to have fun.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Holly said, raising her glass.