The Girl in the Mist (Misted Pines 1)

This song meant I either had to get up and do something or put on my noise cancelling headphones.

There was a time when I was used to the presence of teenage girls (and their moods) when I wrote.

That time was passed.

I needed to get that mojo back.

Once the song was over, it started again.

Celeste had great taste in heartbreak songs. And that particular one was enduring. I’d listened to it myself back in the day.

During breakups.

I felt him before I turned around and saw him in the door.

Bohannan.

When I caught his eyes, he jerked his head in a backward motion, indicating Celeste’s door across the hall.

Also indicating I needed to get on that.

“Joey” ended, and it started again.

Yes.

I needed to get on that.

I nodded.

Bohannan sent me a neutral look that had nuances of relieved and grateful before he disappeared from my doorway.

I knew precisely what was happening.

When spring break rolled around, Bohannan and I felt it necessary to take a break and give Celeste a fun week. Of the same mind, the twins had booked their own getaway down in Mexico.

However, Bohannan had rented two bungalows that were situated next to each other on Turks and Caicos.

We let Celeste bring her friend Phoebe and gave them their own space so they could have a modicum of being free and breezy and unincumbered in the sand and sun, but still under Bohannan’s oversight.

Frolicking in the tropics with the concomitant attention a beautiful girl got from young men her age (and not her age, which was gross, and made it good Bohannan was so adept with a glower) set Celeste to understanding something.

She liked Will, very much.

But he needed her more than she needed him, and that kind of imbalance in a relationship, unless it eventually righted itself, could be smothering.

She was young, and even though much that happened in her life (and not only what had happened most recently) made it so she’d probably never be truly carefree, sometimes she had to feel that feeling.

Will was young too, but old enough to know that the behaviors of his mother and father were inexcusable. Therefore, he didn’t excuse them.

This left him with a dead sister he’d adored, fatally selfish parents, and as such, he was nursing a healthy dose of growing cynicism, justified righteousness and a fierce protective streak.

Which, for a seventeen-year-old, could be a drag (yes, she’d had her birthday in February, yes, I’d spoiled her once again, and yes, this time Bohannan made clear in a way I thought he might mean it (still, I’d probably test it) we needed gift-giving budgets).

However, she had a kind and generous heart, and she knew it would destroy Will if she broke up with him.

But she wanted to break up with him.

Bohannan had been right with his head jerk.

I needed to deal with this.

I needed to, in order to let Celeste off the hook and guide her through something that anyone with a soul found hard to do: breaking a heart.

And I needed to do it because I was done with my book.

I was giving myself a short break and the next week, Bohannan and I were heading to Paris for two weeks. The second of which, Joan and Camille would meet us, and we’d stay in my apartment and enjoy each other’s company and the greatest city in the world (in my opinion).

Bohannan and I were going from there to Cornwall to hole up in my cottage.

There, I was going to dig into my Lange novel, and he was going to figure out if he could work remotely from England. This along with giving a series of lectures through England, Scotland and Wales.

In total, we were set to be gone for three months with the boys in charge of Celeste.

I had doubts about this, considering they were already enjoying giving her crap about the fact they were literally going to be the boss of her.

That said, her school year would end somewhere in the middle of month two of this sojourn, and she was coming out to be with us.

But that meant a near two-month gap, and this had to be dealt with before we left.

I got up and went to her room.

I knocked softly.

Nothing.

I knocked a bit louder.

A few beats passed and then “Joey” cut off.

“Yeah?” she called.

I opened the door and poked my head around. “Hey.”

She was on her belly on a diagonal across the corner of her bed, feet hanging over one side, head and arms hanging over the end.

Other than that, she was doing nothing. Not reading a book that was laid out on the floor. Her phone wasn’t there. Nor were her laptop or tablet.

Indication this wasn’t a mood.

It was a mood.

I slid fully in and closed the door.

“Can we talk?”

“I gotta get ready. Will’s coming to get me in an hour.”