The Good Twin(29)

“Come on in and warm up.”

He stomped up the porch steps and, when he reached the top, shook snow off his boots. I held the door open for him, and we stepped inside. He bent down to take off his boots while I just slipped off mine. I padded into the kitchen, poured coffee into a mug for Jake, then refilled my own. By now, I already knew he drank his black.

When he came into the kitchen, I handed him his cup, and we sat down at the table.

“You must be exhausted,” I said.

“Not yet. I’ll be doing this until it gets dark. Then I’ll collapse.”

I sat watching Jake as he drank his coffee. I’d thought him good-looking the first time I’d met him, but as I got to know him, he seemed even more handsome. More than that, he was kind, the type of person who’d go out of his way to help someone without expecting anything in return. If I only allowed myself one friend in my country hideaway, I was glad it was him.

“So . . . ,” he began, then took a sip of coffee.

I raised my eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

“Do you have someplace to go for Christmas dinner?”

The holiday was one week away. If my life hadn’t changed with the stare of a customer at Trattoria Ricciardi those many weeks ago, I’d probably be waiting tables. It was open both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and customers were overly generous both nights. When the evening was over, I’d crawl into bed and cry myself to sleep. It was the only time I missed my mother. As neglectful as she’d been, she was the entirety of my family.

“Just here,” I answered. “I’ll probably make a casserole, then watch It’s a Wonderful Life on DVD.”

“Come to my family dinner instead. We’d love to have you.”

Warning bells immediately started in my head. I’d rationalized having one friend to keep me from going stir-crazy, as well as my trainer, Jackie. It could be dangerous getting too entrenched in the community. What if, when Ben’s parents returned, people told them about my stay in their home? I assumed Ben would tell his parents beforehand that he’d lent the house to me, but if someone described me to them, they might realize I looked like Charly. Ben would have a hard time explaining that.

Still, I’d spent Thanksgiving alone. I didn’t mind giving up a holiday if it was to work, but somehow, staying in by myself had just made me feel pathetic. I smiled at Jake. “I’d love to.”



It was a starkly clear winter’s day, with a deep-blue sky and puffy clouds overhead. I was going to climb my first mountain today—Ashokan High Point—with Jake by my side. It was the Catskill peak that could be seen from his parents’ property, Jake told me. Before today, I’d gone to Rock and Snow in nearby New Paltz and purchased Gore-Tex hiking boots, and crampons and snowshoes, then practiced walking in them outside the house. Jake had already warned me it would be strenuous.

It was almost 10:00 a.m. when Jake picked me up in his truck. I’d prepared sandwiches and stuffed them, along with a thermos of coffee and two apples, into my backpack. We drove forty minutes to the trailhead, a small cut in the woods that would have been easy to miss had Jake not been with me. We started out by crossing a stream on a bridge made of wooden slats, then began the uphill trek. The snow was solidly packed, so I didn’t need the snowshoes. I was able to manage avoiding the occasional patches of ice, so I left the crampons in the pack as well.

Jake was right—despite my newly fit body, I was breathing heavily an hour into the hike. We reached a clearing and took a break.

“You’re doing great,” Jake said.

I loved his optimism, even if it was fake. I took out the thermos and poured us both some coffee and breathed in the rich aroma before sipping it down. It felt good—not just the coffee but being with Jake, climbing a mountain, and seeing how far I could push my body. I felt ready to become Charly . . . to be the confident, fit, beautiful woman who was used to getting what she wanted. Was I going to get what I wanted? I thought, Yes.

After ten minutes, we started up again, and an hour later, we reached the peak. The leaves were off the trees, and I could see mountains all around me—beautiful, jagged, majestic mountains. I wanted to climb every one of them. I wanted to be Charlotte Jensen Gordon and know that everything was in my reach. I knew that I could.



On Christmas Day, Jake picked me up at exactly 5:00 p.m. I had begun to realize that punctuality was part of his personality. I had made a bread stuffing with sausage and dried cherries, as well as a pecan pie, and gathered those up before grabbing my coat and heading out the door with him. The weather had remained cold since the snowfall, and the tree branches were still covered with clumps of white powder.

“I keep meaning to ask you,” Jake said when I got in the car. “Do you like to ski? I thought maybe you’d like to go with me. Hunter or Bellayre are both nearby.”

Once again, a reminder of my austere childhood. “Nope. Never gone.”

“Well, think about it. Especially if it’s a snowy winter. Even though they have snowmaking machines, it’s much better with the real stuff.”

It took only fifteen minutes to arrive at the home of Jake’s parents. We turned off the public road onto a dirt drive that, although plowed, still had a thin veneer of snow, then drove uphill for half a mile. We reached their house, standing all alone in a copse of trees. A double strand of white lights framed the two-story house, and a large fir tree on the side of the porch was lit up with multicolored lights. Two other cars were parked around the circular driveway. We walked up the front porch to the double doors, a holly wreath on each. Jake knocked once and, without waiting, opened the door and walked in. The home was filled with the smell of a turkey cooking in the oven. Straight ahead, through a wall of windows, I could see the twinkling lights of Mohonk Mountain House in the distance, with just a tree-filled valley between the hotel and the house.