Into the Storm (Signal Bend #3)(78)
Drawers pulled out, clothes strewn around. Makeup staining her French linens. Her beautiful art deco vanity all but destroyed, the suitcase still resting at an odd angle across it, the round mirror just gone, shards of mirror glass everywhere around it. The door was bowed and cracked, the frame loose on one side. She took it all in, remembering her blinding, deafening panic and Show’s wrath. The way he’d shaken her.
And the way he’d set it aside and instead had held her. Kissed her. Soothed her.
Remembering that, she began to set the room to rights. Once she got started, she couldn’t stop. She cleaned up the glass, stripped the bed, put her clothes away, dusted, vacuumed, remade the bed, put the dirty linens in the wash, then vacuumed again. She found focus and calm in cleaning. It was a way to put order to the past.
She was sweating and about to drop when she finally stopped. Then she took a shower and did the same thing to herself. Washing her hair three times, shaving, exfoliating, scrubbing. She flossed, brushed, and mouthwashed. She combed and blowdried. She moisturized.
She felt better. Still stressed and anxious, but not overwhelmingly so. She dressed in comfortable jeans and a classic, pink oxford-cloth shirt, then went out into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of white wine. Three long swallows, and then she put the wineglass in the sink, next to the dishes from yesterday.
And then she went out to talk to her daughter.
oOo
Adrienne and Badger weren’t back yet. Shannon went out to the porch to check if her car was there, and it wasn’t, so she made herself busy—making sure there was cake left over from the weekend (there was) and starting a pot of coffee, then standing at the front desk, checking email and the website, then absently organizing and reorganizing the brochures and maps—trying not to think too much about what would happen, while at the same time trying to rehearse the right things to say.
After about fifteen minutes, Adrienne came through the front door. Shannon took a beat to really see her. One thing they did not have in common was physical shape. Where Shannon was tall and curvy, Adrienne was several inches shorter and slim. She had long legs like Shannon, though. Her hair was very curly and more than halfway down her back, in Shannon’s natural, bright ginger shade. She had a style of dress that was cute and funky—kind of a country/bohemian flair, wearing short (too short—almost Daisy Duke short) cutoffs and cowboy boots, and a light, lacy top that was both demure and sexy, with long loose sleeves and a simple scoop neck, but baring a little belly. She wore a lot of jewelry—leather and silver bracelets several inches up both wrists, several polished stone and silver rings, a few charms on leather straps around her neck. She had a vintage fringed suede purse slung across her chest. Yep. She’d cultivated a look. All she needed was some John Lennon glasses and a headband.
Shannon smiled. “Did you get a good look around our little town?” It felt strange to say “our” town.
She hadn’t quite lived here a year, but it was home. She’d told Keith the truth. In twenty years, as good as those years generally were—not that they were perfect—she’d never felt as at home as she did in Signal Bend. A lot of that was Show, but not all of it. Some of it was just these people, who’d been through hell and come out of the fire scarred but standing. They were real.
And she loved this inn. Just Lilli’s vision and hers. No corporate nonsense, no arbitrary formality, no army of staff. Just her and a few people to help, making real connections with guests.
Adrienne smiled and walked up to the desk. “Yeah. It’s cool. You were right—got lots of looks.
Badger’s nice, though. He went down to the barn, said you should call if you need him.”
“Good. So, I checked, and there’s lemon chiffon cake in the fridge. And I put a pot on. You want to talk in the kitchen over some sugar and caffeine?” Shannon realized that she’d shifted into her work persona, brightly gregarious, and she wasn’t sure how to turn it down. She was nervous, and she was compensating.
Thinking about it wasn’t helping, though, so she rode it out. Better helpful, customer-service Shannon than crazy, fetal-under-the-covers Shannon.
When Adrienne nodded, Shannon led her to the kitchen and got them settled at the table with thick slices of cake and big cups of coffee. They sat at the table in silence for a few minutes. Adrienne picked at her cake, pulling the fluffy white frosting away with her fork. Shannon held her cup to her face with both hands, watching.
When the discomfort in the room was reaching an absurd level, Shannon put her cup down and said, “I’m sorry. I’m not sure how to start, or what to say or ask, or…” Unable even to know how to finish the sentence, she let it peter out.
Adrienne set her fork on her plate and looked up. “I guess I should start by apologizing for just showing up like this. I thought you wanted to meet me. Keith said…anyway, I know you didn’t, and I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too. He used you, and that sucks. But I’m not sorry you’re here.” When Adrienne dropped her eyes at that, Shannon said, “I know that sounds like a lie, but it’s not.”
She swallowed and asked the scariest question, that one that chilled her heart. But it was the one that would explain, she hoped, why she’d avoided this meeting. “What’s your life like, Adrienne? What was it like to grow up? Were you happy? Are you now?”
Adrienne pushed her plate away a little and tucked her hair behind an ear rimmed with dainty silver hoops. “Yeah. Yeah. My life is…normal, I guess. Happy. Mostly.”