The Last Letter(27)

They drove up the wide path next to my cabin. There must have been a small boat launch here or something to have a path like that cleared.

Havoc sat back on her haunches and cocked her head at me.

“I think that went better, don’t you?” I asked. Her tail thumped in agreement. “Yeah. Now let’s go find a job before Colt takes away our grown-up card.”

Three hours later I was officially the newest part-time member of Telluride Mountain Rescue. Scratch that. Havoc was. She was all the talent, anyway.





Chapter Eight


Ella


Letter #9

Ella,

First off, I’m speechless. I can’t possibly find adequate words to express my sadness at Maisie’s diagnosis, or my awe at how you’re handling it.

Jeff is an ass. Sorry, I’m sure he must have some redeeming qualities, because at one time you felt him worthy enough to give him your heart and even marry him, but he is. And I say is in the present tense on purpose, because he’s still making you feel like you’re not enough when you prove over and over again that you are.

You are enough, Ella. You’re more than enough. I’ve never met a woman who has your strength, your determination, your absolute loyalty to your kids. So I included a little something. Take it out when you need it to remind yourself that you can do this, because I know with absolute certainty that you can.

And yeah, I know you’re a good mom without ever having “met” you. Mostly it’s because I know what it’s like to have a bad one, and you are anything but that.

What do you need? I can’t bring dinner by, but I can order a mean pizza. Is there anything I can have shipped to you? I know that what you probably need is the support of people, and in that arena, my hands are tied, and I’m sorry. I know I can’t do much through these letters, but if I could, I’d be there, or I’d send your brother home to you.

You’re enough, Ella.

~ Chaos

…

I rolled my neck, trying to dislodge the seemingly permanent knot that had formed between my shoulder blades. Hours hunched over spreadsheets and bills did that to a girl.

I stifled a yawn and checked out the clock. Yeah, eight thirty p.m. was way too late to hit up the coffee. I’d be awake until dawn.

So iced tea it was. I took a sip from my glass and went back to sorting bills. We were in trouble, and it was the kind I didn’t know how to get myself out of. The kind that was going to really hit home when Maisie had surgery in three days.

Ada popped her head into the makeshift office we’d put together in the cabin. “I left some muffins for the morning. Is there anything else you need?”

I forced a smile and shook my head. “Nope. Thank you, Ada.”

“You’re family, dear. No need to thank me.” She gave me an ultra-hard once-over and then pulled out the armchair from where I’d shoved it against the wall, sinking into it and placing her hands in her lap.

That was code for Ada-wasn’t-letting-up.

Crap.

“Tell me. And don’t you dare hold back.”

I relaxed in my office chair and almost lied. But the woman mom-stared me, which was pretty much the equivalent of a detective sweating you out under a light.

“What?” I asked, fidgeting with my pen.

“Tell me.”

I didn’t want to. Voicing the concern to someone else meant I couldn’t handle it myself, meant that it was all too real.

“I think I might be a little financially strained.” I was already there emotionally, physically, and mentally, so what did it matter to add one more thing to the ever-growing pile? You can’t over-drown a person. Once they’re underwater it doesn’t matter how much is above them if they can’t swim upward.

“How strained? You know, Larry and I have a little tucked aside.”

“Absolutely not.” They’d worked with my grandmother all their lives, given everything they had to our family, our property. I wasn’t taking a dime from them.

“How strained?” she repeated. “Like newborn twins strained?”

Ah, the good old days while I was trying to feed them, clothe them, and pay for online courses while working here at Solitude. Good times.

“Worse.”

“How much worse?” There wasn’t a line in the woman’s body that led me to believe that she was even remotely stressed.

“I think I might go broke,” I whispered. “I bet everything on the renovations.”

“And you put us on the map. Our reservations are fully booked starting right around Memorial Day. You know this is just the off-season. No one wants to trudge through the spring sludge. It’s snow or pure sunshine to make a difference around here.”

“I know.” I glanced at the stack of bills and shoved another smile forward. Grandma had never mortgaged the property, and even though I’d felt like I was somehow betraying her by doing it, we’d transformed Solitude. “And it’s going to pay off. We knew it would be a sacrifice for a few years to pay that mortgage, but with the renovations and constructing the five new cabins this year, it’s the best business decision we could have made. But I cut a personal corner this year with the insurance. I figured the kids never got sick, and even if they did, the costs were relatively low at the doctor’s, so I moved us to the program that had the lowest premium.”