Page 18 of Backslide
“This is where Ben and I are staying,” Cara says of the big house. “And our closest people.”
“That’s me, I think,” I say, raising my hand. “Is that me?”
She grins. “That’s you, you maniac.”
I lug my bag up several steps to the front porch, where cherry-red Adirondack chairs await beneath rotating ceiling fans.
“Do you want some help with that?” she asks, eyeing me warily as I pant and heave and try to ignore the increasingly intense throbbing in my injured shoulder. “I can help you—or there should be some staff members around here somewhere.”
“I’m good,” I assure her, raising a hand to stop her. “Really.”
“If you say so.”
Once I make it to the porch, she opens the front doors and we step into an airy parlor. Only there is nothing stodgy about it as the word suggests. The ceilings are lofted and a mile high. There are windows everywhere, inviting the outside in, especially at the back where the house bellies up to actual woods. The furniture leans Danish modern and is appointed with warm neutrals and pops of neon. French blue and lilac bud vases—that I suspect are made by local Heath Ceramics—abound, filled with the same wildflowers I spotted on our walk through the property.
Everything smells like spring.
Except maybe post-plane me.
There is a staircase to my right, leading to what I imagine are more glorious rooms. “Cara, this is gorgeous,” I gush. “But please tell me I don’t have to carry the Jolly Green Giant up those stairs.”
“No, no, you’re good,” she titters, tucking her hair behind her ear.But she doesn’t move to show me the way. And, looking at her more closely, I realize she seems nervous.
“Hey CB, I’d love to wash my face,” I say. “Maybe shower. Which way is my room?”
She is avoiding my eyes.
“Dude. What’s up? Seriously. Out with it.”
She exhales sharply. “Okay, so, because Alfie didn’t come with you and you’re… single for the trip, I had to put you in one of the smaller bedrooms. Well, meaning, a room with one of the full-size beds. We have the main suite, and I gave Sabrina and Rita the other king room in the house.”
“Okay,” I shrug. “That’s totally fine. Don’t even worry! I’m happy to take the kids’ room or whatever.”
“Great,” she says, though she’s still biting her lip like she is not relieved.
“Okay?” I say.
“Okay,” she agrees.
She turns, tentatively, and begins guiding me off to the left, stopping in front of a door marked THEPOPPYSUITE.
“Oh! It’s a suite,” I say, delighted. I am doubly fine with a small room if it has an adjoining living space. “Sweet!”
“It’s a suite alright,” she nods, turning the knob.
Inside, the room is as breezy and bright as the rest of the house. The ceilings are tall, the floors are a beautiful light wood in wide slats. We are greeted by plush rugs in muted pinks and corals in a full living room with a cushy couch and a Pendleton throw blanket folded over a modernist leather ottoman. There’s even an old-school record player and an assortment of vinyl on a bookshelf along with the usual array of worn vacation house books, but also beautiful bound copies of classics. I peepThe Great GatsbyandFranny and Zooey. A kitchen area to the left boasts an espresso machine and acountertop bearing a pretty box of tea. The wine fridge looks fully stocked as well.
“This is lovely!” I say, meaning it. But then I glitch on Cara’s anxious expression again and wave my hand in her general direction. “Why does your face still look like that?”
I know my best friend. And something is up.
She takes a deep breath as if to steel herself. “There’s one teeny-tiny catch…”
“This is your room,” I hear a male voice say as I whip around to find Ben walking in… with Noah close behind him.
Of course.
Noah looks from Ben to me and then back to Ben, his mouth falling open.
