Jill Sorenson - Backwoods

The cabin at the end of the road was no rustic shack, thankfully. It was an impressive getaway, sturdy and sprawling. Abby knew it boasted a full kitchen, three bedrooms and two bathrooms. There was a fireplace and a stocked fridge. Ray might not be reliable, but he didn’t skimp on luxuries.

She parked next to a beat-up motorcycle in the driveway. “Whose is that?”

“It must be Leo’s,” Brooke said, her eyes bright with excitement. Not bothering to bring in her bags, she hopped out of the car and bounded to the front door.

Abby followed Brooke up the walk, pocketing the car keys. She was relieved that Ray and Lydia hadn’t arrived yet. It had been a long drive. She needed a few minutes to collect herself, to take deep breaths and smooth her hair.

When Leo answered the door, Brooke tackled him with an exuberant hug. He stumbled backward, laughing in surprise. Although she was tall for a girl, almost his height, he didn’t drop her or fall down. She clung to him for a few seconds and let go, squeezing his shoulder for good measure. “Is that your motorcycle?”

His lips curved into a smile. “Yeah.”

“Take me for a ride.”

Abby had never met Leo before, and he wasn’t quite what she’d expected. He had a mop of jet-black hair, in dire need of cutting, and ragged clothes. His Green Day T-shirt, torn jeans and high-top sneakers gave him sort of a punk-rock edge. Although he didn’t look like a jock, his physique appeared strong and lean.

Instead of agreeing to mount Brooke on his death machine, he cleared his throat and glanced at Abby.

“You must be Leo,” she said, stepping forward. “You look exactly like your mother.”

He didn’t seem embarrassed by the comparison, as some boys might have been. But then, his mother was beautiful. “Thanks,” he said easily.

“I think he looks like his father,” Brooke said.

Leo frowned at this comment. Abby had only seen Leo’s father in photographs, and in the infamous video clip that Leo had uploaded to YouTube. The pro baseball player had been falling-down drunk in the footage. It hadn’t cast him in a very flattering light.

“Your dad is seriously hot,” Brooke added.

He grimaced in distaste.

“Will your bike hold both of us?”

“Sure.”

Abby studied the motorcycle with trepidation. Brooke was an adult now, so she couldn’t forbid this activity. “There’s only one helmet?”

“She can wear it,” Leo said.

Brooke let out a squeal and ran toward the motorcycle, hair flying.

Abby rubbed her temples, trying not to visualize deadly accidents. Maybe she shouldn’t have come on this trip. It was bound to be one anxiety attack after another. “Brooke, you should put on real shoes. Flip-flops aren’t safe.”

“She’s right,” Leo said.

Sticking her tongue out at Leo, Brooke opened the car door and grabbed her hiking boots. She sat down in the driveway to put them on quickly. Her jeans offered minimal protection against injury, but her tank top left her arms bare.

“And a jacket,” Abby said.

“Oh my God, Mom. We’re not going on the freeway.”

Leo sided with Brooke this time. He was a teenage boy with a motorcycle, so his judgment was questionable. “I’ll keep it under fifty, Miss...”

“Abby,” she murmured, waving her permission.

He climbed aboard the bike and released the kickstand, passing the helmet to Brooke. She tugged it on and settled in behind him, curving her arms around his trim waist. With a loud pop, he started the engine. Seconds later, they were off.

Abby stood in the driveway for a long time, listening for the sound of screeching tires. Dark crept into the corners of the balmy evening, bringing a chill that only Abby could feel. Brooke and Leo, with their superior circulation and raging hormones, would be warm enough. She’d never considered the possibility that the stepsiblings might have romantic feelings for each other. Not that Brooke’s overzealous embrace indicated as much. She was friendly with everyone, and often seemed unaware of her effect on men.

Abby unloaded her bags from the vehicle and went inside the cabin, sighing. The interior was beautiful, with high ceilings and exposed wood beams. A bouquet of purple wildflowers rested on a glass-topped coffee table in front of a leather couch. Abby found a room with a worn duffel bag on the bed, obviously Leo’s. Bypassing that and the master suite, she retreated to the opposite end of the cabin to stake her claim.

In the bathroom, she washed up and scrutinized her appearance. She was healthy. She ran five miles on the treadmill every other day. Her figure was still good.

Since the divorce, work and motherhood had taken up most of her energy. She’d dated a physical therapist for several years, but their relationship had fizzled in recent months. Her daughter’s absence had made her realize that something else was missing in her life. She’d rather be alone than settle for the wrong person.

It was a little embarrassing to be the fifth wheel at Ray’s cabin, single and unattached. His betrayal with Lydia had devastated her. Maybe the missing piece was inside Abby, and she’d never be able to give herself completely to a man again.

Sighing, she reached for her favorite distraction: her cell phone. She’d found that redirecting her thoughts often helped her stay calm. Daily exercise, relaxation techniques and steady breathing worked, also.

Abby called her favorite person: Ella.

Her sister answered the phone with a throaty giggle. Abby could hear Ella’s boyfriend, Paul, in the background. Ella had met Paul at California’s Channel Islands last summer, on a previous ill-fated family adventure trip. After Ray canceled, Ella and Abby had stepped in to accompany Brooke. Paul had been their handsome kayak guide. Ella had ended up stranded for a night with him on remote, uninhabited San Miguel. They’d been inseparable ever since.

“We just got here,” Abby said.

“How is it?”

She glanced around the bedroom. “It’s nice. Ray and Lydia aren’t here yet. Brooke went on a motorcycle ride with Leo.”

Ella didn’t have to ask how that made Abby feel. “I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

“Has Brooke ever talked to you about him?”

“Um...”

“How old is he now?”

“Nineteen, I think.”

“Where does he go to school?”

“Humboldt.”

Not far from Berkeley. But not that close. Abby paced the room, nibbling her lower lip. Ella was ten years younger than Abby, and more like a sister than an aunt to Brooke. Sometimes Brooke confided in her, rather than Abby.

“I have to tell you something,” Ella said.

“What?”

She made a breathy sound. “We’re getting married.”

Abby almost dropped the phone. “What?”

“He asked me last night. Can you believe it?”

Her sister went on to tell the story of Paul proposing at Rose Valley Falls. They were both outdoor nuts, like Brooke. He’d gone with a nontraditional ring and a rare gemstone that sent Ella into raptures. She was a geophysicist.

“Oh, Ella,” Abby said, her chest tight. “I’m so happy for you.”

Ella couldn’t wait to show her the ring, so she sent Abby the photos via text message. The first was of the happy couple at the falls. In the second, a slim platinum band with a sparkling gray stone graced her sister’s slender finger.

Gorgeous, Abby texted back. Love you.

She put the phone in her purse, torn between joy and melancholy. Her baby sister was getting married to a great guy who adored her. The ring was unique and beautiful. Abby should be dancing on a table. Instead she felt like curling up in a corner. To her dismay, tears gathered behind her eyes. She’d been engaged once. She’d shown off her big, traditional diamond and held her head high.