She could imagine her friend’s reaction if she told the truth.
A private investigator.
“I was reading a feature on cozy winter stays.” And now she was beginning to wish she hadn’t suggested it. She could have gone on her own for a weekend to find the answers to the questions that were buzzing in her brain. She didn’t have to involve her friends. “I can find somewhere else if you prefer.”
“Don’t you dare! This place looks perfect,” Anna said. “Special. And we both know Claudia will approve because it has an award-winning restaurant and that’s the only bit that matters to her.”
“Right.”
Deep down had she been hoping her friend would express a preference for somewhere in the city? Or decide that she didn’t want to do this at all? That she would somehow stop Erica making what could turn out to be a huge mistake?
But far from talking her out of it, Anna seemed won over by the place.
“They have three rooms vacant. I just checked. Would they reserve them for a short time while I talk to the family? I want to see if they’re okay with it and I don’t want to lose those rooms in the meantime.”
Erica tried to imagine having to get three people’s permission before doing anything. Total nightmare. Apparently, hitting forty hadn’t changed her that much.
“I can call, but it’s only a couple of weeks away so no guarantee they will hold the rooms.”
“Your powers of persuasion are legendary. Twenty-four hours,” Anna said. “That’s all I need. And anyway, we can’t confirm until you’ve spoken to Claudia.”
“Fine, I’ll call them.”
She felt like Pandora, about to open the box.
If they lost the rooms, then that would be it. Decision made.
But if the rooms were available then this was actually going to happen, and in a few weeks she’d be checking in to the Maple Sugar Inn.
Which might turn out to be the worst idea of her life.
THREE
Claudia
Thousands of miles away in California, Claudia drove her fists into a punching bag.
Her thoughts worked in rhythm with her punches.
I—hate—you—John.
She pivoted and punched again.
I—hate—myself—for—trusting—you.
“Relax your shoulders.” Michelle, her trainer, was frowning. “Watch your form.”
Claudia stopped punching. Her hair was sticking to her forehead and her neck, and her heart was hammering against her rib cage.
“Drink,” Michelle advised. “And take a breather.”
Claudia tugged off her gloves, reached into her bag for her water and saw that she had two missed calls on her phone.
Erica.
She drank deeply and then dropped the bottle back in her bag. What would she have done without Erica the past couple of months? Most people knew Erica as a successful businesswoman with a reputation for plain speaking and ruthless focus. They didn’t know Erica the friend. They didn’t see her kindness and her loyalty. She checked on Claudia all the time. The weekend John had packed his things and moved out, leaving her in a state of shock, Erica had canceled her appointments and flown to California to be with Claudia. Claudia was a mess, but Erica had insisted on staying with her. In a crisis, there was no one better than Erica. She’d forced Claudia to take a shower and get dressed, she’d made her soup—a loving gesture, which Claudia had returned by eating the soup and managing to keep it down—Erica was a terrible cook. She’d helped box up the rest of John’s things and then she’d had them shipped to him to ensure he had no reason to come back. Claudia still remembered her words—you shouldn’t let rats into your apartment; it’s bad for your health. She’d had the locks changed, just to be sure. Most importantly, she’d turned off her phone and listened to Claudia. She’d listened for hours while Claudia had sobbed and ranted and tried to figure out how a relationship that had lasted ten years could suddenly end without warning. She hadn’t glanced at the time, or told Claudia to pull herself together, or seemed impatient to be somewhere else; she was just there.
And even when Erica had flown home and back to her busy schedule, she’d stayed in touch. If you need me, call, and if it’s urgent tell my assistant and he’ll get me out of whichever meeting I’m in.
Claudia hadn’t had to call Erica’s assistant—she could just imagine the embarrassment associated with that—but in her worst moments she’d been comforted by the knowledge that Erica was there if she needed her. Knowing that had been enough. Anna was there for her, too, but Anna had her family to care for and Claudia didn’t want to bother her. Erica had no actual blood relatives. Her friends were her family.
And on the whole, Claudia had been doing okay, until last week when she’d lost her job. Which just went to prove that whenever you thought life couldn’t get worse, it got worse.
Merry Christmas, Claudia.
Michelle raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to talk about it, or do you want to work out?”
“I want to work out.” She pulled the gloves back on. “Particularly as I won’t be able to afford you after this session. Punching is the best therapy.”
Michelle gave her a sympathetic look. “You’re my favorite client. I’ll give you a reduced rate.”
“No, you won’t. You have a business to run.”
“We could call it my Christmas gift to you.”
Claudia managed a smile. “We won’t be calling it anything because I won’t let you give yourself away for free.”
What did she want for Christmas?
She wanted life to stop throwing bricks at her. She wanted to wake up in the morning and be excited about the day ahead. Was that too much to ask?
Losing her job had been a horrible end to a horrible year. A year of rejection. A year of losing what was familiar to her. A year of people telling her she wasn’t good enough.
And she knew that it happened to millions every day. Relationships ended. People lost their jobs, particularly right now when so many businesses were struggling with the rising cost of living and closing their doors, but that didn’t make her feel better.
People told her she’d bounce back, and perhaps in her twenties she might have done that—would she? She wasn’t sure—but she was only a few months away from her fortieth birthday and she felt more broken than bouncy.
Forty.
At forty you were supposed to be settled. You were supposed to have life all figured out. Erica had a great career. Anna had the perfect family. They’d each made their choices and had done well.
What did she have? Nothing. She had nothing at all to show for the past twenty years apart from excellent knife skills and an almost permanent headache from working in a full-service, high-volume restaurant. Oh, and she had short hair because John had told her once that he much preferred women with short hair. She’d had long hair at the time.
After thanking Michelle for the final time, she picked up her bag and headed to the shower room, her mood low. Yet another ending. Another change that wasn’t her choice.
Enough! She had to pull herself together. It wasn’t even as if she’d loved her job that much. The executive chef had been a bully. Most of the time you could have cut through the tension with a very sharp knife. All the kitchen staff had been paralyzed with terror half the time, and Claudia had been no exception. If filleting the boss hadn’t been a crime, she would definitely have considered it as an option. She’d stood her ground, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t unpleasant. But although in no way was it her dream job, it would have been nice to leave on her own terms. It had been a year of endings, all of them forced on her.