Trey
I’m not peeking—yet.
I’ll think of something suitable for ravenous carnivores, and try to make it edible.
Glad you liked the in progress. More glad that Anna did, but you count. If Doyle Law Offices ever decides to get an updated web presence, you know who to call.
Sonya
Another email came in as she sent the first. Anna sent photos of the tall vase she’d thrown the day before, after what she called the bisque firing. She’d send more, she wrote, of the glazing process, the completed glaze. And after the final firing, she’d send photos of the finished piece.
Along with it, she’d sent a bio, with an invitation to edit, if necessary.
“Excellent.”
Sonya answered just that, and told her client to give it ninety minutes, then check the Shop and the About tabs on the website.
“Now, let’s see what we’ve got and what we’ll do with it.”
Halfway through the ninety minutes, she texted Anna to make it two hours.
She wanted it perfect.
After she tested it on all her devices, she sat back.
“It’s good. It’s really good. Time to leave it alone, then fine-tune.”
A log fell in the fire, made her jump.
She’d toss another on, then go for a walk. Ten minutes out in the air. She figured she knew Anna well enough to be sure it wouldn’t take her much longer to look the site over.
When she rose, she saw snow falling outside the window. Not a blustery snow like before, but soft and pretty.
She could walk in that.
After she’d added the log, she remembered she still wore her pajamas. Since she considered pajamas outside a bridge too far, she switched to a sweater and winter-weight leggings. Downstairs she pulled on her old reliable UGGs and the rest of her outdoor gear.
Rather than take the house key, she unlocked the front door. And stepped out into the wonderland.
Snow fell, soft as cotton, to cling to branches. It lay thin, for now, on the walkways, drifted over the seawall. The wind only murmured as she kept to those walkways and circled the house.
She smelled smoke from the chimneys, and the chilly freshness of snow, the sharp sting of pines.
The woods looked like a painting, green and white and deep. She imagined the deer she’d spotted before, but saw no sign of it.
If she got a dog, they’d walk there, just wander together in the quiet. She climbed the steps to the deck on the flat roof of the apartment, and just looked.
She recognized a long swatch of hydrangeas, their old wood like bones gathering flakes. What she thought were azaleas, tall and wide enough to rise above the floor of snow.
She’d need to learn more about plants, since most of what she did know applied to Xena. Or she’d need to give in and go with a grounds crew.
She walked down, continued on to make a circle, and told herself she’d make new habits.
Trips to the village, strolls outside—longer ones, she hoped, once spring broke through. She loved her work, and work was necessary, but she’d take time for this. Take time to go through other parts of the house.
She’d put that off, she could admit that. Because it felt so big, so overwhelming, and keeping to a handful of rooms just less so.
The house deserved better. Hell, so did she.
For another moment she stood, looking out to sea, listening to the waves.
Maybe time for some hot chocolate, she thought. Hopefully the Doyles had stocked some instant. Hot chocolate by the fire on a snowy afternoon sounded glorious.
She turned, pressed the tongue on the iron handle of the front door.
It didn’t budge.
She tried again, again, and felt the first tickles of panic in her throat.
She’d unlocked the door. Unlocked it, then checked to make sure. Now she yanked at the handle, nearly pounded on the door.
The wind came up, sudden, frigid, blowing what felt like needles of ice in her face. And with it images blew into her mind—walking barefoot through a blizzard in a nightgown. Walking toward a woman standing at the seawall.
She looked over her shoulder, half terrified she’d see a figure standing there. A woman in black.
But she saw only the snow and the sea behind it.
Shaking now, she pulled her phone out of her pocket. She’d call Trey. Embarrassing, yes, but—
Even as she started to punch in his contact, she heard a thunk. Like a lock turning.
And when she tried the door again, it opened smoothly.
She rushed in, slammed and locked the door behind her. As she leaned back against it, heart pounding, she knew her eyes were wide and wild.
Deliberately, she closed them.
“It was probably stuck. Just stuck. I unlocked it, and it was unlocked, so it jammed for a minute. That’s all. And the rest, stupid panic.”