On the Mountain (Follow your Bliss #5) (16 page)

Chapter Sixteen

After the failed Thanksgiving
meal, Baskia spent the next morning brainstorming ideas for putting together a
proper Christmas dinner. Technically, she needed to pull off something for
Christmas Eve too, plus brunch, and dessert. She lingered in the shower, trying
to figure out what to do, with no sure bets for a prepared or catered meal. She
pouted. If she was in the City, the meal wouldn’t be a problem, nor would she
have to deal with getting the basement fixed up.

She searched for her favorite
pair of earrings and spotted the note Trace left, atop the stacked material
from Columbia University. The four words,
What do you want?
and
XO
floated
off the paper
.

She took a deep breath and tried
the question out on her tongue. “What do I want?”

Silence.

She looked in the mirror and
repeated it.

Nothing.

With that, she threw open the
window. Her breath puffed into the grey sky. “What do I want?” The words echoed
in reply.

Then, as she pulled on thick
socks, all she heard was the sentence,
I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t
know
, on an endless loop, playing staccato against
What do you want?
Luckily, Wes honked and she rushed out to meet him, leaving uncertainty behind.

Baskia was used to traffic, long
cab rides, and travelling, of course, with its own brand of waiting: planes,
trains, and shuttles. But the winter-bleached ground matching the cloudy sky
was never-ending. The tall, ashen trees punctuated the quiet ride in the truck.

“Everything looks the same,”
Baskia said for no particular reason.

“Some people take comfort in
predictability.”

“I suppose so.”

“You don’t?”

She shrugged. “I actually don’t
know.” The monotonous scenery forced Baskia to look inside— foreign territory
she wasn’t sure she was ready to explore.

The warehouse style hardware
store with fluorescent lighting and aisle after aisle of building materials,
Baskia didn’t even know existed, was like a loud, bright shopping mall for home
improvement enthusiasts.

“Where do we start?” she asked as
Wes marched toward the paint department.

They spent the next three hours
evaluating flooring options, paint colors, and finish styles. Wes pushed the
cartload of brushes, caulking, nails, and screws.

“Are we really doing this?” she
asked, overwhelmed.

“I think we can manage.”

She had her doubts.

^^^

Back at the cabin, alone again,
Baskia went online to research mattresses, which led to bedding, bringing her
to sites selling linens, and then tableware, and she recalled the conundrum of
meal planning. The card with the pie-lady’s name sat on the coffee table.
Again, she turned it over in her hands and finally dialed the number. For once,
her cell phone held the call and after leaving a message, Baskia returned to
her online shopping for the basement, until she’d ordered nearly everything,
except a pair of sparkly platform Jimmy Choo’s she’d been coveting. 

She stayed up late that night
reading a self-improvement book about manifesting miracles. When she woke up
the next morning, to Wes knocking on the door, she reasoned she’d need a
miracle to get through the day as they hauled all the materials to the
basement.

Coffee subdued the slight
headache from lack of sleep, but nothing prepared her for all the lifting,
scraping, shuffling, and hammering as the pair transformed the space.

After two, days Baskia had earned
some pie—sweet or savory.

“What do you think about ordering
a pizza?” she asked when they'd finished for the day.

“No one delivers up here. But we
could head into Chesterbury. There’s a great pizza joint there.”

Baskia didn’t look forward to another
foray along the wintered, winding roads of Vermont, but she’d grown semi-used
to Wes’s quiet, yet steady presence. “If you drive, I’ll buy.”

Seated in a vinyl booth with red,
plastic cups of water, Baskia voiced her doubts about her role in the renovations.

“Just wait and see. When you
accomplish something yourself, there’s no greater satisfaction,” Wes said
encouragingly.

“Spoken like a true New
Englander.”

“I suppose. But when you were a
kid, did you ever figure something out, on your own, or create something with
your own hands? It was the best, right?”

Baskia trolled her youngest
memories, including a time she’d put together a thousand-piece puzzle. Another
time she’d built a bridge as part of a science project, and it actually held a
load unlike the bridges built by her classmates. Once, she’d rescued a dog,
struck by a car, and nursed it back to health until its owner claimed it. Then
there was her freshman year of high school, before she’d signed her modeling
contract, she’d made the varsity volleyball team, and the school newspaper
invited her to join as photographer. The flashes of her youth flipped through
her mind lightning fast. She stiffened as her father’s disregard and her
mother’s chatter—comparing her accomplishments to those of the children of the
women in her circle—tainted each of the memories.

“Baskia?”

“What?”

“You looked lost in thought.”

“I was remembering—” Just then,
the pizza arrived and Baskia set the memory aside, glad to be distracted from
the disappointment bubbling up from the past.

^^^

As the week wore on, Baskia and Wes
painted each room a soft, sunny yellow she knew her mother would approve of.
Boxes and cartons arrived containing sheets, comforters, and décor to outfit
the space once it was finished.

“It’s kind of cool, ya know?” Wes
said absentmindedly while cutting in the paint along the ceiling.

“What’s that?”

“That you came up here. You upped
yourself from your life to try something different.”

“I guess it’s cool, but it kinda
came about because I was fed up, desperate, lost.”

“That’s often the catalyst for
change.”

“Aren’t you wise,” she said,
wondering if he’d read as many self-improvement books as she had.

“Really though. Some people go
through life doing the same thing over and over. But are they happy? Isn’t that
the point? To experience and spread joy.”

Baskia pondered this and some of
the other sage proclamations, and questions, he’d posed over the week they’d
been working together. She lost the next few minutes to quiet contemplation.

Running his brush along the
doorframe, Wes said, “There’s something Zen about painting.”

“I think you’ve been breathing
too many fumes. Come on, let’s get some fresh air.”

Out on the deck, Baskia turned
her face toward the sun, taking in the last rays of the day. Wes went to grab a
stack of logs for the fire that Baskia, shamefully, had not started. She’d
promised herself she’d do it, but it created so much dust, and she didn’t want
to burn herself trying. When he’d arrived and saw the hearth cold, Wes had set
the blaze and tended to it ever since.

Just then, something hard and
cold slammed into her leg. “Hey.” She whipped around.

Wes ducked behind the woodpile,
laughing.

“Oh really? A snowball fight?
You’re on.” She reached down and packed a snowball in her gloved hands. She
tiptoed down the steps when another snowball volleyed toward her. She dodged
out of the way. Coming around the woodpile, another came at her, but she
chucked hers and it landed on Wes’s arm. “Gotcha.”

Wes tossed another and another,
while Baskia dodged and aimed. They both laughed and hollered, bringing life to
the barren landscape until the blanket of snow shone bluish in the fading
light.

Wes made for his truck.

“Thanks for everything.”

“Does that include the pearls of
wisdom I shared?” he asked.

“Especially those.”

^^^

Even though they were under a
time crunch, Wes took the weekend off from working on the basement. He didn’t
offer an explanation. She wondered what he did in his lonely log cabin. As much
as she relished the long, leisurely days alone, she missed having company, but
didn’t look forward to her parents’ visit.

On Monday afternoon, Baskia had
an appointment with the pie-lady, Patty, for tea. When she pulled up in front
of the old farmhouse, Baskia wasn’t expecting the delicious aroma that greeted
her nose when she pulled open the door.

“Welcome. It’s nice to meet you,”
Patty said enthusiastically, her pink cheeks glowing.

They sat down at the table, set
for two. “Now, I know we said we were only going to talk today, but as you can
probably tell, I really love cooking, and well, I couldn’t resist.” She
gestured toward the double oven and an array of serving dishes. “I figured I
could let the food do the talking.”

As they sipped their tea, Patty
spared few details about her family. “Now, I’m certainly not a classically
trained chef, but after nine kids, you learn a thing or two about nutrition,
taste, economy, and well, simply put, I grew to like cooking. I’ve come to
relish seeing the smiles on people’s faces while enjoying a good meal. In fact,
with everyone gone, I miss it.” She gazed out the window as if her kids were
playing in the snow.

“Aren’t you cooking for them on
Christmas?” Baskia asked.

“Gerry and Madeline are overseas,
Bruce is busy with his family, and Angie and her new husband are visiting his
parents this year. Tammy just had a baby and they’re in Portland. Robbie and
Jack are coming for New Year’s, and then there’s Natasha, she’s working. And
Faith, my dear Faith, isn’t with us anymore.” She sighed, sadness sweeping her
eyes low.

“I’m sorry.” Baskia found those
words on her tongue more often lately. Suddenly, the urge to do something to
help Wes and Patty, to provide some kind of goodness in their lives overwhelmed
her. Just as quickly, it evaporated, leaving her feeling as empty as the cup of
tea in front of her. She had no idea what she could do for them. A thought
fluttered through the air, landed on her heart, and just before it flew off,
she heard it whisper,
Maybe they’re here to help you
.

“So, are ya hungry?” Patty asked.

She arranged a full-course meal
between them on the old wooden table. In detail, Patty described the spirals of
tenderloin with parmesan herb stuffing, Chantilly potatoes with a cheddar
crust, a warm Brussels sprout and kale salad, roasted carrots with pesto, and
more.

“Now, don’t you worry, I’m going
to freeze all this and eat it over the course of the winter. Nothing wasted.
But if you like it, I can replicate the whole thing, fresh, no problem. If
there are alterations you’d like me to make for taste or allergies, let me
know. Now of course we haven’t even started with biscuits, rolls, and bread.”

“It’s perfect,” Baskia said
simply. The home cooked meal nourished her in a way her body and soul
desperately craved. She leaned back in the chair, speechless.

“See what a good meal can do.
When you’re ready, we’ll talk about dessert. I have a marvelous chocolate
truffle layer cake, pumpkin cheesecake, and of course my fingers-crossed-soon-to-be-famous
pies.”

“It all sounds so good. You’re a
miracle worker. I didn’t know where I’d be able to find food of this quality
around here,” Baskia said, thankful to cast off her doubts. “As for dessert,
the pies you made around Thanksgiving looked really good.” 

“You know it’s funny, my cakes
were more beloved by my family. Of course, they loved pie too, but each child,
while growing up, had a special birthday cake, every year. That made about 150
unique cakes. I baked a pie inside a cake once, and ice cream too, but that
still counts by my reckoning. And of course I’d bake one for Henry.” She looked
toward the barn, as if her late husband was about to emerge from it and clomp
up the stairs with muddy boots. “You know, I always wanted to open my own
bakery. I’d dreamed of calling it Patty-Cakes. That was Faith’s favorite, you
know.” Patty wiped a tear from her eye.

Baskia realized with glaring
clarity how thoroughly she’d avoided loss in her life. Yes, her grandparents
had passed on and it was sad, but they were well into their eighties and had
lived full and satisfying lives. Some ancient voice inside her, urged her to
count her blessings.

“You’ve done a tremendous job.
Thank you,” she said, embracing Patty and receiving a mother’s hug.

They spent the next hour working
out the details, food for Christmas Eve, appetizers, and of course the
desserts. Baskia wondered how one woman did it all, but then, she did raise
nine kids.

^^^