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Wasn’t it?

She flashed back to when she’d told Mary and how the innkeeper didn’t seem upset, though Emerson detected a hint of…disappointment?

“Do you know what Cross plans to do with the inn?” Mary had asked quietly, not looking at Emerson.

“I don’t.” Emerson was a little embarrassed that she hadn’t asked, though it wasn’t really her business.

Mary gave a slow nod and said simply, “Well then.”

She let Mary go through Caroline’s things, told her to take anything she might want, anything that held memories for her. She took a corkscrew, a couple of wine glasses, a stack of books from the shelves, and a basket of yarn and knitting needles, chuckling sadly about how she’d given Caroline all the supplies for her last birthday and then attempted to teach her the craft, only to find out Caroline had no talent for it whatsoever and even less patience. Emerson had helped her pack everything up and watched with mixed emotions as she carried it back to the main office, her shoulders weighed down with her box of memories.

“It’s fine,” she said loudly now, suddenly throwing off the covers and jumping up. The need to shake this melancholy feeling was intense. Emerson dressed in sweats and a hoodie, stepped into Caroline’s slippers, and went out into the living room. She clicked on the fireplace and just stood, looking at boxes, at the photos still on the wall—the last things she had to pack up—and bent backwards slightly to stretch her spine.

The next couple hours dragged by, and Emerson did anything she could to speed them up. She wanted to walk around the lake, but was apprehensive about who she might run into while doing so. Instead, she wandered down where the dock usually was (Jack had taken it out for the winter the day before), looked out over the water and took in the fresh air and early morning quiet. It seemed to settle her, even if it was only slightly. Then she took a very hot, very slow shower and didn’t hurry to get dressed, ironing her pants and suit jacket, wishing she’d packed another, as Klein and Cross had both seen her in this one already. There was nothing to be done about that, though she was happy to have found a red silk blouse among her mother’s clothes. It was tighter than Emerson would normally wear, but the blouse was exactly what she needed to go into this meeting with calm and confidence that she wasn’t quite feeling. Red was her power color; she wore it often at work to close sales.

The clock finally made it to 8:45. She took one last look in the mirror, ran her fingers through her short hair, tugged on the hem of her suit jacket, and slipped into her pumps. Just a little mascara brought out her eyes, and she added a light coat of lip gloss. Her mother’s diamond earrings finished the outfit, and for the very first time in her life, Emerson wished she physically resembled her mother a bit more. She’d always been very happy with her father’s Swedish genes…her height, her light coloring. Today, she missed Caroline, and the thought made her swallow hard. Blinking rapidly, she pulled on a dressier wool coat she’d found in the closet, took one last look around the cottage, and closed the door behind her.

The day had dawned bright and sunny, the overnight snow melting slightly. She knew from her childhood that it wouldn’t be long before the sun disappeared for days, sometimes weeks, on end. People would be out enjoying it as much as they could today, as if trying to store it up for the upcoming winter. She drove the opposite way around the lake so as not to drive past The Sports Outfitter. She’d been fairly successful at blocking out her entire conversation with Cassie, but now things were creeping back in. The edge in Cassie’s voice, the sounds of anger and betrayal. Worse, the pain in her eyes. She’d tried to hide it by playing the tough guy, but Emerson had seen it, had known she put it there.

Literally shaking her head to rid herself of the memory, she followed the road around Lake Henry and within five minutes, came upon the parking lot for Brad Klein’s office. A sleek, silver Town Car was parked in the lot, the neatly dressed driver holding a newspaper open across the steering wheel. He glanced up at Emerson, gave a curt nod, and went back to his reading. Cross had come early.

“Figures,” Emerson muttered, again pulling her unnecessary briefcase out of the passenger seat. She waited until she was in the foyer of Klein’s building—where nobody could see her—before she smoothed a hand over her hair, her chest, her hips. Deep breath in, slow breath out. “Let’s get this over with,” she said to nobody.

The office was still warm and inviting, not adjectives Emerson would normally expect to describe a lawyer’s office, but it was true. Klein’s receptionist was on the phone, but smiled when she saw Emerson and held up a finger, the universal sign for “hang on just a second.” Emerson took a seat and let her gaze wander the room.

Nothing had changed since her last visit, though she was pretty sure the potpourri had been rejuvenated, as the smell of cinnamon seemed stronger than she remembered. The last time she was here, she hadn’t had time to notice small things like the framed photos on the receptionist’s desk. In one, two teenagers, both blonde, both with mouths full of metal, smiled at the camera. The other showed a German Shepherd lying in the grass, his friendly brown eyes full of love and trust. Next to that was a wooden sign painted navy blue. Its lettering was white.

“
Never look back unless you are planning to go that way.
”
–
Henry David Thoreau

Emerson stared at it, then read it again. She felt as if the words floated off the wood in a line, danced through the air, and morphed right through her eyes and into her brain, like they might in a cartoon. She was still staring at them when the receptionist hung up and spoke to her, but Emerson didn’t hear her.

“Ms. Rosberg?”

Emerson blinked rapidly, pulled out of her trance by the woman’s voice. “I’m sorry.” She cleared her throat, collected herself. “I’m sorry. You caught me napping.”

The receptionist smiled and pointed down the hall in the same direction as the last visit. “They’re waiting for you in the conference room.”

Emerson smiled. “Thanks.”

Steadying herself at the door, she grasped the knob and turned it.

“Ms. Rosberg.” Brad Klein looked handsome as always in a nicely tailored navy blue suit and striped tie. He held out a hand and shook Emerson’s quickly.

Arnold Cross stood, and Emerson had to give him credit. It couldn’t be easy for a man of his stature to stand in front of a woman of Emerson’s and not feel…well, small. They shook hands, Emerson smiled, though she knew it didn’t reach her eyes, and they all sat.

“Coffee?” Klein asked.

“No. Thank you.” She set down her briefcase and felt…unsettled was the only word she could come up with. Her chair faced the window. Outside, the sun sparkled on the water of Lake Henry even as patches of white snow were still visible.

“So,” Klein said. “We’re here to finalize the sale of both the Lakeshore Inn and the rental property at 217 Main.” He slid a few papers around on the table in front of him. He continued to talk and he and Cross bantered a bit back and forth, but Emerson only half-listened. She was too busy gazing out the window, watching the water and hearing words resonate in her head, which was weird because nobody had spoken them aloud.

“
Never look back unless you are planning to go that way.
”

“Ms. Rosberg?”

Emerson blinked, her eyes tearing slightly, and she turned her focus to Klein. It couldn’t be that simple. Could it?

“Are you okay?” he asked with concern.

She looked at his face, only slightly lined, ruggedly handsome, clean shaven. He may have been smiling, but his eyes showed worry and something else she couldn’t quite pinpoint, and for a moment, she got the impression he was not happy to be there.

Turning her head, she took in Arnold Cross. He
was
happy to be there. Very happy. Too happy. His smile was so wide, it was almost laughable, but even so, his jowls pulled the sides of his face toward his lap just enough to make his expression more artificial than he probably intended. Emerson’s eyes darted from one man to the other as if she were watching a ping-pong match.

“
Never look back unless you are planning to go that way.
”

That was it. The thought,
third time’s the charm
, zipped through her head just as she felt something crack open inside her, and much to her horror, her eyes filled with tears. She pushed her chair back roughly and clamped a hand over her mouth as a sob threatened to bubble up and out from her chest.

Arnold Cross began sifting through papers, and wasn’t looking at her as he spoke. “This is a very good day for you, Ms. Rosberg. Your family’s hard work is about to pay off, and you are going to be a wealthy woman. Your mother would be proud.”

“Ms. Rosberg?” Klein stood, his concern multiplying, and came around the table. “Emerson? Are you all right?”

Emerson held out a hand to hold him back as she looked up at him. “Would she? Be proud? Is this what she wanted?”

Klein cocked his head slightly to the side and said quietly, “I don’t know. I do know that she loved Lake Henry. And that she wanted you to be happy.” He reached for her.

“No,” she managed, still pushing a hand in his direction. “No, stay there. I don’t…I can’t…” She sobbed one more time, eyes wide, and began to shake her head from side to side even as her breathing increased and her heart began to pound. Collecting herself enough to speak, she said, “I’m so sorry. I can’t do this. I can’t. I’m sorry. I have to go.” She turned away from Arnold Cross, whose face had gone from overly joyful to angry betrayal in a matter of about three seconds. She thought she detected a ghost of a grin on Klein’s face as she turned and fled his office, but she couldn’t be certain.

Out in the lobby, she stopped and looked for an escape. Klein’s receptionist stood, her forehead creased with worry as Cross’s angry voice boomed from the conference room.

“Ms. Rosberg? Are you okay?” the receptionist asked.

Instead of answering, Emerson glanced one more time at the wooden sign with the Thoreau quote, then walked up to the receptionist and embraced her in a tight hug. She let her go and headed for the door, leaving the stunned woman standing there, wondering what the hell had just happened.

Emerson didn’t run, but she might as well have. She ripped open the car door, threw her briefcase and coat inside, and flopped into the driver’s seat where she then pounded on the steering wheel with open palms as she cried. Glancing to her left, she saw Cross’s driver looking at her, completely perplexed, and she knew she needed to leave before he decided to come see if something was wrong. She wiped her running nose with her hand, started the car, and pulled out of the parking lot with more speed than was safe.

She couldn’t stop crying.

It shouldn’t have surprised her when she turned into the parking lot of Cassie’s store, but it did. She jammed the gearshift into park and sat in the car, looking out the window at the back of The Sports Outfitter. Tears covered her cheeks and her nose continued to run, but she didn’t stop to think. She got out of the car and marched across the lot into the back entrance.

Cassie’s mom was at the cash register. When she looked up, her eyes widened.

“Is Cassie up there?” Emerson asked before the woman could speak and pointed at the stairs.

“Yes, but…”

Emerson headed for the stairs.

“She’s with customers,” Cassie’s mom called out.

Emerson kept walking, determination in her steps even as she stumbled, tears still flowing. She clamped her hand over her mouth once again, hoping to keep the sobs from being too loud and attracting the attention of shoppers.

The customers didn’t stop the emotion overflowing out of her, and her tears continued to run. It crossed her mind that she must look like a crazy person, hurrying falteringly down an aisle, pushing past those in her way. Her mascara was running in a big way, which she discovered when she took a swipe at her wet cheek and her hand came back streaked with black. She ignored the strange looks people gave her as she passed, pretended not to hear any of the whispers. She managed to swallow a couple of the sobs, but here and there, one broke free from her lips, causing heads to turn.

Cassie had four people in line, and she stood behind a register next to a college-age young man as they worked together to ring out customers. When her gaze landed on Emerson, her eyes went very wide. Emerson pushed her way to the front of the line.

“Emerson? Are you okay?” Cassie asked, concern and irritation battling in full view on her face.

“No. No, I’m not. I need to talk to you, Cassie. Please.” Gordie suddenly appeared at her side, pushing against her, obviously worried.

Cassie looked around almost wildly, then held her arms out to the sides, palms up. “Emerson. I’m working. In case you didn’t notice, it’s pretty busy right now. Can it—.” She stopped talking abruptly as Emerson broke into heaving sobs.

“Oh my god, what is happening to me?” Emerson said under her breath, bracing herself against the counter as she tried to catch her breath. Gordie whimpered in his throat. Emerson looked at Cassie and whispered, “
Please.
”

“Frannie!” Cassie called out. A redhead appeared in a few seconds. “Can you take over here and help Damian?”

“Sure. No problem.”

Cassie moved around the counter past the customers who were too stunned to complain, grabbed Emerson firmly by the elbow and led her to the back stairway. “Gordie, stay.” The dog sat, obviously not happy about it. To Emerson, she said, “Come on. Come with me.” Taking Emerson’s hand in hers, she tugged her up the stairs.

Emerson felt like she had begun to get a handle on whatever breakdown she was having, and by the time they reached the top floor, she was breathing almost normally.

Until Cassie opened the door to her apartment and pulled Emerson inside.

“Oh, god.
This
is your place?”

Cassie glanced back at her. “Um, yeah.”

“It’s beautiful. Oh, my god. It’s so
beautiful
.” Realizing she’d almost sold it out from under Cassie, she felt the tears wash over her again, and she cried openly as she stood in Cassie’s entryway. She looked up through blurry, wet eyes and asked again, “What the hell is happening to me?”