Colder Than Ice. Maggie Shayne
it seemed.
One after the other, her powder-blue Nike cross trainers hit the winding road’s soft shoulder, her steps cushioned by a thick, fragrant carpet of leaves. She sucked in the aroma of them with every harsh breath she drew. Sugar maples lined the roadsides, arching overhead like a vivid circus canopy of scarlet and purple and pumpkin orange. It crossed her mind that she loved it here, but she brushed the thought aside. There were a hundred other small towns with country lanes and breathtaking foliage where she could be just as comfortable. Comfort wasn’t love. She could take Blackberry, Vermont, or leave it.
She hit the three-mile mark just as she rounded the curve that brought the old Bickham place into view. The once stately Victorian’s white paint was peeling. A few of the black shutters were crooked, others missing, like neglected teeth in an old man’s mouth. On the porch, Maude waved from her wicker rocking chair. Elizabeth slowed to a walk, her heart rate slowing naturally as she veered off the road and onto the overgrown flagstone path. She preferred it to the driveway, despite its cracks and weeds. The sidewalk started at the tilting signpost, with its weather-worn sign and fading letters—you could hardly make out “The Blackberry Inn” anymore—and wound its way to the porch, forking off in one spot to twist around the old house to what had once been a garden in the back.
At the bottom of the porch steps, Beth leaned over, braced her hands on her knees and took a few breaths.
“Gettin’ older, girl,” Maude called. “You might better walk, like you used to.”
Beth smiled. Every day, Maude began their morning visit with the same remarks. When Beth had first come here—God, had it really been a year ago?—she had started this ritual with a daily walk. It had scared the hell out of her to even leave her house, but that daily walk had been an act of defiance, a way of thumbing her nose at her own fears. It had evolved into a run.
“I like to run, Maude. It makes me strong.”
“And what does a thirty-five-year-old woman need with muscles, anyway?”
Beth grinned and trotted up the steps. “Thirty-six. And I need ’em to fight off all my suitors.”
Maude slapped her knee, chuckling to herself, and rose from the chair. “Tea is just off the burner. Still piping hot. You made good time this morning.” She leaned over the rickety tray table to pour from a china teapot into two matching cups. Antiques, white with pink rosebuds and gold edges. There was an old silver tray with a cover, and an empty hypodermic needle beside it.
“God, Maude, why don’t you get an insulin pump so you can stop sticking yourself three times a day like your body’s a pin cushion?”
Maude waved a hand at her. “I don’t trust machines. And if you could see what they charge for one of those gadgets…”
“You have insurance.”
“That’s no reason to throw good money away on nonsense. ‘The frivolous can waste more by the teaspoon than the frugal can bring home by the wheelbarrow.’”
“Is that one of your originals?”
She shrugged. “You’d have called the original sexist. So I put my own twist on it, just for you.”
“And I’ll bet you’ve been waiting for the opportunity to use it.”
Maude sent her a wink. Then she reached to the tray table and poured from a dewy pitcher into a tall glass. “Here’s a nice glass of cold water. Cool you down after all that ridiculous running.”
“Perfect.” Beth took the glass from the table and tipped it up, drinking half the refreshing, sweet water down before lowering herself into her customary seat, a second wicker chair that matched the first in age and wear, if not color or design.
“Cookie?” Maude offered.
“Chocolate chip?” Beth asked, leaning over the table to lift the tarnished silver lid from its platter.
“How did you know before you even looked?”
“I could smell them baking in my dreams last night.”
Maude chuckled, but then her smile died, and she shook her head. “A young woman ought to have something to dream about besides cookies.”
Taking a big bite, Beth said, “What else is there?”
But Maude didn’t join her in her teasing. “I’m serious, Beth. Life without friends is like pie without ice cream. You’ve lived in Blackberry for a year now, and yet you’ve barely made any friends at all.”
Beth tipped her head to one side, reminding herself that the old woman needed something to occupy her mind, and if worrying about her was the thing to do it, then fine. She would indulge her. Reaching across the table, she patted Maude’s hand. “I’ve made one friend, Maude. One very good friend.”
That got a smile out of Maude. She actually had to blink a little moisture from her eyes. “Oh, you. Now you’ve gone and made me misty.”
“Well, I mean it. I’m so glad you called me over here that first time.”
“Saw you walking by, then running by, day after day. Any fool could see you were lonely. Besides, I was curious to ask what it was you were running away from.” She took a sip of her tea. “Not that I’ve managed to get an answer to that question.”
“‘A woman without secrets has led far too boring a life,’” Beth said, repeating one of Maude’s own pearls of wisdom back to her.
“Score one for you.” Maude sighed, settling back in her chair. “You know, there are some nice people in Blackberry. You’re missing out on a lot by keeping so much to yourself.”
Here it comes, Beth thought.
“Take Jeffrey Manheim. Owns the coffee shop down on Main Street. Nicest unmarried man you could ever want to—”
She broke off there, looking up as a shiny white pickup truck pulled into her driveway. Beth shielded her eyes to try to make out who was inside, but already she was on guard. She didn’t recognize the man who got out of the truck and glanced their way. A younger man—maybe eighteen—got out from the passenger side and came around the truck to join him. Strangers. New in town.
This couldn’t be good.
Maude rose to her feet and stumbled a little as she started forward, so Beth got up as well, and grabbed hold of her forearm to steady her.
“Joshua?”
The man flashed a smile. “It’s me, Gram. It’s been way too long.” By the time he finished the sentence, he was mounting the steps, and then he swept Maude into his arms for a hug. Maude hesitated only slightly before returning it.
The man released her and stood back just a little to look her over. “You look wonderful, Gram. Just as pretty as ever.”
She smiled at him, and Beth could have sworn her cheeks went pink. “Well, I don’t know about that.”
“Bryan, get up here and say hello to your great-grandma.”
The boy joined them on the porch. It was obvious now he was the man’s son. He had the same milk-chocolate hair and the same jawline—as if it were etched in stone. But there was a brooding quality about him. He didn’t stand quite straight, didn’t meet his father’s eyes—or Maude’s, either, for that matter—and he didn’t look happy to be there. He kept slanting sideways glances at Beth.
She really should leave, she thought, as the boy took his hands from his jeans pockets long enough to give the old woman a halfhearted hug. “Hello, Grandma.”
“My, my,” Maude said. “What a fine young man you have here, Joshua.”
“He sure is,” Joshua said. “Gram, aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?”
“Oh, of course. Where are my manners? Beth, this is my grandson, Joshua, and his boy Bryan. Boys,