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Just Let Me Die Here (A Serialized Novel) 8

Chapter 8

By Megan ClancyPublished 3 years ago Updated 2 years ago 9 min read
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Just Let Me Die Here (A Serialized Novel) 8
Photo by Kym MacKinnon on Unsplash

Inside, an older woman sits at a beautifully carved wooden desk in the corner of the entry room. She glows at me as I enter.

“Why, hello.” She is the epitome of grandmotherly warmth and I picture her in a beautiful, farmhouse type kitchen, baking the cookies that now sit on the tray next to her, making the entire room smell of chocolate and happiness. “How may I help you this afternoon?”

“I’m checking in. My family and I. We’re the Logans.”

“Oh. I didn’t think we had anyone arriving today.” She opens the large record book next to her. Names and dates cross the page in elegant loops. “Let me just check.”

As she searches her book, I try to look at everything in the room at once. And there is plenty to see. Above us, large beams reach up to a vaulted ceiling. A rustic chandelier hangs at the center. Two leather couches sit in the middle of the room, angled towards the stonework back wall that is home to an enormous fireplace. A fire dances with the draft that came in with me. On either side of the fireplace, a large window frames the snow-covered garden outside.

“I’m so sorry,” she says. “I don’t seem to have any account of your reservation.”

“Really?” I say. Something in me knew it was too good to be true. “I’m sorry. My husband, he’s out in the car with our baby, he said he booked a room here. Maybe we have the wrong place.”

“That’s quite all right dear. I actually have one room still available for the week, if you would like it.”

“That would be fantastic. Thank you.”

“And your name is?”

“August Logan.” She writes it down on an empty line in her book.

“And you said you’re here with your family?”

“Yes, my husband, Tucker, and our little girl, Millie.”

“How old is Millie?”

“Almost ten months.”

“Oh, how precious. Well, August, welcome to Canmore. I’m sure you all will have a wonderful time.” How can we not, I think, trying to take it all in. “I am Ruth Anderson,” the woman continues. “And this is my home. Here is the key to your room,” she says, handing me the key. “You simply leave it here at the front desk when you go out and pick it up when you get back. And here is a little welcome packet with information about the town and surrounding areas. And for your little one, I will get a crib up to your room right away.” This place really is perfect.

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Anderson,” I say.

“Please, dear. Call me Ruth.”

“Your home is amazing, Ruth.” She looks around the space, as if it was her first time really taking it all in, and gives an agreeing nod.

“Now, this is a B&B, so we serve breakfast every morning. We also have cocktail hour every evening at four,” Ruth continues. “Nothing much, but you’re welcome to join me for drinks. And please feel free to use the kitchen whenever you like. Just make sure you leave it as clean as you found it.”

“Thank you so much,” I say.

“You all just head up to your room and make yourselves comfortable. I am here if you have any questions.”

I take a few more minutes admiring the room and enjoying the warmth of the fire before heading back out to the car.

“You’ve certainly set the bar pretty high for family vacations,” I say when I rejoin Tucker in the car. I don’t mention the missing reservation. I’m sure it was just a mix-up. Millie is still sound asleep. “How are you going to top this on the next one?” He just shrugs.

Back inside, Ruth has disappeared from the front room. I can hear her in the parlor.

“Ruth?”

“Just in here,” she calls out. “Trying to get some things organized. You go ahead and go on up to your room. It’s the second door on the left.”

We carry our bags, along with our still sleeping baby, up the stairs and, upon opening the door to our room, we are wrapped in a Christmas card picture warmth. The large, four-poster bed is topped with a thick, cloud-like comforter and a pile of pillows. Two oversized leather chairs face the large picture window that looks out on the mountainscape outside. And just next to the window, a door that leads out to our own private balcony, overlooking the river. I open the door just inside the room and find the most luxurious bathroom I’ve ever seen, complete with a marble shower nearly the size of our bedroom back home. There are two different shower heads, one on the ceiling and one high on the wall, and I begin to fantasize about all the steaming showers that I will be taking this week. The stress of life and aches from days of skiing just washing away.

I flop back onto the bed and take a deep breath. The warmth of the house’s old heaters brings forth a rusty smell that takes me back to childhood winters, and I smile.

“So, what do you want to do for dinner?” I ask Tucker, rolling over and letting my body sink further into the cloud of a mattress. “I think I saw a nice little place a few streets over.”

“No, let’s not go out.” He has placed the now awake Millie down on the floor next to the crib and is beginning to unpack his suitcase. She is immediately drawn to the electrical outlet next to the bedside table. I definitely should have packed some outlet covers. “I’m too tired.”

“We need to eat something, Tucker,” I say, grabbing Millie and pulling her onto the bed with me.

“We can have dinner here,” he says. “I saw a grocery store on the way in. Why don’t I run over and pick something up for us and we can have a nice little meal here? Use the kitchen, like Ruth offered.” The first moments of vacation and I am already cooking and cleaning dishes again.

“We don’t have to take her up on it right away,” I say. “Besides, wouldn’t it be easier to just go out?”

“I’ll get something easy. Plus, tell you what, I’ll take Millie with me. You can relax, take a shower, enjoy some alone time. You need some time to yourself.” The idea of being able to unwind and shower without the possibility of a baby’s cry interrupting it is quite tempting.

Of course it is.

Give in.

Let her go.

I hesitate at the thought of the two of them going off alone in a foreign country. “I’ll even pick up a bottle of wine so we can toast our first night in Canada.” My hesitation fades.

I send Tucker off with Millie, the diaper bag, and instructions to text me and let me know what temperature to set the oven to so it can be ready when he gets back. As I close the door behind them, the silence of the room is strange, but wonderful. After a day of travel, surrounded by other people, and bombarded with the noise of the world, this is heaven.

I take my time in the bathroom, looking at all the amenities Ruth has stocked on the counter and in the towel closet. I pick out the largest, fluffiest towel and hang it on the back of the door before starting the shower. The water gets hot fast and steam quickly fills the room. I step into the shower, the chill of the marble in shocking contrast with the hot stream cascading over me. I take in a deep breath and let the stress of the day swirl down the drain. At home, I am so used to doing this all very quickly. I have perfected the fast shower to fit into the moments when Millie is sleeping. No relaxation allowed. But looking through the glass towards the bathroom counter, I am reminded that there is no baby monitor there to check, because there is no baby here. I have a momentary twinge of separation anxiety. My hand drifts across the scar on my lower belly to remind me of her presence in the world. Tucker has her. She is fine. I can slow down and enjoy this moment of luxury.

You don’t love her enough to care that much.

Tucker has not messaged by the time I am out of the shower, so I put on my jeans, a sweater, and boots and step out onto the balcony. The villa is located right on the banks of the Bow River and the view from our sizable deck is incredible. I imagine it printed on a large canvas, framed and hanging above the fireplace in one of the estates in the gated communities down the road from us back home. The lady of the house, pearls around her neck and cocktail in hand, would say they got it at a small gallery downtown. They spent way too much on it, even though they’re good friends with the owner. He’s from Paris, you know. All the galleries there want his work. But the couple just had to have this piece because it reminded them of their place in Vail, or Zermatt, or Chamonix. Their friends comment on it every time they visit. The woman makes sure of that.

I close my eyes and listen to the water rushing over rocks and through frozen banks. I feel completely at peace.

Beyond the river is a stretch of frosted pines that blanket the ground as it rises into some of the most magnificent mountains I have ever seen. The Canadian Rockies are simply astounding and they are right there. Not some cloud-covered view off in the distance. They tower above me. I take a deep breath and feel the coming snow on my tongue. It sparks with the promise of powder. I look north toward Banff and imagine the wide stretches of plowed mountainside, just waiting for my skis. This is going to be an excellent few days. This is exactly what I needed. What we needed. A chance to escape regular life and reboot. A chance for Tucker and I to reconnect. Recently, I’ve felt like we have been so consumed with our individual days and the task of taking care of our daughter, that we have lost what we had between us. A break from it all might just provide the path back to us.

See. You know she’s too much.

You don’t want to be a mom.

My phone beeps.

‘Sorry. Couldn’t find the place. Millie in a mood. How about you just order pizza. We’ll be back in ten.’

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About the Creator

Megan Clancy

Author & Book Coach, wife, mother, adventure-seeker.

BA in English from Colorado College & MFA from the University of Melbourne

Writing here is Fiction & Non-Fiction

www.meganaclancy.com

Find me on Twitter & IG @mclancyauthor

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