BY late afternoon, the sky had begun to dim, though a bright band of sunlight still lingered on the horizon, casting long shadows over the snow. The day had been crisp and clear, and now the cold was settling in again as the sun dipped. Henry had spent the afternoon splitting wood out back, stacking it by the porch, and now he carried an armload inside. He paused by the window, watching the last flare of orange and gold in the sky. It had been a long, quiet stretch since Camila had retreated upstairs that morning, and he hadn’t seen her all day. He assumed she was resting, but he made a mental note to check on her soon if she didn’t come down.
As he set the logs by the hearth, he heard the creak of steps from the staircase above. The sound was tentative, careful, and he knew she was finally on her way back down.
As Camila’s footsteps grew closer, Henry turned from the window, offering a small nod as she reached the bottom of the stairs. She looked a little steadier now, though still tired. Without a word, he gestured toward the kitchen table where a pot of tea still sat still warm, with two cups set beside it.
They settled across from each other in the quiet of the evening. The glow of the setting sun cast a soft light over the room as Henry broke the silence. “I figured you might be hungry. Feel free to join me for a bit of dinner.”
Camila managed a small smile and nodded, easing into the chair. As Henry poured the tea, he noticed she was still wearing the oversized pajamas he’d found for her. After a moment, he cleared his throat and said, “You know, there are still some clothes of my ex-wife’s in the guest room closet. They might not be exactly your style or size, but they’re clean.”
“The washer and dryer are back here,” he said, nodding toward the door at the rear. “If you need a hand with them, just let me know.”
She looked a little surprised by the offer, then genuinely grateful. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I really appreciate that.”
They sat for a few minutes in a companionable silence, sipping their tea, the quiet of the farmhouse settling around them. The initial tension had eased, and the warmth of the simple gesture made it easier for her to finally open up and speak. She felt she owed him an explanation, at least enough to make sense of why she was here.
“I was at a party in upstate New York,” she began, unaware that her words caught Henry off guard. “Not far from the Vermont border, I guess. I didn’t even realize I’d crossed over into Vermont when I left. I just needed to get away.”
Henry looked up, a flicker of surprise in his eyes, quickly giving way to a warm, sympathetic gaze. He didn’t interrupt her. He simply listened, letting her continue at her own pace, his expression showing that he genuinely wanted to hear what she had to say.
“I’d been having doubts about everything,” she continued, “About the drugs, about the people I was with. It wasn’t really my choice to get into it, and I was trying to escape it all. But I was still high when I got behind the wheel, and that’s how I ended up crashing out here.”
She paused, her eyes distant, then added with a weary shake of her head, “And thinking about it now, I was so out of it I didn’t even pack a thing.” She looked at him, a faint, almost bitter smile tugging at her lips. “So no stash. Not even credit cards. No driver’s license. Nothing.”
“…and the Beamer?” he asked, watching her carefully.
“Mine,” she shot back, her voice low but edged with defiance, as if daring him to doubt it.
Henry gave a small nod, a trace of understanding softening the edge of his reserve. In the silence that followed, he offered a quiet understanding. “Well, you’re here now, and you’ve got a chance to rest and figure things out,” he said gently. “We’ll take it one step at a time.”
Henry’s gentle words made Camila pause for a moment. She hadn’t expected him to include himself in her struggle, and it surprised her that he seemed willing to share the burden, even a little.
“You’ve seen this before, haven’t you?” she asked quietly, reading the unspoken understanding in his eyes.
He didn’t answer, simply holding her gaze for a moment before looking away. There was a hint of something unspoken in his silence, a line he wasn’t ready to cross. Camila understood and didn’t push any further. Instead, she nodded slightly, accepting the quiet boundary he’d drawn.
Henry had lowered his head, his hands folded loosely around the cooling mug, as if lost in meditation. Camila watched him, uncertain, wondering if the conversation had ended or if he would speak again at all. The silence stretched until finally he raised his head.
“Is there anybody you need to contact?” he asked. “Anybody who misses you? As I said, I have internet connection for emails, video calls, whatever you need.”
She held his gaze, giving the question long thought before slowly shaking her head. “People missing me? Certainly. But as you said, let’s rest and figure things out. I need to take a look at my life and possibly make some changes. This retreat…” She gave him a small, wry wink. “This retreat will help me with that step.”
Henry nodded, understanding, but said nothing.
After a brief, slightly awkward pause, Camila offered Henry a small, appreciative nod. “I think I’ll go find something to change into,” she said quietly, pushing her chair back. Henry just nodded, letting her go.
As she turned toward the stairs, he added, “Supper will be ready in half an hour. I hope you like chicken soup.”
“Love it,” she replied softly, before slipping back upstairs to the guest room to sort through the clothes he’d mentioned.
“Oh, one more thing,” Henry called after her as she was nearly out of sight on the stairs. “Any food allergies?”
“Nope,” she answered over her shoulder.
Satisfied, Henry turned his attention back to the living room fireplace. He arranged the firewood with practiced hands, then struck a match and coaxed the flames to life. As the fire crackled to fill the room with warmth, his mind was full of thoughts—memories of the past, concern for the young woman upstairs, and the unexpected turn their lives had taken in just a single day. Then he remembered he had promised supper. With a quiet sigh, he rose from his chair and walked into the kitchen.
After a little while, Henry was in the kitchen slicing a baguette to go with the soup. The scent of chicken broth filled the air as he heard Camila’s footsteps coming down the stairs. He glanced over, and a soft chuckle escaped him. There she was, wearing an oversized sweater and even more oversized corduroy pants that she had to hold up with both hands.
“Don’t laugh at me,” she said, half embarrassed and half amused. “I couldn’t find a belt anywhere.”
Henry realized that his former wife hadn’t left any belts behind, so he rummaged around in a closet until he found a length of rope. Handing it to her, he said, “This should do the trick.”
She took it with a smirk and then barked at him playfully, “Turn around!”
Henry blinked, then realized and quickly turned his back to give her some privacy. He busied himself with the soup and the bread for a moment until she said, “Okay, you can turn back around.”
When he did, he saw her now looking a bit more secure, the rope holding up the pants. He gave her a genuine smile. “That’s a great look,” he said, a hint of warmth in his voice.
He watched her for a moment, noting the steadiness in her posture before adding, “And it seems like you’re doing a bit better,” his eyes lingering on her as he studied her closely..
“Still a little queasy now and then,” she admitted, then broke into a grin. “But honestly? I’m starving.”
Henry nodded and moved toward the stove. With a slight turn of his head, he called out, “Alexa, play Moody Blues.” A moment later, the opening chords of Nights in White Satin drifted through the room, wrapping the kitchen in a soft haze of sound.
Henry served the chicken soup and placed a basket of sliced baguette in the center of the table. They ate quietly for a while, the warmth of the meal filling the silence. As Camila glanced around the kitchen, her eyes landed on a large, impressive espresso machine on the counter.
“Wow, that’s a pretty serious espresso machine,” she remarked with a little surprise. “Do you like a good espresso?”
Henry followed her gaze and smiled wryly. “I do like a good latte,” he admitted, “but honestly, that thing is mostly decoration right now. My ex-wife bought it for me. Also supplied the espresso beans. She meant well, but I never really figured out how to handle it.”
Camila considered this for a moment and then looked at him thoughtfully. “Well, looks like we’ve both got our emotional baggage,” she said lightly, “but it sounds like your ex-wife isn’t one of them.”
Henry gave a small, reflective smile. “We actually had a good marriage in a lot of ways,” he admitted. “But we stayed together mostly for the kids once things started to drift. She’s happier now than she ever was back then, and honestly, I’m happy for her.”
Camila blinked. “Oh, I’m sorry if—”
He waved a hand gently. “No, nothing to be sorry about. You see, she realized she was gay, but she couldn’t admit it to herself or anyone else for a long time. It was a burden she carried from when she was young, and I just didn’t see it.”
He hesitated, surprised at how easily the words had come. It wasn’t like him to share so openly, especially with someone he’d just met, yet there was an unexpected relief in saying it out loud.
“Eventually, we sat down and had an open conversation about it. I love her, and I had to accept who she really was. We stayed together for the kids until they were grown, and once they were on their own, we divorced amicably. Now she’s remarried and living her best life in New York City, and I’m here in Vermont. We’re both happy.”
He paused, as though reliving the memories. “We married too young. Both of us barely twenty when she got pregnant. And we stayed married forty-two years.”
Camila let out a quiet, almost reverent, “Wow.”
Henry nodded with a small smile. “Well, it was a façade for the outside world long before we separated. The first time we thought about divorce was when our daughter got married. We even had the papers drawn up. Then she got pregnant, and we decided to wait. It took many more years before it was final, life having its way of tangling things.”
He trailed off, the words drying in his throat, and it was clear he’d reached the edge of what he wanted to share. But he recovered quickly, straightening a little as if shaking off the weight of the memory.
He chuckled. “You know, my ex-wife and her new wife visit me every now and then—maybe twice a year. Her wife is lovely, but she never stops talking. I mean, she talks so much that even the Alexa over there starts lighting up like it’s waiting for a command. Poor thing never gets any rest when she’s around—just blinks and blinks but doesn’t get a single command.”
He grinned a bit more, adding with a playful twinkle in his eye, “She’s one of those people that when she eventually passes, you’ll have to kill her mouth separately.”
Camila laughed at his joke, genuinely enjoying the lightness of the moment. They continued eating their soup, and for a while, she seemed lost in thought. Henry noticed her hesitation, as if she was on the verge of saying something more about herself but wasn’t quite sure how to begin. He didn’t push her, simply waiting patiently.
“You know,” he said at last, breaking the silence while Camila slowly chewed on a piece of bread, her eyes fixed on him. “What life has taught me is that you never give up on your dreams. You don’t burn them to ashes, and you don’t let cobwebs grow over them.”
He paused, his gaze drifting somewhere far beyond the kitchen walls. “I’m not saying every dream will come true. But you never find out unless you try. And even if it doesn’t turn out the way you hoped, you’ll still end up in a better place than where you started.”
Camila kept chewing, but her thoughts were elsewhere now, caught on his words. She couldn’t shape a reply in the same depth, yet something in her shifted, a small spark of resolve. Finally, she swallowed and seemed to gather herself.
“Hey, Henry?” she said—and it was the first time she’d spoken his name.
He looked up, meeting her gaze.
“About that idea of contacting someone to let them know where I am—could I borrow your laptop for a bit?”
“Of course,” Henry said with a nod. He stood up and disappeared down the hallway into his office. For a minute or two, Camila could hear the faint rustle of papers and the soft creak of a desk drawer opening. A moment later, he returned carrying a laptop that looked like a recent model, its sleek casing gleaming as he set it carefully on the table in front of her.
“No need to log in,” he said with a small smile. “It’s already connected to the internet.”
“Thank you,” she said, a bit of gratitude in her eyes. “I’ll be back in a little while.”
He gave her a reassuring nod, letting her know she had all the time she needed.
Upstairs, Camila set the laptop on the desk by the window. The screen’s glow lit her face as she stared at the login page of her email, fingers hovering above the keys. A dozen names flickered through her mind—friends, people she partied with, family she hadn’t spoken to in too long—but none of them felt right.
At last, she opened a new message and typed only one address. The words came slowly, haltingly, but she forced them out. A brief note, nothing more than a few lines, enough to let someone know she was alive. She read it twice, then hit send before she could change her mind.
Her stomach turned, that same nagging queasiness crawling up her throat. She closed the lid, lay back on the bed for a while, listening to the wind push against the farmhouse walls. The dogs had followed her up, circling once before curling together near the door. Their quiet breathing filled the silence, oddly comforting.
Only then did she rise again, pick up the laptop, and head back downstairs. She handed the laptop back to Henry who had just finished cleaning up. He took it with a small nod, neither of them needing many words. They moved into the living room, too tired for more conversation, and settled in quietly—Henry sinking into the couch while Camila sat on the floor in front of a wide chair, the two retrievers curling beside her and resting their heads across her thigh.
The TV flickered softly in the background, just a murmur of sound. Without really planning to, they both drifted off to sleep, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with them.
Some time later, Camila woke up and realized they’d both nodded off. She glanced over at Henry, who was still dozing, and gave a small smile. “Good night, Henry,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. Then she quietly made her way upstairs to the guest room, leaving him to sleep in peace.
