Page 46 of Timber Ridge
We continue working, the air between us thick and simmering with sexual tension. Every brush of our hands, every shared glance, builds a quiet, growing need to be together—alone. When Kane laughs, it’s a sound that cuts through the noise, making my pulse race.
“Alright, taste test,” I say, holding out a spoonful, my fingers grazing his.
He takes a bite, his eyes widening. “Okay, you were right. This is amazing.”
“I told you.”
Hailey bounds down the stairs, her arms full of toys. “I’m ready!” she announces. It’s been so long since their community gathered, and they have so much to celebrate. Kane’s dad and his brother-in-law Matt are home, and little Cody is the newest resident to welcome.
We race around the kitchen gathering everything we need and head out. The drive is short, but the anticipation makes it seem so much longer.
As we arrive, I see Kane’s father and brothers have taken charge of the makeshift barbecue—a rustic contraption fashioned from a halved metal barrel and a grate. The air is thick with the aroma of sizzling hot dogs and burgers, a scent that speaks to a feast.
Inside, the residents have outdone themselves, the tables groaning under the weight of heaping bowls of potato salad, baked beans, and plates piled high with fresh berry tarts and other sweets. Why they haven’t gathered in years baffles me. It’s obvious they enjoy each other’s company. It just shows me that people can make time for anything they want if it’s important enough, and community is important. But now, as I observe the day unfolding before me, I experience a sense of accomplishment. All this took was an idea, a few handmade flyers, and May’s enticement of free hotdogs and hamburgers. This event brings everyone together, which not only helps strengthen the community, but also helps me.
I weave through the crowd, scanning each face for a hint of familiarity. Today, I'm more than just a potluck participant. I'm searching for a connection to my past. Looking for features like mine. Blonde hair, blue eyes—anything that might lead me to my father.
I move closer to a group of elderly townspeople standing in a circle, their faces etched with deep lines and wise eyes, each wrinkle carrying the town's history. Gathering a surge of courage, I clear my throat and step into their collective gaze. "Excuse me," I say, then introduce myself. "I'm Timber." My voice carries a certainty I lack inside. "I'm looking for someone who might have passed through here. Has anyone ever come across a woman named Aspen Moore?
Just then, Kane walks over, his presence momentarily drawing my attention. Our eyes meet, and a spark ignites between us. He leans in, his lips brushing against my cheek in a familiar, comforting way. “I’m going to join my father and brothers outside,” he says.
As he pulls away, the sensation of his touch lingers, and I wish he was kissing my lips instead of my cheek. Turning back to the group, one of the elderly men steps forward, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looks at me. “Aspen Moore, you say? That name doesn’t sound like it belongs to anyone from around here,” he says with a shake of his head. “What’s your relationship to her?”
“She was my mother.” A stir of emotions wells in me as I speak her name out loud. “She passed away, and I realized I know very little about where she came from.”
The man’s expression changes, his earlier curiosity shifting to sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear that, young lady. Everyone should know their family history. It’s tough not knowing, isn’t it?” He looks around at his companions, hoping perhaps for a spark of recognition, but there’s none. He points to a lady across the room. “Ask Rose Whitaker over yonder.”
With a nod, I thank the group for their time and continue on my journey. My path takes me through a maze of festively adorned tables toward a woman meticulously placing the final touches on a spread of desserts arrayed on a side table. On the way, I almost bump into Theresa, Tommy’s mom.
“Oh, Timber!” Theresa exclaims with a warm smile. “I was just about to look for you. I wanted to let you know that Tommy won’t be here all next week. We’re visiting family in Oregon.”
“That sounds like a lot of fun. Thanks for letting me know,” I reply, trying to keep my disappointment at not having him in class for a whole week hidden. “I hope you have a great trip.” She waves down a friend from across the room and I continue on my quest.
“Mrs. Whitaker?” I interrupt, and she turns, her face lighting up.
“You must be Timber.”
“I am. It’s nice meeting you.”
“This is a good thing you did.”
I look around and see everyone enjoying themselves.
“It’s wonderful so many people showed up.”
She looks around. “Practically the entire town.”
I hesitate, then plunge forward. "I was wondering if you've ever heard of someone named Aspen Moore. She was my mother and recently passed. I'm trying to learn more about her past and think she may have spent some time here."
Mrs. Whitaker pauses, her eyes narrowing as she searches her memory. “Aspen Moore ... The name doesn’t ring a bell, I’m afraid. Did she grow up here?”
“I don’t think so, but I can’t be sure,” I admit. “There’s so much I don’t know.” That was the truth. My mother didn’t share much, and she didn’t dwell on things. I remember once getting an F on a test. She told me that the F didn’t have to move forward with me. It was yesterday’s F, and it wouldn’t matter to tomorrow’s A. I could leave it behind and never mention it again.
Mrs. Whitaker gives my hand a comforting squeeze. “Have a chat with May,” she suggests. “She’s the one who greets everyone at the café. If anyone knows anything, it’ll be her.”
I depart from her, experiencing a tightness that constricts my chest. The memory of May’s previous words comes back to me. Despite her intricate knowledge of everyone’s comings and goings, she too had no recollection of my mother. I’ve once again hit a dead end.
Drawn almost magnetically, my steps guide me toward Kane, seeking comfort in his familiar presence.