Riley stood on the veranda staring at a pot she had been avoiding for nearly a week. The pentas looked great. The scaevola was trailing fabulously over the edge exactly as it should. And right in front, where everyone climbing the steps could see it, sat a nasty brown plant that was very clearly dead.

She folded her arms. The plant did not appear concerned.

“You’ve been standing there a while.”

Riley turned. Ben was coming up the path carrying two mugs of coffee.

“I paid good money for that plant,” she said.

Ben handed her a mug and looked into the pot. “I don’t think it’s worried about getting your money’s worth.”

Riley laughed despite herself. She looked back at the plant. The thing was beyond saving. Brittle. Brown. Finished.

Still, she had left it there. Every morning she noticed it. Every evening she noticed it. And every day she found a reason not to pull it out.

Ben studied her for a moment.

“Do you think it’s coming back?”

“No.”

“Then why is it still there?”

Riley opened her mouth, then closed it again. The truth sounded ridiculous once she tried to say it out loud.

“Because then there’ll be a hole.”

Ben nodded. As if that explained everything.

Maybe it did. The dead plant bothered her. The empty space would bother her too. At least with the dead plant she could pretend she hadn’t given up on it.

Ben pointed toward the garden bench where a trowel lay in the shade.

“Better dirt than dead.”

Riley smiled.

“You’ve said that before.”

“Because it’s true.”

She set down her coffee and crouched beside the pot. The stem snapped between her fingers. No resistance.

No surprise.

Just confirmation.

A moment later the plant was out. She brushed a little soil back into place and stood. The pot wasn’t perfect. There was an obvious gap where the plant had been.

There were still decisions to make. But somehow it looked better.

Ben took a sip of coffee.

“See?”

Riley nodded.

The strange thing was that the empty space didn’t bother her nearly as much as she thought it would.

The dead plant had been asking something of her every time she walked past.

Fix me.

Save me.

Do something.

The empty space asked for nothing at all.

It simply waited.

For whatever might come next.

Riley looked out across Echo Canyon, the morning sun just beginning to touch the far ridge.

Not every problem needed to be solved immediately.

Not every ending needed to be hidden.

Sometimes the best thing you could do was remove what was clearly done and give yourself room to decide what came next.

She picked up her coffee.

“Better dirt than dead,” she said.

Ben grinned.

“Now you’re getting it.”

➿➿➿➿➿➿➿➿

There’s more to this story than what appears on the page. There always is. Story Insiders come inside to see the layers—the private journals, the complete reflections, the full chapters as I write them. If you’re ready to sit closer, I invite you…

Come inside.

Chapter 8 - Mirage of Trust

Today’s chapter is available to all subscribers.

New to Echo Canyon?

Start here: Chapter 1

Or go to the Table of Contents for the Chapter listing

Australia (Flashback)

The next morning, Quinn carried her coffee out to the cottage’s lanai and stood there a moment before sitting. The harbor stretched wide in front of her, light moving across the surface in slow, shifting bands. A breeze came through the trees behind her, carrying salt and eucalyptus. It felt like a place she could breathe.

Her comm sat face down on the table next to her coffee.

When it chirped, Quinn turned and stared at it, not reaching for it right away. Her hand hovered just above it, the pause instinctive now, something she didn’t question anymore.

Then she turned it over.

Liz. The breath left her in a quiet rush.

“Hi, sleepyhead. What are you doing on this gorgeous day?”

“Hi, Liz.” She smiled, hearing the relief in her own voice and not trying to cover it. “And I’ve been up for hours, by the way. I’m just not all put together like you clearly are. I’m on vacation. Footloose and fancy free.”

Connie leaned into the frame, nudging Liz aside. “Want to go to the beach? We know the perfect spot. And there’s a café nearby that actually has good food.”

“That sounds perfect. Should I come to Sydney?”

“No need,” Liz said. “We’re catching the ferry from our side and switching over at Barangaroo. You’ll see us.”

“We’ll grab the river ferry down to Cabarita,” Connie added. “It’s worth the extra ride.”

“I’ll be there.”

The call ended. Quinn stood there a moment longer, looking out over the water, then moved inside.

She packed quickly, more decisively than she had in days. Swimsuit. Light dress. Sunscreen. The hat she’d bought and hadn’t worn.

In the mirror, she caught her reflection in passing.

Quinn groaned. “I look like I’ve been beaten up.”

She pinched her cheeks, bringing a little color back. “That will have to do.”

Barangaroo was busy when she arrived, ferries coming and going in a steady rhythm.

She saw Liz and Connie step off the ferry from Sydney, mid-conversation, moving easily beside each other. No hesitation in their pace, no need to check where the other was.

“Quinn!” Liz lifted her hand.

Connie followed, smiling as they crossed toward her.

“You made it,” Connie said.

“So did you.”

“We always do,” Liz said lightly. “Eventually.”

Another ferry was pulling in.

“That’s ours,” Connie said. “We’ll catch this one downriver.”

They moved with the small group boarding, stepping onto the narrower, flat river ferry that would take them toward Cabarita.

The seats lined the edges, leaving them close together. Liz settled on one side of Quinn, Connie on the other, as if it had been decided without saying anything.

“This is the better part of the ride,” Liz said. “Once we’re out of the harbor, everything slows down.”

The ferry pushed off, the engine low beneath them. They fell into conversation without effort.

“We tried to find this place yesterday by car,” Connie said. “Liz insisted we turn left.”

“It was the correct turn.”

“It absolutely was not.”

“We arrived.”

“After going in a full circle.”

Liz shrugged. “A scenic adjustment.”

Quinn laughed, the sound coming easily. It took her a moment to recognize what felt different.

She wasn’t tracking anyone.

The beach was small, tucked into a quiet curve of land. There was no need to rush anywhere. By unspoken agreement, they swam first, the water warmer than Quinn expected, the waves steady and predictable. For a while, she let herself move with it, not thinking ahead, not replaying last week’s events.

Later, they sat in the sand, towels wrapped loosely around their shoulders, watching the waves lap up onto the shore as the tide went out.

At the café, they found a table near the edge of the deck. Service was quick, and their drinks were in their hands in a moment.

Their conversation began with easy questions, each answer opening another small door. Quinn gave them the condensed version of her life. Moving every few years as a child with Air Force parents. Starting employment with Homeland Security, meeting Robbie and later, after moving to Vermont, Riley. And this trip, her first time in Australia.

Liz and Connie filled in their own pieces without hesitation.

“Seattle, originally,” Liz said. “A long time ago.”

“Fifteen years here now,” Connie added. “We said we’d try it for a year.”

“We’re still trying it,” Liz said.

Quinn smiled. “Seems like it stuck. How long have you two been together?”

Liz and Connie exchanged a glance.

“Twenty-five years,” Connie said.

“We’re giving it a bit more time,” Liz added.

“Still undecided,” Connie said.

Quinn laughed, and this time it stayed with her.

“So Homeland Security?” Liz asked without a complete question.

Quinn leaned back slightly.

“Yes, Homeland Security.”

Connie raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a casual profession.”

“It was never a casual job.”

“What kind of work?”

Quinn hesitated, then answered.

“Identity protection. Border work. A lot of pattern recognition.”

“Tiring?” Liz asked.

“In the end, yes.” Quinn paused, then added, “But I was good at it.”

They didn’t ask her to explain it further. The conversation shifted easily.

“We lived in Hawaii for a while,” Quinn said, looking past them toward the water. “Years ago. When things were… better.”

“With Robbie?” Liz asked.

Quinn nodded.

“We met there. Both working. It was good.” She let out a small breath. “We were together about three years before everything moved.”

“Work?” Connie asked.

“Yes. I went to Vermont. She went to Japan.”

“And that was the end of it?”

“For a long time.”

Quinn rested her hands lightly on the table, fingers still. “Seven years,” she said. “We didn’t see each other. Then she reached out.”

Liz didn’t interrupt.

“We talked for months. VID calls. A lot of them.” Quinn gave a small, almost amused shake of her head. “It felt… real again. Or close enough that I wanted to believe it was.”

“And you decided to try again,” Connie said.

Quinn nodded. “I took early retirement. Went back to Hawaii. The plan was to go back and forth with her to Japan.”

“How was that?” Liz asked.

Quinn considered the question.

“Lonelier than I expected,” she said. “Japan wasn’t… what I thought it would be. Not that way.”

She paused.

“I found myself alone more than I thought I’d be.”

“And then?” Connie asked.

“I went back to Hawaii. To the house we had before.”

The word house didn’t quite land right.

“Our place,” she corrected. “The hale.”

Liz nodded once.

“And after that?” she asked.

“I called Riley,” Quinn said. “Asked her to pick me up at the airport.”

“Riley?”

Quinn smiled. “My best friend. I met her soon after I moved to Vermont.”

“I stayed in Echo Canyon with her for a while,” Quinn continued. “Then Robbie called again.”

She looked out toward the water.

“She wanted me to meet her here. In Australia. Said we needed time together. Just us.”

“And you came,” Connie said.

Quinn nodded. “Of course I did.” The words settled between them. Quinn looked down at her glass.

She sat with them for a moment, then added, “By then I knew more than I had the first time.”

Liz waited.

“But I still wanted…” Quinn stopped, then tried again. “I thought if we had the time again, like we did in Hawaii, it would come back.”

“The way it was,” Connie said.

“Yes.”

Quinn let out a breath.

“It didn’t feel like that.”

Silence settled at the table. The two women didn’t take it any further. They stayed longer than they meant to.

The conversation drifted back toward lighter things. Travel stories. Food. Places that surprised them.

At one point, Liz said, “We’re heading down the coast next week. We do a small cruise down to Tanzania.”

“Every year,” Connie added. “It’s our reset.”

Quinn looked at them, but let it go for the moment. “That sounds good,” Quinn said.

“It is,” Liz said. “No decisions to make. Just show up.”

Connie smiled. “You’d like it. You could come.”

Quinn’s nod was almost imperceptible. But she didn’t answer. She didn’t dismiss it either.

They took the same ferries back. This time, they sat in the sun, the energy quieter, the day settling around them. Connie pointed out something along the shoreline. Liz responded. Their conversation moved in small, easy rhythms.

Quinn leaned back, letting the warmth settle into her shoulders. She listened without needing to follow every thread. No one asked anything more of her. That was something she wasn’t used to.

At Barangaroo, they stepped off together and moved with the crowd before slowing near the edge of the dock.

“This was a good call,” Connie said.

“It was,” Quinn said.

Liz looked at her. “We’ll be around a few more days.”

Quinn met her eyes. “I’d love to see you again.”

Liz smiled. “Good.”

They stood there a moment longer than necessary, then, with a hug, separated, each heading in their own direction. Quinn watched as Connie and Liz reached for each other’s hands, their heads leaning together as they walked away, already laughing.

Back at the cottage, Quinn set her things down and stepped out onto the lanai again.

The harbor looked the same. Nothing had changed. But something inside her had shifted. Only then did she realize her shoulders had dropped.

For the first time since everything had started to come apart, she wasn’t holding all of it alone.

—-———

Most weeks, full chapters are shared with Story Insiders on the veranda.

Today, I’m pulling up a few extra chairs.

Chapter 8 is open to everyone in the Veranda Open House.

To always have a seat on the veranda, I invite you to…

Come inside

When I created Story Insiders, I knew I wanted paid subscribers to receive more than early access to fiction chapters.

I wanted to offer something that felt genuinely different.

Something more intimate.

At first, I thought the Private Journals would simply be bonus material. Extra scenes. Additional character insights. Something fun for readers who want to spend more time with the women of Echo Canyon.

I was wrong.

The Private Journals have become one of the most surprising and valuable parts of my writing process.

Here’s what I’ve learned.

A chapter shows what a character does.

It shows what she says out loud, how she behaves, what choices she makes, and how others experience her.

But a private journal does something entirely different.

A private journal reveals what she is finally admitting to herself.

And those are not always the same thing.

That difference has fascinated me.

Because it isn’t just true in fiction.

It’s true in life.

Most of us have two narratives.

There’s the version we live out loud. The capable version. The one who gets things done, answers the texts, shows up, handles the responsibilities, and keeps moving.

Then there’s the quieter story.

The one we tell ourselves when no one else is listening.

Sometimes that second story is the truer one.

I saw this again today while writing Skylar’s private journal.

Skylar is a retired archaeologist and bestselling historical novelist in Mirage of Trust. She is brilliant, accomplished, disciplined, and highly respected. She often comes across as one of the strongest women in the canyon.

But strength can be misleading.

Strong women get tired, too.

In her journal, Skylar writes that she is exhausted, not from writing itself, but from everything surrounding it.

The files.
The deadlines.
The marketing.
The endless demands for visibility and access.

Sound familiar?

What surprised me most was not her exhaustion.

It was what restored her.

Not more rest.
Not a productivity system.
Not someone solving her problems.

What restored her was being led back to the thing that makes her feel most like herself.

Her novel.

Maybe this is true for other authors. Maybe it’s more true for fiction writers.

Because it’s true for me, if I don’t touch my characters for a day or two, I’m not happy.

What restores us is not stepping away from work. It can be returning to the right work.

The work that connects us to ourselves.

That’s what the Private Journals are helping me discover, both as a writer and as a woman in her seventies still building something new.

They are not extra chapters.

They are not deleted scenes.

They are where the women tell the truth.

And increasingly, they are helping me tell the truth, too.

That’s why I save the Private Journals for Story Insiders.

Not because they’re hidden bonus content.
Because they offer a more intimate look into these women.

Start reading their private journals.

Here’s what Jane, a Story Insider said:

Week 3

Riley sat alone on the veranda while the last light slipped from the canyon walls. A journal rested open in her lap, one she hadn’t touched in years. A folded sketch slid from between the pages. She recognized it immediately.

It was a building with stone arches and curved windows. A place she had designed long before she moved to Echo Canyon. A greenhouse.

Back then, she had called it impractical. It was way too expensive and probably too ambitious. Whenever she pulled out the sketch again, she told herself she was too busy. Years went by, and she simply stopped thinking about it.

Tonight, sitting alone on her veranda, the sketch still tugged at her. The canyon’s breeze rippled a corner of the page. The dream hadn’t disappeared. It seemed like it had been waiting.

Riley closed the journal and looked into the darkness. The dream had waited. Waiting for what?

The question followed Riley into the next morning. She stood in the kitchen looking out at her expansive back garden. Could she build the greenhouse out there? When she had told herself she wasn’t building anything anymore?

She found Quinn on the veranda with a cup of coffee growing cold beside her.

Quinn was staring toward the canyon rim.

“What are you thinking about?” Riley asked.

Quinn laughed softly. “That’s the problem. I don’t think I am.”

Riley sat down.

“For thirty years, my life was schedules, reports, investigations, and problems to solve. Every day had a purpose.”

“And now?”

“Now I think about groceries. Bills. Appointments.”

The words hung between them.

“When did I stop imagining how things might be different?” Quinn asked.

Riley smiled.

“I asked myself the same question last night.”

Quinn looked at her. “I used to think about possibilities. Now I think about errands.”

The thought stayed with both Riley and Quinn all day.

That evening, the women gathered for dinner like they often did, on Riley’s veranda.

The conversation wandered on the normal topics, moving from horses to books to whatever Val happened to be growing.

Then Raven set down her wine glass. “Let’s try something.”

Four pairs of eyes narrowed suspiciously. Raven ignored them.

What would you regret not doing before your time here is done?”

The women put down their glasses and quieted.

“Not what you’ve accomplished,” she clarified. “Not what you want to buy or what you’ve given to everyone else. What do you still want for yourself?”

No one spoke. Then Riley surprised herself. “I want to build a greenhouse. For me.”

The others turned toward her. “A real one. I designed it decades ago and never built it. The sketch tumbled out of an old journal last night.” Murmurs of appreciation filled the night air.

Quinn nodded slowly. “I’m not trying to copy Riley.” She looked at Riley and winked. “I want to create a home, here in Echo Canyon. A place I own. I have never owned a house. I don’t count the condo. That has always felt like a rental.”

Val stared at the table. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.

“I want to feel wanted for myself.”

Her honesty settled over the group. Nobody spoke. Somewhere below the veranda a coyote called from the canyon.

Val stared at her hands.

Skylar looked down at her plate, pausing to gather her thoughts.

“I was going to say that I want to stop being afraid. But that’s not it. “I want enough time to write all the stories still waiting for me.”

Raven smiled.

“Good.”

Then the four women turned toward her.

“Oh no,” Raven said.

Raven tried to get away without answering her own question.

“Oh yes, Raven,” Quinn replied. “You started this. I think we know you well enough to know you already have your answer.”

Raven laughed. OK, but you’re going to laugh.

Raven looked down into her wine. “I’d like to know what it feels like.”

“What?”

“To fall in love.”

The table went quiet. Raven laughed softly. “See? I told you.”

No one laughed. Raven picked up her wine in the silence.

“Really?” Skylar finally broke the silence.

Raven nodded. “Our people teach us to stand on our own. As a Shaman, I was never encouraged to pursue a lifelong partnership.”

“So you’ve never been in love?”

“No.”

“Even in the silence of your rules?”

“No.”

The answer felt much larger than the single word.

Skylar was the one to say what everyone was thinking. “I’m so sorry, Raven.”

Later that week, Val found Skylar in her garden.

The fountain murmured beside them while the late afternoon sun filtered through desert willows.

“I keep thinking about what I said,” Val admitted.

“About wanting to feel wanted?”

Val nodded.

“I spent most of my life helping people. Nursing. Volunteering. Taking care of things.”

“And?”

“I convinced myself that wanting more was selfish.”

Skylar studied her friend. “You know what I think?”

Val shook her head.

“I think wanting something is often how we discover what’s missing.”

Val blinked. The words landed somewhere deeper than she expected.

For a long time, neither woman spoke. The garden did the talking for them. Water trickled, and birds sang as they darted in and out of the spray. The scent of rosemary drifted on the breeze.

Finally, Val smiled. “Maybe I need to stop apologizing for wanting things.”

Skylar squeezed her hand. “If I had lived your life, I would be agonizing too. But, that sounds like a good place to start.”

Before Val left, Skylar walked her through the garden. They paused beside the fountain.

“This place almost never happened,” Skylar said.

Val looked around in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I dreamed about this garden for years.”

Skylar swept her hand toward the arches, the pots overflowing with color, the carefully placed stonework.

“I kept telling myself it was foolish. Too much money. Too much effort. Too indulgent.”

Val laughed. “It doesn’t look foolish.”

“No.” Skylar smiled. “It looks exactly like the dream I almost talked myself out of.”

A few nights later, after a busy day in town, Riley returned to her veranda. The sketchbook still rested beside her chair. The canyon stretched beneath the stars. She thought about Quinn, Val, Skylar and Raven.

She recalled all the things they had quietly stopped imagining. They didn’t lose sight of their dreams because they died. Because life had gotten loud, somewhere along the way, they had stopped asking themselves what they still wanted.

Riley opened the sketchbook again. The greenhouse waited on the page exactly where she had left it.

As she looked at her sketch, she smiled and took a deep breath of the night air. For the first time in years, she didn’t see an abandoned dream. She saw a beginning.

And this time, she knew she wasn’t alone in her thoughts.

I’ve realized something while sharing the private journals of the women of the canyon.

A chapter shows what a character does.

A private journal reveals what she is finally admitting to herself.

It’s far more intimate.

That’s why the journals are saved for you, a Story Insider.

Skylar, A recent afternoon

Read more

Chapter 7 - Mirage of Trust

New to Echo Canyon?

Start here: Chapter 1

Or go to the Table of Contents for the Chapter listing

Echo Canyon

Raven’s ranch rested where the canyon softened into green. Below it, the land opened into a lush subtropical basin fed by underground springs. Above it, the canyon walls rose toward the harsher middle-desert mountains.

Every morning Raven rode this ridge.

Spirit carried her easily along the narrow trail as the eastern sky shifted from deep indigo to pale gold. The air still held the coolness of night. Soon the sun would burn it away.

This was her quiet hour.

No trainees.

No visitors.

No conversations.

Just horse, land, and the long memory of those who had walked this ridge before her.

Today marked a small anniversary.

Six months since the Centennial Celebration.

Six months since Echo Canyon had stood together and declared the land protected.

Six months since Raven had opened the equestrian training center she had dreamed about for years.

It was also six months since her life had slowed.

For decades she had traveled constantly. Horse owners from across the country and often across the world had asked for her help. Airports, hotels, unfamiliar barns. She had spent years going to them.

Now they came here.

Raven rode the ridge between the green basin below and the harsher middle-desert slopes above.

Spirit slowed as they reached the overlook where Raven always stopped.

The canyon stretched below them, quiet and waiting for the first light.

The sun rose slowly over the far ridge, spilling gold across the stone.

Spirit lifted his head as the first edge of sunlight touched the canyon walls. Raven rested her hand against his neck.

“You see it too.”

The stallion shifted beneath her, eager to head home.

She smiled and loosened the reins.

Spirit knew the way.

By the time they reached the ranch cabins, the sun had climbed above the ridge and the gardens were already alive with movement.

Val knelt in the medicinal herb beds beside one of the interns, her hands deep in the soil.

Even from horseback Raven could see the careful rows of plants Val had spent months cultivating. Lavender, echinacea, desert sage, calendula. A blend of traditions, some learned in hospitals, others passed quietly through generations.

Raven guided Spirit closer.

“Good morning, Val.”

Val stood and brushed the dirt from her knees. She stepped forward and greeted Spirit with a gentle nuzzle.

The stallion immediately began searching her pockets.

Val laughed.

“You are shameless.”

She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a carrot. Spirit took it delicately, crunching with obvious satisfaction.

Raven watched the familiar exchange.

“You spoil him.”

“He deserves it,” Val said.

Spirit finished the carrot and looked hopeful.

“That’s all you get,” she told him.

Val turned back to Raven, still seated easily in the saddle.

“Beautiful morning. Did you have a good ride?”

“An exceptionally good one.”

Raven swung down from the saddle with the ease of someone who had spent most of her life there.

“One of the wild mares is close to foaling. I’ll have Sam keep an eye on her today.”

She nodded toward the intern still working in the herb patch.

“How is Wainiha settling in?”

Val’s expression brightened.

“She’s wonderful. Honestly, she’s teaching me more than I’ve taught her.”

Raven smiled.

“Shikáni knows her people well.”

“She does,” Val agreed. “And Wainiha knows every bird in the canyon. She whistles their calls while she works. I catch myself stopping just to listen.”

Raven followed Val’s gaze across the gardens.

The morning light had turned the leaves silver-green.

“It’s an extraordinary place,” Val said quietly.

Raven studied her friend for a moment.

“You seem happy here.”

Val’s voice softened.

“This is my life now. My home.” She looked back at the gardens. “You helped me find my way back to myself.”

Raven touched her shoulder briefly, then gathered Spirit’s lead.

“I’ll take him to pasture.”

“Oh Raven,” Val called after her. “Have you heard from Riley? How Quinn is enjoying Australia?”

“No,” Raven said. “But Riley will probably be here this week. We can call her at lunch.”

She paused.

“Better yet. Send her a message and invite her and Ben to join us today. Skylar will probably wander through as well.”

Val smiled.

“I’ll do that.”

“The more the merrier,” Raven said. “I’ll tell Cook to add a few more places.”

Val waved as Raven led Spirit toward the pasture.

As she returned to the herb bed she murmured to herself, almost amused.

“I’m not the only one who has gone through a transformation.”

After turning Spirit loose in the pasture, Raven crossed the ranch toward the training ring.

Sam stood just outside the fence, holding the reins of the morning’s first horse.

“Ready when you are,” Sam said.

Shikáni sat easily on the top rail of the fence, watching the horse with the quiet patience she seemed to bring to everything.

The session moved smoothly.

Horse, rider, and trainer settled quickly into rhythm. When the work was finished, Shikáni slid off the fence rail and took the horse’s lead rope before Sam could reach it.

That was when Raven noticed a familiar vehicle turning into the ranch road.

Skylar stepped out, stretching after the drive.

“You’re back already,” Raven called.

Skylar lifted a hand in greeting.

“Barely.”

They walked together toward the ranch house porch. Raven disappeared inside for a moment and returned with two tall glasses of lemonade.

Skylar settled into one of the wooden chairs.

“Well,” Raven said, sitting across from her, “how is life in the world of bestselling authors?”

Skylar laughed softly.

“Busy. I just finished another book tour.”

She took a long drink.

“Thankfully it was a short one. I’m getting too old for that kind of travel.”

Raven raised an eyebrow.

“You?”

Skylar leaned back.

“I’m tired of spending six months writing a book and the next six months talking about it. That’s actually why I came to talk to you.”

Raven waited.

“You used to travel constantly,” Skylar said. “Now people come here.”

She gestured toward the ranch.

“I know our work is completely different. But you must have figured out a way to build this without living on airplanes.”

Raven smiled slightly.

“The canyon helps.”

Skylar looked intrigued.

“How?”

“People are curious about places that still feel real.”

Raven set her glass down.

“And technology makes distance less important than it used to be.”

She nodded toward the training ring.

“We run holographic training sessions for some clients now. Virtual workshops too. But the serious ones still come here.”

Skylar glanced across the land.

“That’s the difference,” she said.

“Rooted work.”

Raven simply nodded.

🌄Echo Canyon is at its best when everyone starts drifting in.

A friend stops by. Someone pulls up a chair. Lunch stretches longer than planned.

Pull up a chair and join Raven, Val, Riley, Ben, and Skylar.

The rest of this chapter is for Story Insiders. ⤵️

Read more

To give everyone a break from working all weekend, I’m sharing a short Echo Canyon story through a series of Notes. Think of it as a story that unfolds one note at a time between Friday and Saturday, then comes to its natural conclusion. The entire story is in subscribers’ inboxes on Sunday.

Echo Canyon Weekend
The Invitation

The light off the canyon wall was too good to waste on laundry.

Riley leaned back in her chair, watching the ash trees tremble in the breeze. She thought about the women she loved, each buried in “important” things. The kind of important that could swallow a whole season.

Her pond garden had taken a beating from the monsoon winds. She could repair it alone, but where was the fun in that?

She pulled a notepad closer and wrote:

Skylar
Quinn
Val
Raven

She could picture their protests already. Work. Deadlines. Responsibilities.

She would counter with grilled vegetables, crusty bread, and chilled sangria. Promise them the outdoor shower and a towel fresh from the line.

If she were lucky, they’d stay until dark, the pond lit by lanterns.

It had been a long time since she had planned a day like this, and longer still since she had wanted to. She knew it was time to shove the to-do list aside, call her friends, and yank them out of their muck.

Skylar’s voice was muffled, obviously because Riley could see she was half-buried in a stack of maps in her gigantic office.

“I’m busy, Riley. We’re cataloguing my next book’s chapters. Do you know how long I’ve waited to get these done?”

Riley grinned.

“You’ll still be cataloguing them tomorrow. And the next day. Meanwhile, I have sage seedlings with your name on them.”

“You’re trying to tempt me with herbs?” Skylar asked.

“And sunshine. And friends. And sangria. You can bring your notebook if it makes you feel productive.”

A pause.

“What time?”

Riley let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“Noon. Wear something you don’t mind getting muddy.”

She could see Skylar’s reluctant smile through the VID.

One down.

Quinn answered the VID on the second ring.

She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, sleeves rolled up, surrounded by stacks of battered cardboard boxes.

“What’s in them?” Riley asked.

“My old Homeland Security journals. I told myself I’d start sorting today.”

“And how’s that going?”

Quinn sighed.

“Two hours in, I’ve reread exactly three entries. I might be here forever.”

“Or,” Riley said slowly, “you could come here, dig in the dirt, and let the past wait until tomorrow.”

“That’s your big pitch?”

“I also have marinated olives, your favorite cheese, and the bottle of that white wine you brought to my birthday.”

Quinn stared at her. Silence stretched between them. Then she laughed.

“Fine. But I’m not weeding that far side. That muck is too deep.”

Riley’s next call was to Val.

When the screen opened, Val’s kitchen table had disappeared beneath seed packets and open notebooks.

“Are you planting?” Riley asked.

“Planning,” Val corrected. “I’m charting soil pH and companion plants. I want to replicate some natural medicines my grandmother used. This isn’t just gardening. It’s research.”

Riley laughed.

“Important research. But one day away won’t derail it.” She told Val her plans.

Val hesitated.

“The timing isn’t ideal.”

“You’ll get fresh herb cuttings from my pond bed. And I need someone who knows how to keep mint from mutinying.”

A reluctant chuckle escaped.

“Mint’s a bully.”

“So come wrangle it for me.”

Val sighed.

“Alright. But I’m not wearing shoes.”

Raven answered from the paddock.

A young mare circled behind her, ears forward, muscles rippling in the morning sun.

“Training?” Riley asked.

“She’s almost ready for her first ride.”

“Almost ready means not today,” Riley replied. “Come get your hands muddy instead.”

Raven shook her head.

“You’re impossible.”

“I’ve been told.”

The mare trotted past behind her.

Riley smiled.

“Besides, the mare will thank you for a day off. And so will I.”

Raven studied her for a long moment. The sound of hooves drifted through the speaker. Then she smiled.

“But if you make me plant cattails, I’m walking out.”

Now Riley had all four.

The air was thick with rosemary and wet earth. Skylar arrived in a wide-brimmed hat. Val kicked off her shoes almost immediately. Quinn rinsed her hands in the pond and declared the mud situation worse than advertised. Raven hauled water lilies across the garden like trophies.

At first there was only the sound of shovels biting into soil and the occasional splash.

Then came the stories. Then the teasing.Then the laughter.

“Do you know,” Skylar said, wiping dirt from her cheek, “I almost stayed home.”

“Me too,” Val admitted.

Quinn shook her head. “I was planning to spend the day rereading old reports. This is better.”

The work slowed as the afternoon softened. Nobody seemed to care.

The lanterns swayed gently in the canyon breeze.

The mud had been rinsed from hands. The tools were put away. The pond glimmered like it had always been whole.

The five women sprawled across Riley’s veranda with plates of food and glasses that never seemed to empty.

Riley curled her toes against the stone floor and watched them. Her friends had resisted at first. Yet one by one they had come and not one of them regretted it.

A long silence settled comfortably over the group. A kind that only arrives among people who know each other well. Riley looked toward the pond, leaning back into the warmth of her seat.

No one would remember the chores they skipped that day. Nor the emails unanswered, the reports unread, the plans postponed. But they’ll remember this day. The irises replanted, the mud streaked on cheeks, the laughter that lasted until dark.

She closed her eyes, lantern light flickering through her lids, and wondered if maybe this was the kind of day she could keep choosing.

The End

If you enjoy spending time in Echo Canyon, Story Insiders receive a new chapter of Mirage of Trust every week as it’s being written.

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Alone in Sydney, Quinn finally hears from Robbie. The relief she feels arrives faster than the questions she isn’t ready to ask

Chapter 6 - Mirage of Trust

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Australia

Quinn was back in the cottage, unsure if she could stay there.

She turned on all of the lights, making the rooms feel less empty. A suitcase lay on the bed, half unpacked. She didn’t remember pulling it out. Had Robbie done that, thinking Quinn would go with her to Japan?

She hadn’t even asked.

In the kitchen, Quinn pulled an open bottle of wine from the refrigerator. White, not red, which she preferred. She set it in the sink, then changed her mind, uncorked it, and poured it down the drain.

Instead, she took out a tall glass and filled it with ice. A lime sat in the fruit bowl on the counter. She cut it into generous slices. The sharp fragrance hit her nose, waking her from the fog she’d been moving through. She reached up to the high shelf and pulled down a bottle of Hendrick’s gin. For a second she paused.

She realized she was tall enough to reach it. Robbie always had to ask her to get things down. Quinn filled the glass halfway, dropped in a slice of lime, and carried it out onto the lanai.

She stepped back inside long enough to switch off the light so she could see the harbor better. The city opened in front of her. Lights along the water. Boats moving slowly through the dark. The silence felt unfinished, as though the argument was still sitting somewhere in the cottage waiting for them to return.

Quinn had just settled into the chair when her comm chirped.

She glanced at her watch.

A message from Robbie.

The first she had heard from her.

I hate that we ended our vacation like that. I was overwhelmed. I’m sorry if you feel hurt. I think we both got carried away.

Quinn felt the first release of the tension she’d been holding since morning. She took a long swallow of gin and felt her shoulders drop.

Maybe she should reply.

She stood and went back inside to retrieve her comm from the bedroom, trying to decide what she would even say. Did she forgive her? Did she understand? Had Robbie even explained why she needed to leave so suddenly?

The comm rang in her hand. Robbie was on the VID.

Read more

I didn’t plan to publish my first novel at 73. But someone younger needed to see it happen.

A reader, , commented on my Note about women openly sharing their ages here on Substack.

That stopped me for a minute.

Something is happening on Substack right now that I don’t think is happening in quite the same way anywhere else. Younger women are watching older women here for proof of what aging actually looks like. Not the version sold to us everywhere else. Not “how to look younger.” Not disappearing politely into the background. But women still building things, wanting more from life, including new beginnings.

I didn’t start my gardening business until I was 46. I sold it at 60. I published gardening books at 64 and 71, and my first novel at 73.

None of that followed the timeline I imagined when I was younger. I was going to retire at 55 and go to the beach. The life I actually built looked nothing like the one I planned — and it turned out to be more interesting than anything I could have designed in advance.

Many women spent decades building lives around responsibility, caregiving, or survival. Then somewhere later, they begin asking: what do I actually want now?

That question sounds simple. It isn’t. For some women it arrives like a quiet relief. For others it’s disorienting, even frightening, to want something again after so long spent making sure everyone else had what they needed. But we remind each other — it’s never too late.

I hear more and more women here saying and doing the things that make them feel visible again. Powerful. Alive.

And openly sharing their age matters, because younger women are watching for evidence that life does not narrow into irrelevance.

I’m still building. Still asking. And I think that’s the most honest thing I can offer anyone watching.

I hope women at 50, 60, 70, and 80+ keep shouting out their age and leading by example.

With what you know now, what would you tell your younger self or say to younger women of today?

Come inside and join the conversation

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Chapter 5 - Mirage of Trust

Australia Flashback - Quinn, Part 1

The restaurant was louder than usual that night.

Robbie barely touched her food.

“You’re quiet,” Quinn said.

“Just tired.” But Robbie’s eyes kept drifting to the comm on the table.

The next morning, Robbie slipped out of bed early.

“I’m going for a run,” she said. “I’ll grab breakfast for us on the way back.”

“Give me a minute, and I’ll come with you.”

“No.” Robbie handed her a mug of coffee. “Stay in bed and relax. I’ll be back in an hour.”

Quinn didn’t argue. Maybe a little alone time would be good.

After Robbie left, Quinn took a quick shower and poured herself another mug of coffee. She grabbed a banana from the kitchen and stepped out onto the porch. She was looking forward to today. They had no special plans, but Quinn hoped they could explore another area of the city. Maybe The Rocks. The market would be open on the weekend, and Quinn had read about the different vendors. There were loads of restaurants, shops and galleries there too. She smiled when she thought about some shopping R&R.

Quinn glanced at the clock, surprised to see that almost two hours had passed.

Well, it’s Sunday. Maybe the café was crowded.

Another forty-five minutes passed.

Now Quinn was uneasy. She tried calling Robbie. The VID call went straight to messages.

Her stomach tightened. What if something happened to her? No one even knows where we’re staying.

Quinn began pacing the small cottage, her mind running through possibilities. Robbie could have run into someone she knew. Maybe she lost track of time.

Or maybe a car hit her. People drove on the wrong side of the road here. She kept pacing, peering out the window and opening the door to see if she was coming down the street.

At noon, four hours after Robbie had left, the door opened. Robbie strolled in as if she had only stepped out for a walk. Quinn ran to her and grabbed her, tears already spilling down her face.

“Where have you been? I was ready to call emergency services to see if there had been an accident.”

Robbie pushed Quinn gently away and held up her comm.

“I messaged you two hours ago.” Quinn’s head jerked up, searching Robbie’s eyes. For some sign. “I told you I was on a call with work.”

Quinn broke her gaze and searched her comm, thumbing from screen to screen. No message. She checked deleted messages. Checked spam. Nothing. There was no reason why she would have missed it.

“I never got it,” she said carefully. “Wait. It’s the weekend. A call from work? You’re on vacation in another country.” Quinn’s emotions started bubbling over again.

Robbie shrugged. “Well, I sent it.”

The certainty in Robbie’s voice made Quinn start to doubt herself. She stared at her phone. Had she deleted it somehow in her frenzy? Was she going crazy? Her heart sank. She never missed details such as this. Her training wouldn’t tolerate it.

She looked at Robbie and realized she was done with the conversation. Drained, she sat down on a kitchen chair and looked at Robbie.

Robbie opened the refrigerator and began searching for something to eat.

“There’s a problem with the resort,” she said casually. “Something about a guest identity issue. I’m going to have to go back early.”

“Work?” Quinn stared at her, her face reddened. “Now? Why?”

Robbie didn’t answer. She took a container from the refrigerator and began eating.

“Did you eat?” she asked.

Quinn stood so suddenly the kitchen chair nearly tipped.

“Did I eat?” Quinn glared at her. “I’ve been climbing the walls for four hours thinking you were dead.”

Robbie was already walking toward the bedroom.

“And what are you doing now?” Quinn asked.

“What does it look like? I’m packing. They sent me a ticket to fly to Japan tonight.”

Quinn stood frozen in the doorway.

Robbie noticed her moving toward the front door.

“Where are you going?” Robbie asked, her voice soft now. Almost innocent.

“I’m going out,” Quinn said. “Anywhere to get away from you.”

She grabbed her bag and comm, slammed the door behind her, and ordered a car.

Quinn stared out the window as the cottage disappeared behind them.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

She hesitated.

“Sydney Harbor.”

She had no plan.

She just knew she couldn’t go back.

When she stepped off the ferry dock, she heard someone call her name.

“Quinn?”

She turned.

Liz and Connie were sitting at a small table overlooking the water, glasses of wine already in their hands.

“Well, look at that,” Liz said. “You made it after all.”

“Where’s Robbie?” Connie asked.

Quinn shrugged.

“Work emergency. Japan.”

Liz and Connie exchanged a glance but didn’t press.

Read more

I write about women over 55 standing at a pivot point, the moment life asks them to start over. The time they know their lives are not winding down but opening up, navigating change, choice, and what comes next.

That pivot is when they come to a crossroads, that moment when you realize you could keep going the way you’ve been going, or you could finally make the turn you’ve been avoiding, possibly because people have said that we shouldn’t be striving for more.

The decision is about something often kept quiet in our private thoughts.

Who will I become now?

That question doesn’t get asked enough in fiction. Not for women our age. We’re supposed to have already become. We’re supposed to be settling in, winding down, fading into the background of someone else’s story.

I refuse.

And so do the women I write.

How the name came about

The term emerged in conversation with Claude. I was trying to describe what I write, and “crossroads fiction” surfaced as a way to name it. The metaphor is ancient. The genre is new. I needed some convincing that this is something I can do, but I asked myself, “Why not?”

What makes Crossroads Fiction different

It centers on women 55 and older, not as wise grandmothers or cautionary tales, but as protagonists with unfinished business.

It doesn’t require a happy-ever-after. The transformation is internal. Purpose. Identity.

The decision to stop disappearing.

It can wear different clothes. One crossroads story unfolds in a small utopic canyon where a misogynist man tries to put a stop to an elder’s dream.

Book 2 follows a woman facing tremendous challenges when she thought her post-retirement life was planned.

Book 3 will be a woman finally telling the truth about who she loves. The stories change. The question doesn’t.

It’s fiction as a mirror, not an escape. These aren’t stories to get lost in, but you might. My hope is for you to find yourself inside.

I didn’t set out to create a genre. I just wrote what was true for me. Stories where women my age aren’t invisible, finished, or waiting for permission.

My readers told me what those stories were doing for them.

They said they saw themselves. They said they weren’t ready to leave the women when the book ended. They said they wanted to sit and talk to the women.

So I strengthened it. And the more I listened, the more I realized: this isn’t just my story. There’s a gap in fiction where there’s no category for stories about older women at pivot points. A silence caused by that gap. Silence has a way of becoming a category once someone names it.

So I’m naming it.

Crossroads fiction. Stories of older women at the pivot point, deciding who they’ll become.

If you’ve been looking for yourself in fiction and coming up empty, maybe this is why. Maybe the genre you needed didn’t exist yet.

It does now.

Whispers of Echo Canyon is the first book in my Women of the Canyon series. Mirage of Trust is second. I’m writing it live on Substack.

Five women, five crossroads, five chances to refuse to disappear. If this resonates, the door is open.

Come inside

A reader commented on one of my Notes after I shared how much I wrote during our 43-day trip through the Panama Canal, up the coast to Vancouver, then home through Seattle.

Specifically,

130 Notes

15 restacks with comments

12 Posts

3 Chapters

He said he struggles to keep up habits while traveling because vacation feels like a time to relax, not maintain discipline.

Honestly, I understood exactly what he meant.

For years, I’ve tried not to “work” on vacation. I’ve tried to stop needing a project. I’ve told myself to just relax and enjoy the trip.

But somewhere along the way, writing stopped feeling like a project I carry around.

It became part of how I experience life.

That doesn’t mean I disappear into a laptop for six hours while everyone else is sightseeing. Most of what I wrote happened in small pockets of time.

Early morning coffee before the ship woke up.

A quick Note while looking out at the ocean in my favorite chair on the balcony.

An hour in the cabin after a morning exploring the locale.

And many, many paragraphs before I went to sleep.

I think that’s the part people misunderstand about consistency. They imagine strict schedules, discipline charts, productivity systems, and rules.

That’s never been my way.

And especially now. At this stage of my life, I don’t want my days organized around pressure. I already lived enough years getting through fully scheduled days and nights worrying about tomorrow.

What I discovered on this trip is something calmer. A comfortable rhythm.

When you genuinely love the thing you’re doing, you stop needing perfect conditions to do it.

You simply bring it with you.

Not because you “should.”

Because it belongs there.

I wasn’t forcing myself to write while traveling.

I wanted to.

And maybe that’s the real shift that happens when something moves from ambition into identity.

You stop asking:

“How do I stay disciplined?”

And start realizing:

“This is just part of my life now.”

You don’t have to choose between the story and the life around it. I’m writing both in real time.

Story Insiders (paid subscribers) don’t just read the chapters. They sit on the veranda after the chapter ends.

• The private journals.

• The writing process.

• The moments that didn’t make the book.

• The real-time building of a creative life in your 70s.

That’s where I keep writing after dark.

Come inside and stay

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Chapter 4 - Mirage of Trust

Earlier that year

Quinn pulled up the ticket Robbie had sent her.

The cheapest fare.

Three flights to Sydney. Thirty-two hours door to door. Premium coach, not first.

That’s not going to work. Not with her long legs.

She logged into the system she had used for thirty years with Homeland Security. Her tenure gave her lifetime upgrades to first class. The familiar Global Aircraft Services screen appeared.

Within minutes, she had rebooked.

Sabáka to Honolulu, where she could shower, stretch her legs, and get a proper meal in the lounge. Then on to Sydney. Even with the layover, it cut the travel time almost in half.

She glanced at the clock.

Four hours until departure.

She’d better move.

Quinn didn’t tell Robbie she had changed the ticket and would be arriving early.

On the plane, a glass of sparkling wine chilled her hand as she looked out the window. The desert below stretched endlessly and pale beneath the wing.

Life had seemed so different just a week ago. Simpler. Friends pitching in to help Raven prepare for the Centennial.

I’m so sorry I missed that.

Just today. Robbie couldn’t wait one more day.

Instead, she had sent Quinn two terrible itineraries and told her to pick one.

Am I looking forward to seeing her?

Robbie had promised a real vacation.

If that’s true, then maybe.

But trust was harder than it used to be.

Quinn studied the directions Robbie had sent for the cottage. Thirty minutes outside Sydney. Not on the harbor.

She says it’s near a ferry stop. Maybe that will be fine. And not a hotel. A rental with a kitchen. I wonder who’s cooking on this “vacation.”

Before drifting off to sleep, Quinn made a quiet mental adjustment.

I’d better change my tune before I see Robbie.

Hope for the best.

The landing in Sydney was smooth. The sun was dropping toward the harbor, turning the water copper and gold.

Quinn ordered an Uber.

Since she had not told Robbie she was arriving early, she did not expect to see her at the airport.

From the car, she sent a quick VID message.

Hi! Guess what. I got in early, and I’m on my way to the cottage. See you soon.

A few minutes later, her comm pinged.

I wasn’t expecting you yet. I’m in a meeting. I’ll see you at the cottage in a couple of hours. I’ve messaged the agent to let you in. There’s food in the kitchen if you’re hungry. Love you.

A meeting?

Who has a meeting in Australia when they’re supposed to be on vacation?

The story continues for Story Insiders. Stay with the story.

Read more

There’s a moment when someone you love is hurting and you realize asking questions won’t help.

Riley knows something is wrong almost immediately. She sees it at the airport before Quinn says much of anything. Then again, the next morning in the kitchen, Quinn sets her comm face down on the counter and leaves it there.

She notices the small things. The sleeplessness. The way Quinn keeps drifting away mid-conversation. The hesitation before walking down the veranda steps, as if even that feels harder than it should.

And still, Riley waits.

Not because she doesn’t care. Because she does. She holds herself back from rushing through the bedroom door, sitting on the bed with Quinn’s hands in hers and pleading with her to tell her what’s wrong.

But she didn’t.

I think many women reach a point in life where we understand this instinctively. We stop believing every silence needs to be filled immediately. We learn that if someone is frightened, ashamed, or angry, pushing too hard can make them retreat even further.

We know not to try to fix it. We might struggle to return to our younger habits of trying to help solve the problem, but somehow we’ve learned to wait.

Instead, we do ordinary things.

We make coffee. We walk through the garden. We talk about the weather, the flowers and who is coming by later for a drink on the veranda. When we’re offered a feeling, we reflect on how difficult that must be. We don’t go any further.

Not because those things fix anything.

Because sometimes ordinary life is the only safe place a hurting person can stand until they’re ready to say what’s really happening.

Riley keeps the world steady without pretending she doesn’t see the cracks in it.

And I think many of us have been on both sides of that experience.

A divorce someone couldn’t speak about yet. A frightening diagnosis. A forced retirement that left a person untethered. A relationship quietly falling apart while everyone else still believed it was fine.

You recognize the signs long before the words arrive.

But you also understand the words have to come freely, or they won’t come truthfully at all.

Riley understood something many women learn too late.

Being trusted with someone’s pain is not the same thing as being asked to solve it.

There are things Quinn hasn’t said yet.
And questions Riley is choosing not to ask.

You don’t have to leave.

👉 Stay with them

Read more

You did everything right.

Retirement is supposed to feel like freedom. So why does it feel like something is missing?

I grew up with a very clear script. Work hard, do it well, retire in your 60s. Sooner, if you could.

And then what?

That part was never as clear.

One of my earliest mentors was the Executive Director of the YWCA, where I was building my career. She planned to retire at 55, move to Cape Cod, and paint.

And she did.

That became the model in my head, too. Not the painting part necessarily, but the idea of reaching a point where work was behind you and life could finally slow down.

I understood the appeal of that kind of retirement. I really did.

But somewhere along the way, I also began noticing something else.

When I started my desert container gardening business at 46, many of my clients were already retired. I’d ask them how often they use their patios.

“Not often enough,” they’d say.

So I’d ask what filled their days.

Doctor appointments. House responsibilities. HOA meetings. Lunches. Errands.

Very little pulled them outside when they genuinely wanted to be there.

I remember thinking, “ This can’t be it.

At the time, I was around 50 and still imagining I’d retire early myself. Fifty-five sounded ideal. No more deadlines. No more responsibilities. Time to finally enjoy life.

But watching these women, I realized peace and purpose weren’t always the same thing.

I knew I wouldn’t want to copy that lifestyle entirely because I would get bored.

So I created patios and gardens designed to be used. Not just something beautiful to look at, but spaces that gave people a reason to go outside and stay awhile.

It wasn’t really about the plants.

It was about creating space to think. To breathe. To reconnect with yourself a little.

Looking back now, I think I was building those gardens for more than my clients.

I was building them for the kind of woman I would eventually become, too.

Something didn’t add up

I stayed on my own track.

I built that gardening business for 27 years. I published two gardening books. I taught classes. I built a reputation I earned and valued deeply.

None of that was accidental.

But the idea of stopping never quite fit me.

Even after I sold the business at 60, I kept creating. The books came later, at 64 and 71. Not because I needed another career, but because I still had something I wanted to build.

That’s the part nobody really talks about.

Some women don’t want a life of maintenance.

Some women still need a future that feels alive.

What nobody tells you about retirement

A full calendar can still feel strangely empty underneath.

You can have lunches, book clubs, gardening, people who love you, and still wake up some mornings with a nagging feeling that you need something more than comfort.

Not because you’re ungrateful.

Because some part of you still wants to grow.

For a long time, I thought that meant I was planning retirement wrong. That I hadn’t relaxed enough, let go enough, learned how to be content.

That’s not it.

The script was written for a different kind of woman.

I’m not someone who needs a break from building.

I’m someone who comes alive when I’m building something that matters. A patio garden that gives someone a reason to go outside and stay. Or a story that stays with a reader long after she’s finished reading.

The form changed.

The deeper impulse never did.

And, I went off script

I published my first novel at 73.

I rarely say that out loud.

Part of that is because people stop asking certain questions of a woman of a certain age.

They assume you’re retired now. Slowing down. Settled into your life.

No one really expects you to be building something ambitious or creatively consuming at this stage.

So unless I bring it up myself, it often stays unspoken.

And for a long time, I let it.

But that doesn’t sit well anymore.

Because I’ve started noticing how acceptable certain kinds of aging are.

Travel adventures. Packed social calendars. Bike trips. Staying busy.

But starting something entirely new? Building something deeply creative at this stage of life? That still seems to surprise people.

Especially when you care deeply about it.

Especially when you’re ambitious about it

I no longer apologize for that.

Publishing a novel at 73 isn’t something I tucked into retirement to keep busy.

It became the next meaningful thing I wanted to build.

I didn’t have a roadmap. I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t have anyone telling me it made sense.

I started anyway.

I kept going even when I wasn’t sure I’d finish.

And now there’s a book with my name on it, another one in progress, and women I’ve never met writing to say they didn’t want the story to end.

What’s your retirement script?

The women I write about are all standing in this same place, where the script runs out.

They’ve done what was expected. They’ve lived full lives. And still, something in them is asking for more, not more in the way the world defines it, but more in a way that feels honest.

I don’t write them to give answers.

I write them because I needed to see women like this on the page. Women navigating uncertainty. Women still changing. Women still becoming.

Women who don’t wait for permission.

If this feels familiar, you’ll feel at home in Echo Canyon. For Story Insiders, the stories never end.

Come inside.

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By the fire pit, Quinn tells enough of the truth to sound honest. And hides enough to keep the shame alive.

Chapter 3 - Mirage of Trust

She had told Riley everything was fine.

It wasn’t.

A drone crossing the canyon valley wasn’t fine either. It was a large one, probably delivering groceries to someone in the lower flatlands. Drones weren’t supposed to deliver anything to the residents of Echo Canyon. She’d make sure she told Riley.

This was the first morning she had been up before Riley. Quinn stood on her veranda, coffee cooling in her hand, the early sun painting streaks of gold across the desert floor. She continued scanning the canyon sky. When she was satisfied that everything was quiet again, she relaxed back into her chair. Holding the mug between both hands, she ran her fingers slowly around the rim, lost in thought.

I’m not fine.

Quinn was already on her second cup of coffee when she heard her friend moving inside with the rhythm of someone who trusted mornings.

Quinn used to move like that, too. Certain and decisive. These days, she wasn’t so sure.

The truth was, she didn’t know why she kept rushing back to Robbie. Or maybe she did. But knowing wasn’t the same as admitting it.

Growing up as an Air Force brat, Quinn had always felt safe no matter where they lived. She spent as much time outside as possible, running through grassy fields and jumping from rock to rock in streambeds, always moving, always independent.

She loved the flowers in Hawaii when her mother was stationed there. Even in Germany, the summers were short but slow and comfortable.

Her favorite memory, though, was in southern Arizona. What was she? Maybe five or six?

Her father warned her not to waste her allowance on flowers. The intense sun would kill them. But Quinn’s fascination with plants had started early. She begged her parents for a small place to grow something, anything. They compromised with window boxes on the stoop.

She planted marigolds from seed and saved her allowance for geraniums. When the heat grew too intense, she convinced her father to borrow a wagon from the base so she could cart the planters to the shade of a mesquite tree. Her mother gave her a bucket to carry water to them.

She cried when they had to move again. She had named every flower.

Years later, that same independence carried her into a career that moved her across the world. It was during one of those assignments in Hawaii that she met Robbie.

Quinn met Robbie more than twenty years ago while stationed in Hawaii. From their first conversation, something clicked, like a door opening neither of them knew existed.

They spent evenings going out to dinner and exploring new places. Long conversations often turned into friendly debates as they stretched each other’s thinking and deepened their understanding of one another. That was one of the things Quinn liked most about Robbie. She wasn’t afraid to express her opinion. She did it directly, instead of flirting the way so many women Quinn dated had.

Within months, Robbie invited Quinn to move in with her at the elegant Big Island home.

Barefoot and sun-warmed, the women dreamed of a future that seemed to stretch endlessly ahead.

In the early days of their relationship, they raced from the house to the beach, challenging each other to be the first into the water. When they surfaced, they fell into each other’s arms, laughing.

“I won,” Robbie shouted above the crashing waves.

“No, I did. By an arm’s length.” Quinn raised her long arms in the air to prove her point.

But five years later, life intervened.

Quinn was offered a critical post in Vermont. She had only a month to relocate. At the same time, Robbie was being transferred to Japan to oversee a major resort development, one of the few women leading projects of that scale. It was a prestigious move for her.

Their timelines split like tectonic plates.

They tried to imagine making a long-distance relationship work, but the reality was sharp and unforgiving. With aching hearts, they parted.

That day had been horrific.

Robbie kept pleading with Quinn to stay. But with tears streaming down her face, Quinn shook her head.

“I don’t want to leave you. But I have to.”

Quinn had always been the practical one. Both careers demanded everything. As painful as it was, she boarded the plane and forced herself not to look back.

Years passed, and Quinn rose steadily through the ranks. Life became busy and complicated. Their paths diverged, yet the memory of that time together never fully faded.

At first, they VID-called often, the conversations usually ending with one of them in tears.

Eventually, Quinn decided she could no longer live inside that hope. There was no future for them together.

Hating that she had to be the one to say it aloud, she finally told Robbie.

“What are you saying?” Robbie shouted through her tears. “You don’t love me anymore? You probably never loved me. If you did, you never would have left.”

Quinn tried to explain, but Robbie couldn’t hear her through the tears. There was a crash. Robbie must have thrown the comm. The last thing Quinn heard was a scream before the line went dead.

Movement pulled Quinn out of her thoughts as Riley stepped onto the veranda.

“Well, look at this,” Riley said. “I can’t believe you’re up before me. What’s it been, five days now?”

She gave Quinn a friendly punch on the arm.

“I just wanted to say how glad I am you’re here. Do you have any ideas about what you’d like to do today?”

“I was just thinking about the past.”

Riley chuckled. “Well, that could be a long story, considering your advanced years.”

Quinn shot her a sideways glance. “Hey. I’m only a couple of years older than you.”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

Riley didn’t press further. Quinn had spent thirty years protecting secrets. She would talk when she was ready.

“So,” Riley asked gently, “what’s on your mind?”

“Remember when you came to my retirement party in Vermont, and I told you I was going back to Robbie? You were pretty mad at me.”

“You mean the girlfriend who convinced you to retire early?” Riley said. “Yes. I questioned the rush. I barely knew her, and you rarely talked about her. Sorry, but you shut me down with one look.”

“I know,” Quinn said quietly. “And I’m the one who should apologize. Looking back now, I think the doubts were already there. I just refused to listen.”

“You tried to tell me,” Quinn said quietly. “At my retirement party. You said I was rushing.”

Riley started to speak, but Quinn lifted her hand.

“You were right. I gave up thirty years of work, walked away from everything I’d built, because Robbie said she wanted me to.”

She looked down at her coffee.

“I’m that woman. The one who abandons her whole life for someone who…” She couldn’t finish.

Riley reached across and took her hand.

“You’re not ‘that woman,” she said firmly. “You’re the woman who had the guts to leave when it wasn’t working. That’s different.”

Quinn wanted to believe her.

“Years back, when Robbie and I were first together in Hawaii, everything felt idyllic. We explored the island, built a home together, and imagined what our lives might become.”

“When the job opportunities came up, we both knew what we had to do. Going our separate ways was the only real option.”

Riley studied her friend carefully.

“When you visited Echo Canyon last summer,” she said softly, “I felt like you were saying all the right things. You admired the canyon. My house. Even my life here. But something in your eyes didn’t match your words.”

“I know,” Quinn admitted. “And honestly, I’m glad you didn’t say anything then. I wasn’t ready to face the possibility that things with Robbie might already be over.”

Riley waited.

“So,” Quinn said quietly, “I think I’m ready to tell you what happened. Can we get some more coffee and sit out here? I need some open air for this.”

They settled back into their chairs with fresh coffee. Riley quickly put together a small plate of croissants, cheese, and fruit.

Quinn took a deep breath.

“First, I need to be honest with you,” she said. “When I called you from Hawaii and asked you to pick me up in Sabáka, I didn’t tell you the whole truth.”

Riley stiffened.

“I’m glad you called,” she said carefully. “But what did you lie about?”

“I left Australia early and went back to Hawaii.”

Seeing Riley’s expression darken, Quinn lifted her hand.

“I know. Just… let me start from the beginning.”

“Okay,” Riley said, shifting slightly.

“After my retirement party, I flew to Tokyo to meet Robbie.”

Riley nodded but said nothing.

“I arrived on a Thursday and spent a day recovering from the long flights. That weekend, we explored the area around Robbie’s apartment and talked about traveling around Japan whenever she could get away from work.

“We talked about everything. The years apart. How much we had both changed. How we would have to get to know each other again.”

“It was beautiful,” Quinn said quietly.

“We explored the city and took a trip into the countryside. At one point, we got lost and stopped to ask a woman for directions. She didn’t speak English, and we didn’t speak Japanese.”

“She showed us her geo-map, but of course, that didn’t help. Eventually, she brought out her daughter, who spoke excellent English. The daughter launched a drone and told us to follow it back to the main road.”

Riley laughed.

“You never told me that story.”

“Don’t give Channing any ideas,” Quinn said with a faint smile. “She’ll be running drone-led canyon tours.”

They both laughed briefly.

Then Quinn’s expression shifted.

“Within a few weeks, Robbie’s job began taking more and more of her time. Suddenly, she had meetings on days we had planned to do things together. I started going out on my own.

“Now you know me,” Quinn continued. “I can travel independently.”

She stared into her coffee.

“But after a while it started to feel different.”

“Different how?” Riley asked.

“It felt like I had become a burden,” Quinn said quietly. “Like Robbie didn’t want me there.”

Riley stayed silent.

“There were nights when Robbie called to say I shouldn’t wait up. I’d sit in the apartment looking out over Tokyo while dinner grew cold on the table. Eventually, I would throw it away and go to bed.

“The next morning Robbie acted as if nothing had happened.”

“You both discussed expectations, though?”

“Yes. She promised she would make time. She said the project was just intense at the beginning.”

Quinn shook her head.

“One night, I waited all night. Robbie never came home.”

Silence stretched between them.

“Tokyo was supposed to be the easy part,” Quinn said.

She could still smell the sea air from the bay that first morning. Robbie laughing. The sound of gulls fighting over scraps.

Quinn blinked and returned to Riley’s veranda.

“That’s when things started shifting,” she said. “Eventually, I told Robbie I was going back to Hawaii.”

“And?” Riley asked.

“She barely reacted.”

“When I arrived in Hawaii, it was hard. I thought maybe I just needed time to settle again.”

“I tried to go back to my routines. I worked in the garden. You remember the place. The bougainvillea had taken over the back wall.”

Riley smiled faintly.

“I started hiking again, too. I thought the trails might clear my head.”

She paused. “I even began fixing things around the house. The lanai door had been sticking for months.”

Riley waited.

Quinn slowly shook her head.

“But everything felt hollow.”

“It was like the house had emptied out while I was gone. Same walls. Same view. But none of it felt like my life anymore.”

“Where was Robbie?” Riley asked quietly.

“Tokyo.”

“And you talked?”

“Not really.”

Quinn looked down at her hands.

“For thirty years, I protected identities. Now I’m not sure what my own looks like without my badge.”

“I was sitting in a beautiful house in Hawaii,” she continued, “and I had never felt more alone.”

Riley reached across the space separating them and squeezed her hand.

“That’s when I booked the flight to Sabáka.”

“I wanted to come back to Echo Canyon. I knew you would be here.”

“I took the first available flight. I even spent the night at the airport because I didn’t want to stay where I wasn’t wanted.”

Riley squeezed her hand again.

“I’m so sorry, Quinn.”

She paused.

“Quinn… how can I help?”

Quinn shrugged.

“I don’t even know yet. It just feels good to be here. To have space to figure things out.”

Riley nodded. “And you can stay here as long as you need.”

Quinn relaxed slightly.

“I’m really unsure about Robbie and the house in Hawaii. I don’t even know who I am right now or what I’m going to do next.”

She gave a small shrug.

“But this isn’t like me. I didn’t create this situation, so I’ll figure out how to move forward.”

Her voice hardened slightly.

“I’ve sent text after text over the past few weeks and haven’t received a single answer.”

She exhaled sharply.

“That’s not how you treat someone you supposedly love.”

Riley remained quiet.

“Part of me wants to call Joe, the house manager in Hawaii, and have him ship the few things I left there. But that feels like running away.”

“And I don’t run.”

Riley nodded slowly.

“You deserve so much better, Quinn. Does Robbie have any idea you might not be going back?”

Quinn went still.

“Well… I still haven’t told you the other half of the story.”

She looked out across the canyon.

Then she turned back to Riley.

“Because Robbie didn’t just stop answering me.”

Riley frowned.

Quinn stood suddenly.

“She abandoned me in Australia.”

Riley blinked.

“Quinn… what in the world happened?”

Since you’ve made it this far, you’re already at the front door.

Story Insiders sit with the women of Echo Canyon on the veranda, as the story continues.

You Don’t Have to Leave

There was an ache she couldn’t explain.

Riley had always been comfortable on her own. Not lonely. Self-contained was how she thought of her life. Most of the time, it worked.

Echo Canyon was the first place that made her question it.

She sat back in her chair, the canyon settling into that familiar end-of-day quiet. Laughter moved easily between them. Glasses on the table. A second bottle already open.

She watched them for a moment. Quinn had gotten there first. She always did. Riley could trust her for that. Val leaned forward, talking to Raven, who listened in a way that made people say more than they meant to.

Skylar, with that half-smile she never explained. Riley wondered if there was something out of place in the evening.

It hadn’t always been like this for Riley. There had been other nights that ended early.

The first night here had been different. She hadn’t planned for anyone to stay. She pulled the extra chairs out because it felt polite. Quinn helped her set out glasses she rarely used. Told herself it would be an hour, maybe two.

They had all arrived at the same time. Food and wine in their hands. Val brought an orchid. Skylar stood for a while before sitting, taking in the canyon like she was reading something written into it. Raven didn’t speak much. She watched. Aware of everything.

They talked the way new friends do. Easy at first. Careful.

Riley had expected it to end the way these things usually do. A pause. A polite “we should do this again.” Everyone heading back to their own lives. Had those been the wrong people?

At some point, she realized no one was checking the time. She glanced at her wrist, surprised her watch wasn’t there.

The light shifted. The canyon changed color in a way that felt less like weather and more like permission. The air cooled just enough to matter.

No one stood up. The place where things usually begin to wind down, no one moved.

Riley looked around the veranda. The same chairs. The same view. The same women.

No one talked about that first night. There was no need.

Val reached for the bottle without asking. Skylar turned her chair slightly toward the others. Raven added something quietly. Quinn exhaled. Riley heard it.

They weren’t leaving.

Riley could have ended it. She knew how. She’d done it before. But this time was different. She didn’t want them to leave.

She leaned back and let it continue. The conversation shifted. A little deeper. A little slower. Riley felt it settle in around them.

This space wasn’t something she had created.

It had happened anyway, and she knew she didn’t want it to end as she felt the ache lessen.

Riley lifted her glass, listening as the conversation folded into itself.

They didn’t know it then.

But that was the beginning of everything.

—-

What moment in this story do you relate to the most? Hit reply and let me know. ~ Marylee

Here’s your Key 🔑 to the veranda

See why the story never ends for Story Insiders.

I’ve saved a seat for you!

Come inside

First — your gift. Find Yourself in the Stories

➡️ Inside are short snippets of the five Women from Echo Canyon, each one holding a mirror you may recognize. Women who are still becoming.

Get your copy here: LINK.

If you want to go deeper, my debut novel is available now on Amazon.

Click on the image to check it out

Whispers of Echo Canyon — Book 1 of the Women of the Canyon series — was published February 17, 2026, at 73. It’s getting reviews that make me cry (the good kind). Here’s one:

‘The canyon awaits your second book, Marylee, and so do I.’

→ Get Whispers of Echo Canyon on Amazon

Story Insiders stay with the women after the story ends.

→ Read the first chapters of Whispers of Echo Canyon. The rest will be available serialized, in a few weeks for Story Insiders only.

Table of Contents

→ And read Mirage of Trust, Book 2, in real time, chapter by chapter, before it’s published.

Mirage of Trust Chapters

→ Plus Private Journals from the women — the interior moments that never appear in the books.

Readers tell me they don’t want to leave when the chapter ends.

So I won’t end it.

Story Insiders is where you stay with the women.

You’ll read their private journals.

Hear the conversations left out of the chapters.

Stay on the veranda when they stay after dark.

You don’t have to say goodbye.

Stay with them.

You don’t have to leave when the chapter ends.

Come inside

I was three pages from the end when the canyon spoke.

I stopped dead in my tracks moments before I was ready to write “The End” of my debut novel.

Not because I didn’t know what came next. I did. The women were where they needed to be. I could see the ending clearly enough to write it.

That wasn’t the problem.

The problem was a single line I hadn’t planned.

The canyon spoke.

I sat there longer than I care to admit, reading it over and over. Because that wasn’t what I had been writing. I was stunned. Who said that?

I stepped away to consider what just happened. I’d achieved my goal of 80,000 words in Whispers of Echo Canyon. I’m impatient in most things I do. I wanted to be done.

The canyon spoke.

But it’s a place. Does this matter?

In a way, of course it did. The canyon holds the women. It shapes how they move, what they notice, what they ignore. But it’s still a place. A powerful one, but still something they walked through.

This was different.

This wasn’t Raven, my 70-year-old protagonist, listening. This wasn’t her intuition. This wasn’t her making meaning out of silence.

The canyon spoke.

And I hadn’t written anything that prepared for that.

I looked at the rest of the chapter, then back at that line. Because now I had a dilemma. I needed to make a choice.

I could leave it. Delete the line, finish the book, and no one would ever know it had been there. That was the easy way out. Was that what I wanted?

But once I saw it, I couldn’t unsee it. It was an intriguing thought. Something different. I like different.

The canyon spoke.

I wrestled with this for days. I debated pretending I hadn’t heard it. The need for a decision rarely left my thoughts.

To keep following my experience making this decision, pull up a chair. Story Insiders get every post and full chapters every week.

Grab your chair

Read more

“She called. Then the line went dead.”

Read it Here

Quinn returns to Echo Canyon on a red-eye, asking Riley for a ride from the airport with very little explanation.

Something has shifted in her life. She doesn’t say what it is. Riley doesn’t ask. The canyon welcomes her back.

But the silence between them says more than either of them is ready to admit.

Chapter 2 Mirage of Trust

She didn’t want to VID-call. They would see the worry on her face. The garden circle had always been Quinn’s backup family, and Riley sent a quick message instead

Hi gang. Quinn came in yesterday. She’s exhausted. Once she’s rested I’m sure she’ll want to see everyone.

The responses arrived almost immediately.

Is everything okay? I can make her some restorative tea, Val wrote.

Bring her by the stables when she’s ready. A quiet ride might help, Raven added.

Skylar’s message came next. I’ll be back by the end of the week. Jim’s in town if you need anything.

Riley thanked them and said she would be in touch soon.

Putting her comm down, she started her routine with her potted plants. It had been a hot summer, with rain only coming this past week. Many of her annual flowers were barely hanging on, but the kumquat tree and Mexican honeysuckle were doing well. The giant pine trees on the west side of her property provided shade for the pots by four o’clock, helping them escape the sun’s intensity as it built through the morning.

Riley carefully inspected her garden, noting how her summer snaps had transformed into tall, vibrant beauties since the recent rain. The vinca were doing well too.

Her hands slowed in the pot. Ben would have noticed this right away. She wouldn’t have met so many people so easily, and she certainly wouldn’t have her garden. Ben had an easy way of showing people the path by introducing them to others. He could teach everything himself, but he didn’t.

As she thought about Ben, Riley lifted her head and peered through the back doors, as if expecting something. Her expression shifted to sadness as she remembered what Quinn had looked like at the airport, and when she had gone into the bedroom to rest.

Riley realized her hands were still hovering over the pot, clutching the pruners. Shaking her head, she turned her attention back to the plant and delicately pruned the longest branches of the vinca deep inside the foliage, knowing this would encourage new growth and result in a fuller, more robust plant. As she worked, she noticed the first signs of fresh shoots emerging from within, a reward for attentive care.

Satisfied, Riley gathered the best cuttings of summer snaps and vinca blooms to arrange in a vase. Intrigued, she added a few branches of Mexican honeysuckle, curious to see how they would fare in water. With a sense of contentment, she went back inside to brew a pot of coffee, hopeful that Quinn would wake soon and feel somewhat refreshed.

I’ve never seen Quinn like this. Her shoulders rounded, diminishing her height by inches. So reluctant to say anything. She’ll tell me when she’s ready, she always does. But God, I hope she’s okay.

Riley’s thoughts broke off at the sound of the guest room door opening.

“Hi! You’re up! Did you have a good rest? I’ve just made a fresh pot of coffee. Would you like some?”

“That’s nice, Riley. It smells good. Don’t get up. I can get it.”

Quinn opened the kitchen cabinet door and saw her favorite mug. Reaching for it, she added, “Yes, I’m starting to feel better. I feel like I haven’t slept in days. Can I top off your coffee? Maybe I’ll have one of these bananas.”

“Yes, please help yourself.” Riley held up her cup for a refill. How long has it been since you slept a full night?”

Quinn shrugged, not tasting her coffee. “Days without sleep. Weeks with poor sleep.”

Quinn pulled the comm from her pocket, glanced at it, and set it face down on the counter.

She hated that she wanted it to light up.

She hated that it didn’t.

Riley noticed but chose to slide past it.

“Well, now that you’re here, I’m sure you’ll sleep like a baby. I messaged the women to let them know you arrived.”

Quinn looked up, startled.

“You didn’t say anything, did you?”

Riley lifted her hand in reassurance. “No. I just said you came in and were really tired. I told them we’d be in touch when you’re ready to see everyone. They all sent their best.”

Quinn seemed satisfied and turned toward the veranda, leaving her mug on the counter.

The next morning started quietly.

Quinn did not come into the kitchen until nine. She poured herself some coffee and took a long drink, looking out toward the veranda. Riley sat in a deck chair, staring into the canyon. She didn’t seem to notice Quinn behind her.

“Good morning.”

Riley shifted in her chair and looked up. A quick smile replaced the blank expression on her face.

“Hi! Sorry. I didn’t hear you come out. I guess I was lost in thought. Did you get some sleep?”

“Yes. In fits and starts. My best sleep was actually from seven until now.”

“Well, you look a shade better. I’ve been up since six. You know me. Up with the sun. I baked some blueberry muffins, and there are still bananas if you’re ready for something to eat. It’s such a lovely morning here on the veranda, I decided to enjoy it.”

“Thanks, but not yet. I want to see your garden. Did you cut those flowers this morning?”

“Not today. Yesterday I was cutting flowers back, and there was no need to put them all into the compost. We’re fortunate the heat has pulled back. We’re finally out of the hundreds.”

“I didn’t even notice, Riley.”

Quinn looked down at her coffee. She used to notice everything. It had been her job. Now the days slipped past like they belonged to someone else.

Riley could see she was holding back tears.

Quinn stood and moved to the top of the stairs, hesitating as if she wasn’t sure she could go down. Riley moved over next to Quinn and took her hand, leading her down the veranda steps into the morning light, shadows stretching across the garden.

She’d spent the summer creating small naturalized areas. Pots tucked between boulders and ground plantings, succulents catching the long eastern sun.

They wandered through the garden and Quinn paused beside a gray vase filled with aloe.

“I love what you’ve done,” she said quietly. “It feels… settled.”

Riley caught the weight in that word.

“Thanks Quinn. It’s a labor of love. Come on,” she said gently. “Let’s get some food.”

Riley leaned toward Quinn, Riley stayed close as they climbed the steps.

They took their sandwiches into the great room and snuggled amidst the pillows on the couch. Quinn’s message alert sounded and she froze, then glanced at her watch like time could protect her. She looked up with tears in her eyes.

Cautiously, Riley asked, “Are you up to telling me what’s happening?”

The words came fast, tangled with tears. “How did I end up here? I’m supposed to be living the life, fully retired and traveling the world with my soulmate.

“Now I’m lost, alone, and devastated.”

Riley quickly set her plate down, moved closer, and drew Quinn in while she sobbed. She rubbed her back and whispered slow, soothing words until Quinn’s heaving stopped and she could push back into the sofa. Riley offered the box of tissues she always kept handy.

“I’m sorry, Riley. I thought I was done crying.”

“Oh, Quinn. Don’t be sorry. I’m glad you’re here and not alone. You know I’m always here for you. I would have come anywhere if I knew what you were going through.”

“I know, Riley. And I’m sorry I’m keeping you in the dark. I just can’t get into it yet.” Feeling a little guilty, Quinn gave Riley’s hand a squeeze. “Soon, I promise.”

After lunch, Quinn went back to her room. Riley was surprised that her usually energetic friend was taking another rest, but whatever had happened had taken its toll on her. She suspected Quinn was using the naps as an escape but hopefully it would work and restore Quinn to her normal self.

Riley puttered around the house, checking her auto-payments and online accounts, then emailing a few architecture clients about upcoming meetings. She wasn’t used to staying in so much, but there was no way she was going to leave Quinn alone now. She wished she could talk to Raven but she would not betray her trust. She was relieved when her friend came out several hours later.

“Hi! I’m glad you’re up.” Riley looked carefully at her friend to see signs of rejuvenation. She surged on. “Ben called while you were asleep and invited us over for happy hour. I said maybe you’d prefer he comes here, if you’re up for it.”

“I think I’d like that. I enjoy Ben. And I appreciate you letting me stay with you. How about I make something for his visit? We’ll sit outside?”

“Of course. I’ll call Ben and let him know to come over. Is an hour too soon? I had some more fresh blueberries, so I made a tart, and maybe we can get some cheese ready. I’m sure he’ll bring something over.”

Laughing slightly, Quinn rubbed her stomach. “You’re making me hungry again.”

“Well, I was just going to have a G&T, if you’d like one.”

Quinn sat at the breakfast bar, rubbing her eyes. “I can’t believe I slept again. I was out. Sure, the drink sounds refreshing. The tart smells really good.”

Riley made the drinks and brought them to the stools at the breakfast bar. The view through the back window stretched over the expansive backyard and the wooded area beyond. “I think we’re all set. Ben will be here shortly, so you woke up at the right time.”

Quinn shifted, wanting the conversation to stay on lighter topics, trying to distract herself. “What’s up with the gang? I haven’t been very reliable in staying in touch with our friends.”

Riley looked away for a moment. Not even me.

“They have been busy. Raven..” She glanced toward the back door. That’s got to be Ben knocking. He never knocks. Must be all proper for you. He’s just in time for the blueberry tart.”

Ben arrived with two cloth bags in hand. He set them on the counter, glanced at Riley, and at her subtle nod stepped toward Quinn with his arms out.

Quinn paused, not knowing if she was ready for a hug, even from someone who cared deeply. She took one step forward as Ben erased the distance between them and pulled her in tightly.

“Welcome back, Quinn. We’re glad you found your way home.”

Quinn slumped, and Riley was quick to shift the moment.

“Quinn, look what Ben brought. Loads of goodies. And Quinn, this one must be for you, the red Zinfandel you always ask for. What a spread we’re going to have.” She smiled. “For just the three of us.”

While Riley was displaying the food, Quinn and Ben had both turned toward her and, being the same height, draped an arm around each other’s shoulders. Quinn leaned gently against Ben, steadier now after his emotion-filled greeting.

They each grabbed what they could and settled on the veranda. Riley refreshed her and Quinn’s drinks and brought a fresh G&T out for Ben.

“I thought we could save the wine for the tart. They’ll complement each other well.”

The conversation stayed relaxed, local happenings, the garden tour Riley had attended, plans for shopping with Val and Skylar over the weekend.

Finishing her drink and setting the glass down, Quinn glanced at her watch before asking, “What happened to Whitman after he was ousted from the Centennial?”

Ben picked up the story first. “You heard that Eleanor, his wife and chair of the event, basically laid him out in front of the entire community, right?”

Quinn nodded, and Ben continued. “Well, if the land were the law, their divorce would have been final right then. Between that and the loss of community support for, well, anything, he’s gone, and good riddance.”

“That must be a relief for Eleanor. I can’t imagine living under the thumb of a person like him,” Quinn added, sinking further into her deck chair’s deep cushion.

Riley and Ben exchanged a glance, catching the potential meaning behind what Quinn had just said.

Riley added, “We’re all better without him.”

“Well, ladies, even though we haven’t opened the wine yet, I think I’m going to call it a night,” Ben said. “I’m going to the upper ranch tomorrow for the weekend. Donnie needs some help mending the fences, and I told him I’d come up. Maybe we can make a date with everyone at my house when I get back, if you’ll still be here, that is.”

Quinn looked away.

Catching herself and wanting to move away from Ben’s comment, she asked Riley, “What’s that structure out on the tree line? I hadn’t noticed that before.”

Riley glanced at Ben at Quinn’s rapid change of subject and quickly brightened. “Oh! I didn’t show you that. We, well, I mean Ben’s crew built a pagoda for al fresco dining and evening moon watching. It faces east so we have a great view, especially on full moon nights. Hey Ben, how about we check for the next full moon for happy hour? Depending on what time it rises,” she finished, chuckling.

Quinn leaned back in her chair as Riley spoke. “That sounds like a good plan.”

“Quinn, why don’t you sit still while I walk Ben out to his gate. I’ll be right back.”

“As lovely as it is out here, Riley, I’ll start taking these things inside. I’m ready to call it a night too.”

Ben quickly grabbed the glasses and a tray. “Eh, we’ll make short work of this right now. Charlotte taught me better than this, to leave dishes on a table. Then you two won’t be left with the cleanup, just the leftovers,” he added, chuckling. “The best part of a get-together.”

Riley and Quinn made short work of the final cleanup. As Riley washed the last glass, looking out the window, she said softly, “Quinn, you know you don’t have to do this alone.”

Quinn opened her mouth as if to speak, then shook her head no. She turned quickly and ran to her room.

The last thing Riley heard was the creak of the old floorboard right outside the guest room door.

Then the door closed firmly.

Riley stood still in the quiet kitchen.

Quinn’s comm was still sitting on the counter.

Face down.

There are things Quinn hasn’t said yet.

And questions Riley is choosing not to ask.

If you feel that pull to stay a little longer,

to sit in these moments with them…

you don’t have to leave.

Stay Inside