You Can't Hide by Theresa Sneed (uplifting novels TXT) 📕

Millie met her halfway. “Nancy.” She threw her arms around her neck. Pulling away she gushed. “So, how was your first day?”

“It was, um, nice,” Nancy said, not so convincingly.

Millie tilted her head. “Yeah, my first day went like that, too.”

She felt her face redden and pressed her lips tight. “Oh? How long have you been here?”

“This time?”

That surprised Nancy. She didn’t know what to say.

“This is my third time here in the past year.”

“Oh.”

“It kind of grows on you, being here in the woods by the lake.” She looked out over its quiet waters. The sun was just beginning to lower itself in the distance, as the day waned. Breathing in deep, she continued. “I don’t know why you’re here, but I know that because you are, you’ve experienced some kind of trauma—like us all.” She was silent. “My trauma, keeps bringing me back.” Her smile faded, as she was obviously caught up in a memory.

Nancy bit down on her lip. She couldn’t—she just couldn’t listen to whatever Millie had gone through. “I, um, I’m sorry, Millie.”

In an instant, Millie’s sad look was gone. “No need to be sorry, Nancy.” She patted her arm. “Coming here is like recharging my batteries.” She grinned. “It’s the best medicine in the world.” Looping her arm through Nancy’s, she turned toward the path. “Shall we go to dinner?”

Nancy would rather have gone back to her cabin. There was plenty of food in the refrigerator and the pantry. But, something about Millie quieted the turmoil raging within her. “Okay,” she said, before she changed her mind. She pulled her arm away and stood beside her.

Millie seemed to understand. “You’ll love the food here. We take turns preparing the meals and cleaning up after. There’s a signup sheet in the kitchen.”

“Oh.” Nancy hadn’t thought about that, but she supposed that made sense. “Everyone works together here?”

“Yes. We clean our own cabins, too.”

Relieved that no one would invade her privacy, she sighed. “That’s nice.”

Millie gestured toward the dirt road up the path. “Ready?”

Yes, and no, Nancy thought. She gave Millie a quick nod and then glanced back at the yellow cabin with its empty deck. The strange woman was nowhere to be seen. She pointed toward it. “What do you know about her?”

“Not much. Well, except I know that whenever she’s gone, no one coming in gets her cabin. It’s kind of weird, because when I come and go, I don’t have my own cabin waiting for me.” She shrugged. “I guess it’s because she’s only gone for a few days before she returns.”

“Have you ever spoken to her?”

Millie smirked. “Yes, the one thing she does do is come to the writing group. In fact, it’s practically her baby.”

“Really?” Nancy looked down at her feet while they walked. “But she seems so elusive.”

Millie nodded. “Oh, she is—she’s great at listening, and sharing writing tips, but not so great at talking about herself. Seriously, the only thing I know about her is her first name.”

Nancy stopped walking and looked at her, waiting for her to continue.

“Sofia,” Millie said, skipping up the steps of the lodge, “her name is Sofia.”

“Sofia,” Nancy repeated, following her into the lodge.

The front doors opened into a wide vestibule. Several potted plants sat in perfectly arranged clusters in front of its large windows. The floor caught Nancy’s attention. Someone had done some serious art work on the hardwood floor, with its inlaid marble patterns of a sunburst. “Just gorgeous,” she whispered.

Millie followed her eyes to the floor. “Yes, it is. The owner of the lodge had that commissioned before he turned it over to us.”

Nancy glanced around. The vestibule was empty except for her and Millie, though she could see women in the adjoining room. Her thoughts turned back to Sofia. It seemed odd that someone so private would lead a writing group. How would that even work? “Sofia doesn’t share her writing?”

Millie smirked. “Oh, she shares her stuff. It’s really intense.”

“She shares her writing, but wouldn’t that reveal personal things about herself?”

“Oh, gosh, I hope not.” Millie said abruptly.

“Why would you say that?”

“Some of it is hard to listen to. I mean, it’s all well written, but some of the things she shares are pretty disconnected and difficult to understand.”

Confused, Nancy tilted her head. “Huh?”

“Um, it’s like Picasso, only in prose—very deep, and full of meaning, most of which is too much for me to get.” She shrugged. “But that’s only her poetry, her books are pretty cool.”

“She writes books?”

“Well, a book—she’s been working on it for years.”

She followed Millie into the adjoining room and glanced around. It was a big, cozy room with several overstuffed chairs and loungers. Part of the ceiling was open to the night air giving the room a surreal ambiance.

Swallowing, she looked around. No one seemed to notice her, except for Wendy, the woman who had picked her up at Circle K. She smiled and came over to them.

“Hi, Nancy. Hey, I haven’t seen you around. Are you keeping to your cabin?”

“I, um,” Nancy stuttered.

Millie cut in. “She’s been with me.”

Wendy grinned. “Fabulous.” She turned to Nancy. “Millie will take good care of you.” With a fleeting smile, she swept past them, and joined another group of women who appeared deep in conversation.

Millie made a face. “She does that—flits from person to person. You hardly get a word in edgewise before she moves on, but I like her.” She grabbed the arm of a woman passing by them and pulled her over. “This is Gabby. She’s one of the writers.”

“Oh,” Nancy said. “What do you write?”

Gabby grinned. “Women’s issues,” she said. “Y’know, things we need to be talking about, but hardly ever do, because everyone has an issue, and no one wants to admit it.”

The hair pricked on the back of Nancy’s neck. “Oh.”

“Like depression,” Gabby said, in a somber voice. “No one talks about it. Y’know?”

And there’s a reason why, thought Nancy. It was way too personal. She’d be polite, say