Surviving Love - K.F. Breene Page 0,4

a lung-filling breath as he walked away. She dragged her pack into the room and surveyed her new sleeping quarters. A pair of twin beds, one on each side of the room, with two nightstands between them. A dresser hugged the wall at the end of each bed, and a tiny closet held additional blankets, pillows, and an ironing board. Off their room lay a bathroom with a shower, toilet, and sink. There wasn’t much, but it was all anybody would need.

Before Sara could pick a bed, a young woman in her mid-twenties bounded into the room with a giant smile and flashing eyes. “Hi! Oh my God, you must be Sara! I’m Christie. I’m your roommate. Yay!” She clapped excitedly and glanced around the room. “Right or left?”

“What?” Sara asked dumbly.

Christie turned her brilliant blue eyes on Sara. “Which side? Can I take the right? I always seem to veer that way.”

“Oh… yeah, sure.” Sara stepped backward so the animated young woman could step in front of her. Her blonde ponytail bobbed jovially as she glided to her bed.

“This is my second season, so I’m still fairly new,” Christie said as she heaved her suitcase onto the bed. “But I know most of the usual suspects, so I’m good to have around. I’m a waitress slash helper, like you, which really just means we do all the hard work while the cooks make bread. Don’t try to befriend them. They’ve been here forever and are as mean as alley cats. You here for the whole time?” Christie shot a glance back at Sara, awaiting the answer.

Sara started, realizing she’d been staring like a stalker. “I am, yes,” Sara managed as she pushed her duffel toward her dresser. “Here for the whole stretch, I mean.”

“Me too! What are you going back to?”

Despondency settled on Sara like ashes. The future gaped at her, bleak and desolate. “Not sure. I… sorta… well…” A mutinous tear leaked out of her eye. She scrubbed it away quickly.

“Oh, honey.” Christie crossed the room in a flash, gently coaxing Sara to sit on the bed. “A man, huh?”

Sara furrowed her brow as more tears sprang up, hating herself for breaking down. It always seemed that relationship pain was stored right near the surface—any tiny thing set it boiling over. “H-how did you know?”

Christie gave her a sympathetic smile. “I recognize guy-hurt. My first love dumped me when he left for college. But you know what? I was better off. He went wild and nearly got kicked out of school, while I was getting top grades. After the first year to feel sorry for myself, I put my head up and soldiered on! I don’t need someone like that, you know? How long ago did you break up?”

“About five months.”

She tsked. “And how long were you together?”

Sink or swim. Sara pulled out the ring and showed it to Christie. “Since I was sixteen. Fourteen years. He left me for a cute little intern who looked just like me. He’d been seeing her for a year behind my back.”

Christie rubbed Sara’s back. “This may be a stupid question, but… you didn’t know?”

Sara shook her head. “No clue. People say you always know when your man is cheating, but I had no idea. He gambled a lot, though, so…”

“Ah. Then he was cheating long before he met that girl. A gambling habit, or any addiction, can be just like a mistress. The addict lies about it, spends long hours away, sneaks—you’re better off. Or is it too soon?”

Christie’s searching expression roved Sara’s face. The younger woman nodded in sympathy with the resolve she must’ve found in Sara’s expression. “Definitely better off. And a good move, too, coming here. It’s so much fun. Plus, you get paid to basically hang out on a dude ranch! People spend good money to come to these places, and you’re getting paid to do it. Free food, rent—all you have to do is a little back-breaking, sweat-wrenching work, and then voilà, paradise!”

Sara barked out a watery laugh, mopping up her face. “I told myself no more crying.”

“Eh.” Christie bounded up, back to her unpacking. “Be easy on yourself. Cry when you feel like it, laugh when you want to, put your faith in God, and let Him take the lead. It was a long time. Heartbreak sucks rocks—don’t put so much pressure on yourself.”

“What are you, a motivational speaker?”

Christie laughed, an uninhibited sound. “I was a guidance counselor, actually. I did summer camp work