On the Mountain (Follow your Bliss #5) by Deirdre Riordan Hall

cabin, she unloaded
the groceries, poured a glass of lemonade, and turned to the porch, ready to
relax. She swatted at a fly, buzzing irritatingly around her head. The sun,
blazing overhead all morning, dipped behind a cloud, as others, like a herd of
giant elephants, rushed across the sky.
    After five minutes, she shifted anxiously
in the Adirondack chair. She tumbled over the last days, then weeks, and months
in her mind.
    Ten minutes. An airplane went by,
out of sight in the cloud cover, most likely destined for somewhere more exotic
and exciting than the cabin by the lake.
    Fifteen minutes. Baskia paced
along the wooden planks of the porch, having finished her lemonade. “This is
boring,” she said aloud.
    Instead of going in the house,
she walked down to the lake, recalling her, Will, and their cousins, in the
water and playing Marco polo until the sun set over the hills.
    She sighed and sat on the end of
the wooden dock, letting her bare feet dangle over the edge. Her toes skimmed
the water. A clap of thunder sounded in the distance. In the silence that
followed, her thoughts settled. She wasn’t ready to commit to school because she
didn’t know what she wanted to study, but that wasn’t the only problem; she
could just take required classes until she figured that out. She loved the
city. It wasn’t that. As for modeling, she couldn’t imagine giving it up, but
wasn’t eager to make it her entire life either. No, Baskia knew there was a
dream somewhere inside her, but wasn’t yet sure what exactly it was. Until she
did, she wouldn’t be happy on any of the paths laid before her. 
    As another long roll of thunder
rumbled in the sky plump drops of rain fell, dotting the lake, she saw that
each possible choice foisted upon her would puddle into resentment; the kind of
bitterness a person could drown in. It was longing she saw in her mother’s face
whenever art history came up in conversation. It was the fraction of hesitancy
whenever Anne committed to yet another item on her social calendar. It was in
the tears, Baskia had only heard during the lonely nights her mother spent
without her husband, which pointed toward dissatisfaction and regret. Anne
would never admit to any of those things. It was also true that although her
mother tolerated that life, it didn’t fit her as well as the tailored suits she
wore.
    Maybe being on her own and
traveling the world opened up a window of possibilities. Whatever it was had
made Baskia not only unwilling, but also unable, to settle for a life living
someone else’s dreams and expectations.
    Baskia let the pouring rain
saturate her, cool her skin, and drench her shirt. She got to her feet and
whooped at the sky. “Show me watcha got, I’m ready,” she called, her voice
echoing across the valley below. She didn’t care if she had to stay there
forever, perched on that hilltop, living off saltines and black coffee, she
would figure out what she wanted. She’d open her eyes wide, drink the fresh
air, and soak in the sun. She promised herself, as right as rain, she’d figure
out her dream, and only then would she leave that remote place in the woods.
    She turned back to the cabin,
splashing through the puddles, for the first time in a long time, verging on
feeling free.
    Her plan seemed like a good idea,
until later that evening, after showering and freshening up, she ran out of
things to do. Her cell phone had spotty service and her patience evaporated
just as the damp wood on the porch dried, the sun returning just in time to
set, spilling like strawberry milk, splendidly, over the distant hills.
    When she crawled into bed that
night, everything felt right. Yes, she’d gotten a bit bored, but the next day
she planned to take a jog along the trails in the woods, do a crossword puzzle,
look through the stack of fashion magazines she’d brought with her, and
reorganize her luggage after having packed it hastily. Tomorrow would be a new
day. She expected insights would