Book 3 of The Wildwater Walking Club series!
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(Scroll down to read an excerpt.)
Don’t miss The Wildwater Walking Club
and The Wildwater Walking Club: Back on Track
“As with the other books in The Wildwater Walking Club series, Step by Step is a wonderful ode to reinvention, to new beginnings, and to friendship more resilient than the rubber sole on a walking shoe. I loved every minute of it.”—Book Perfume
“The Wildwater Walking Club: Step by Step is a terrific character study, a lesson in the power of positive and honest self-reflection, and, of course, a wise and laugh-provoking look at our human foibles. Claire Cook strikes again.”—Book Reporter
Instead of focusing on actually finding some health coach clients, Noreen is dividing her time between sabotaging her relationship with Rick and disaster-fantasizing about ending up living in a tent by the side of the road. Tess is ready to downsize, but can she really figure out how to move on and live small? Rosie is completely overwhelmed with life on the lavender farm, and it doesn’t help matters that Rosie’s dad and Noreen’s mom are conducting most of their romantic interludes at her house.
They thought they’d have their lives all figured out by now. But change is blowing in along with the crisp fall air, and they’re finding out that life for 40-to-forever women is not for sissies. Hitting the road again might be just what The Wildwater Walking Club needs.
Join Noreen, Tess and Rosie as they walk and talk, talk and walk, share their secrets, and learn to take it step by step. You’ll be lacing up your own sneakers in no time!
Read an excerpt!
Excerpted from The Wildwater Walking Club: Step by Step
Copyright © 2020 Claire Cook. All rights reserved.
Day 1
10,002 Steps
One year, three months and two days after I became redundant, I lurched awake as if I’d been electrocuted. I rolled over and tucked my vibrating wrist under my pillow so I wouldn’t have to see the annoying flashes of light that came along with the vibrations.
Rick rolled in my direction, bringing a hint of yesterday’s deodorant and sleep-seasoned morning breath. Tiny flecks of cement from his latest batch of garden sculptures added heft to the streaks of gray in his light brown hair. He let out a low frequency rumble of a snore that sounded vaguely like Darth Vader.
My Fitbit vibrated again, a gazillion buzzing insects attacking my wrist. I scrunched my eyes shut, opened them just long enough to poke the screen with an index finger to make it stop. ROCKSTAR, the screen read. I’d programmed it to greet me that way as a confidence booster, but right now I had to admit it felt more like my Fitbit was mocking me.
The sad truth was I’d thought that, even if it didn’t quite reach rockstar magnitude, I’d have my life all figured out by now. I’d spent far too many years working for Balancing Act Shoes before they’d been gobbled up by another company. Most recently I’d been Senior Manager of Brand Identity, part of the team that created sneakers like Dream Walker (You’ll Swear You’re Walking on Clouds), Step Litely (Do These Sneakers Make Me Look Thin?), and Feng Shuoe (New Sneakers for a New Age).
A guy from the takeover company I never should have been fooling around with tricked me into accepting a buyout package. Eighteen months of full base salary and benefits seemed like plenty of time to get my act together. Who knew.
I dozed. My Fitbit vibrated. I poked it. It showed me an image of two feet and a big fat O, my step count for the day so far. And then it started vibrating again.
“Fine,” I said. I rolled out of bed and paced around my bedroom, holding my stomach in just in case Rick happened to wake up and glance my way. It was a good thing I’d recently finished my health coach certification, because the average lay person might not even realize that the alarms on most fitness tracking devices turn off once you’ve walked fifty steps.
I’d met Rick at a series of small group outplacement counseling classes offered by a company called Fresh Horizons, another perk of my buyout package. Rick had recently taken a buyout, too. He’d been some kind of IT ethical hacking wizard at a company that helped financial institutions, as well as the occasional political party, identify their website vulnerabilities. Because the word wizard had actually been in his official job title, I always pictured him sitting at his computer behind a red velvet curtain, shirtless and wearing a pointy white wizard hat with Senior Overlord of Ethical Hacking emblazoned across the brim in gold letters. It was sexy, in a geeky kind of way.
For a while there, Rick had been even less together than I was, assuming that was possible. Eventually I realized that two people as screwed up as we were had absolutely no business attempting a relationship until they got their rebound career paths figured out.
So I called things off and sallied forth on another adventure with Tess and Rosie, the neighbors I’d bonded with because our lives had all imploded, each in a different way. Rick stepped it up and we found our way back to each other.
Now he seemed to be figuring out what he wanted the next chapter of his life to be. A big part of me was thrilled for him. The lesser part of me was pretty much seaweed green with envy.
I gave my teeth a quick brush and splashed some water on my face. Yanked on a pair of leggings and wiggled my way into a sports bra. Found the sleep T-shirt that had ended up on the floor last night during the throes of passion. The best thing about living in the golden age of athleisure wear was that you could pretty much wear anything anywhere. Either that or my post-buyout standards had really slipped.
When I opened my bedroom door, I heard giggles coming from the guestroom. My mother and Rosie’s father were dividing their time between our houses. They had an irritating habit of hopping from house to house for romantic guestroom trysts whenever the mood struck. The upside was that they always made the bed and sometimes cooked breakfast.
I put on my sneakers and grabbed a jacket, pushed my door open and shivered. October had a way of really sneaking up on you. Just like the rest of life.
Under a sky full of stars, I stood in the dark making shiny loops with the flashlight on my phone. Then I walked in place to rack up some more mileage and to keep my toes from freezing. After that I breathed in the scent of pine trees—a stronger resin and just beneath that, a trace of what always smelled like lemon to me.
“Olly olly oxen free,” I sang in a semi-whisper.
“Olly olly come in free,” I tried. I was fairly sure that was the updated version, since oxen had basically gone the way of dinosaurs. At least in my front yard on Wildwater Way in Marshbury, Massachusetts.
While I waited for Tess and Rosie to appear at this ridiculous hour, I figured I might as well wish on some of the stars I was looking at. It couldn’t hurt.
I thought for a minute. I was old enough to know that happily ever after was probably not going to happen, so I scrunched my eyes shut and whispered, “Happy-ish ever after. Star light, star bright, first stars I see this morning, just let me live happy-ish ever after.”
How would that look? my inner certified health coach couldn’t help asking.
“Well,” I whispered. “Rick and I would get along most of the time, and I’d eat well and exercise regularly, and I’d make time for my family and friends, while setting healthy limits, especially with my mother . . .”
A cloud of impending doom came between the stars and me like an eclipse. I shivered some more, zipped up my jacket, flipped the hood over my head, tucked the hand not holding my phone up under one sleeve.
“And I’d actually figure out how to make enough money as a health coach to survive before my eighteen months of base salary and benefits run out. In less than three months. And I end up living in a tent pitched by the side of the road.” I dug hard for some optimism. “Double wide, like the trailer.”
I took a deep breath and began walking in the direction of the beach. With luck, the crisp air might turn out to be just cold enough to numb my fears. I waved my phone flashlight in front of me as I crossed the street, so I wouldn’t get hit by some over-achieving early commuter and end up dead in a ditch. By the side of the road where my tent would eventually have been pitched if I’d lived.
“Wait up,” Tess yelled behind me.
“Yeah,” Rosie yelled. “Wait up.”
I kept walking. “If you’re going to make me get out of bed at this insane hour,” I mumbled, “you could at least have the courtesy to show up on time.”
“Don’t whine,” Tess said as she racewalked past me. “It’s unbecoming.” Tess was dressed for work as a third-grade teacher. Except for the fact that she was wearing her walking sneakers along with lavender fleece pajama bottoms with multi-colored coffee cups printed all over them.
Rosie racewalked past us both. Her red curls poked out from under a dark gray hat that looked similar to a mop and had a beard-like face mask attached to it. It clearly belonged to one of her sons.
“Nice hat,” I said.
“Thanks,” Rosie said. “It’s called a barbarian. What can I say, it’s really warm.”
I jogged a few steps to catch up with them. “Cool. Maybe I can start making barbarian hats for a living. If I trimmed back the beards, they could pass as unisex.”
“They look like artsy versions of the ski masks we wore during our crime spree,” Tess said.
Just before we’d left on our first trip together to the Sequim Lavender Festival in Washington state, Tess had dragged me out of the house under the cover of darkness to protest Marshbury’s official town clothesline ban. We’d covered poster boards with clothesline activism slogans like CLOTHESLINES ARE THE NEW COOL and FIGHT FOR THE RIGHT TO AIR DRY and THERE’S NOTHING LIKE THE SMELL OF YOUR SHEETS FRESH OFF THE LINE. We duct taped our signs to a clothesline stretched across the Marshbury town common.
Our final act of defiance had been to add bubbles to the elephant fountain. Perhaps a few too many bubbles, since overnight they’d multiplied and taken on a life of their own, overflowing the fountain and surging across the manicured grass.
When Tess, Rosie and I passed the common at the crack of dawn the next morning on the way to Logan Airport, the bubbles looked like a cross between a seriously late snowstorm and an effervescent tidal wave. And by the time we got to Sequim, a video of a hazy but identifiable me taking off my black ski mask and following a ski-masked and unidentifiable Tess and her laundry detergent over to the fountain had found its way to the Marshbury town website.
“It was your crime spree,” I said now. “You just dragged me along for the ride. Which, as you well know, I didn’t appreciate.”
“Wuss,” Tess said. “Okay, so then I’ll take full credit for getting that Marshbury clothesline ban lifted.”
I shook my head. “Like you haven’t been doing that all along.”
Rosie gave her mop top hat a shake. “Caps for Sale,” she sang, possibly to change the subject. “Remember singing that on the jetway on our way to France?”
“The jetway on our way to France,” Tess said. “How la-di-dah.”
Rosie ignored her. “My kids loved that book. Actually, I used to love it, too.”
“Everybody loves that book,” Tess said, not for the first time. We’d been walking together just long enough that the edges of our conversations had a slight tendency to repeat.
Tess tucked a hunk of highlighted blond hair behind one ear and turned to me. “You wouldn’t really become a cap peddler, would you? Spoiler alert: the monkeys steal them.”
I tried to picture myself walking the beach with a pile of mustached barbarian hats on my head, monkeys scampering around behind me. Call me crazy, but I was pretty sure that wasn’t the thing to take me from zero to hero.
Rosie, Tess and I walked three abreast on the street, ready to jump back to the sidewalk if we needed to. We found our rhythm almost immediately, swinging our arms, Rosie adding a hop and a skip every so often to catch up with Tess’s and my longer legs.
“Before you start making hats for a living,” Rosie said, “can you paint some more retractable clotheslines for the lavender farm store? We’re completely sold out, and we could use some more of those lavender water spray bottles, too. How’re the online sales going?”
“Sale,” I said. “We’ve had exactly one.”
“Who cares,” Tess said. “You’re a certified health coach now. That probably pays almost as much as being a third-grade teacher.”
“I’m sure it would,” I said, “if I had any actual clients.”
We reached North Beach in no time, spectacular pre-sunrise streaks of pink greeting us. As much as I hated waking up this early so Tess would get to school on time and Rosie could be back to get her kids on the bus and then start work as a landscape designer-slash-lavender farm owner, I had to admit that the sky put on its most magical show in that half hour before the sun came up. I took it in, along with the briny tangy smell of the ocean.
We reconfigured to walk single file through the narrow opening in the seawall. Then we spread out again once we were on the beach. It was getting close to high tide, so Tess claimed what was left of the hard-packed sand, and Rosie and I had to walk on the loose, dry sand at the top of the beach, occasionally crunching over some dehydrated seaweed at the high tide line.
I had no intention of telling Tess because she’d only want to change places with us, but walking on dry sand was actually a better workout. Because your feet move around more on loose sand, the tendons and muscles of your legs have to work harder. My Fitbit might not register the difference, but I knew. I swung my arms a little harder, paid attention to the tempo of my breathing, putting my training to work so it didn’t get stale. I might not have any clients, but I was one helluva health coach.
“Allons-y!” Rosie said. “You are spoiled for choice, Noreen.”
“Aww,” I said. “You sound exactly like that guide from our trip to Provence. The slopes of Mont Ventoux, right?” Just a couple of months ago, we’d taken our second trip together, the trip of a lifetime. A river cruise filled with Van Gogh and vineyards, wine and chocolate, lavender and more lavender. And Tess’s twisted friend from high school, but we’d gotten through that part. I could still smell the lavender, feel my heart rate and blood pressure drop just thinking about it.
“Mont Ventoux is the perfect 800-meter height for lavender,” Rosie said. “Which makes me feel grateful that my lavender does as well as it does here, given that it’s basically growing at sea level.”
“Our trip to Provence,” Tess said. “That sounds so pretentious.”
“Watch it,” Rosie said, “or Noreen and I won’t take you with us on our next pretentious trip.”
“When did you get to be such a smart ass?” Tess said.
“It just takes me a while to warm up.” Rosie shivered. “Especially on mornings like this.”
I matched her shiver with my own, like echoing a yawn but colder. “Why exactly am I spoiled for choice?”
Rosie gave another little hop to catch up. “Think of all the options you have. You’re not tied to a lavender farm you dragged your husband and sons to so your dad didn’t have to be all alone. Only to have your father start gallivanting around with a certain someone’s mother.”
“Not my fault,” I said. “It was Rod Stewart and The Supremes breaking into my house that started the whole romance.”
“Oh, cluck off,” Rosie said. “And you’re not tied down with the aforementioned chickens either.”
“And,” Tess said, “you’re not trying to figure out how to get rid of all the stuff you’ve accumulated over the years so you can travel the country in one of those new retro electric microbuses which, by the way, will make my carbon footprint even smaller than my clothesline does. Not to mention the fact that my borderline adult kids will really have to work to track down my husband and me.”
“Plus,” Rosie said, “you’re dating.” She crossed her hands over her chest and pumped them forward and back like a heartbeat. “You’re basically still in the lovey-dovey stage of life, before reality rears its ugly head.”
“I’d like to date again on a part-time basis,” Tess said for about the gazillionth time since we’d met. “Nothing personal against my husband, at least most of the time. I’d just like to divide my time between being married and single. You know, like maybe we’d have two retro electric microbuses, and each be in the same one sometimes and in different ones the rest of the time. We could wave to each other from separate lanes of the highway on road trips.”
“I get that,” Rosie said, like she always did. “Then when you saw each other, you’d actually see each other.”
“Yeah,” Tess said. “The scheduling might get complicated though. And by the time you paid for two microbuses, it’s not like you’d have any money left for dates.”
“Right,” Rosie said. “And there’d be two sets of bills and two sets of dishes to wash in tiny sinks, assuming those minibuses have sinks.”
“Microbuses,” Tess said. “They’d better have sinks. Paper plates would completely screw up my carbon footprint.”
I didn’t say anything. There was nothing new to say.
I could feel them side-eyeing me as we walked.
“I pitched you for a teachers’ health inservice at school,” Tess said. “Maybe something will come of that.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“I pitched you to the parent group at Connor and Nick’s school,” Rosie said.
“Thanks,” I said. “For what it’s worth, I’ve got a few pitches in myself.” It was a slight exaggeration, but it had the feel of truth.
All this pitch talk was really starting to impact my early morning zen. I considered proposing silent walking from now on, realized that would last for about three minutes.
Instead, I started belting out Carole King’s “I Feel The Earth Move.” Tess and Rosie joined right in. We knew most of the real lyrics, but we made up our own words anyway, because that’s what The Wildwater Walking Club did.
“I’m not sure about the ‘girlfriends’ line,” Tess said. “Beach babes might be stronger.”
“Or boss babes,” Rosie said.
“Just so it’s not gals,” I said. “Gals drives me crazy.”
“And can everybody please stop calling women ladies,” Tess said. “Unless they’re drinking tea with their pinkies sticking out.”
“We are women, hear us roar,” Rosie said.
We all roared. Then we went back to our song. We sang louder and louder, scattering a flock of seagulls hanging out at the water’s edge. A good-looking guy and his dog jogging in our direction turned the opposite way and broke into a run.
“Scaredy cats,” Tess yelled.
“Well, that felt good,” Rosie said once we finished our final chorus.
“Yeah,” I said. “Now I just have to figure out what to do with the rest of the day.”
“Clotheslines,” Rosie said. “And lavender spray.”
“You can go through all the crap up in my attic if you’re looking for a project,” Tess said. “If you sell it without letting me see it first so I can’t keep it, I’ll even give you a commission.”
“Thanks so much for your interest in my career growth,” I said. “I don’t know what I’d do without you two.”
Tess and Rosie raced off to start their days without even stopping to lift weights and stretch in the tiny gym we’d created in half of my garage. I opened the side door to the garage, peeked inside. It seemed a little sad, just like me. I closed the door again.
The smell of coffee summoned me to the kitchen. I poured a cup, took a solitary sip.
“I’m ba-ack,” I said as I opened my bedroom door. The bed was empty.
I checked the guestroom. That bed was empty, too.
“Olly olly oxen free,” I whispered.
* * *
Lovely Lavender Anti-Stress Aromatherapy Putty
¼ cup dried lavender buds
1 cup flour
1/2 cup salt
3 Tbsp. cream of tartar
1 Tbsp. coconut or olive oil
1/2 cup boiling water
20 drops of lavender essential oil
Purple food coloring (mix red and blue)
Combine lavender buds, flour, salt, cream of tartar, and oil in a big bowl. Add boiling water and stir. Add food coloring until you get the perfect purple. Once you’ve reached the desired consistency (add more water or flour as needed) add drops of lavender essential oil.
Squish and play to ease your worries away. (And I’m a poet and I don’t even know it.)
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