by E. J. Noyes
A flock of glossy black cockatoos flew by, and once they’d quietened down, I explained what they were. The large birds were hard to miss with their screeching which was thankfully less obnoxious than their white sulphur-crested cockatoo cousins. Gemma nodded, following their path across the sky and I could almost imagine her filing the information away.
We hopped onto another shorter lift to ride to the top of the new run. I was going to be cutting it close to get her back down by four p.m. “We’ll go left when we get off the lift.”
She glanced over the side, a panicked squeak escaping her mouth and I drummed my fingers on the restraint bar to catch her attention. “Trust me on this. You’re more than ready for it, there’s no rush and we’re starting on a green section, okay?”
“What if I freak out?” she mumbled.
“Then we’ll deal with it. But you’ve improved a whole lot today. You’ve got the mad skillzzzz.” I drew out the z, trying to make her laugh. It worked. “You’re my last lesson so we’ll take all the time we need.” I shifted on the seat, trying to find a comfortable position. After a day of riding hard lift chairs my butt had gone past numb to “Oh my God stop sitting down!”
It went exactly as I’d expected. She had a few wobbles but managed to recover and keep going, even smiling a little when she nailed a tricky section of Dream Run. On our last portion of the trail, the easiest point where it joined back up with the green run we’d been skiing most of the lesson, I was twenty feet below, watching her. Gemma cut a turn too steeply, moved her weight up the hill instead of down, and fell. My stomach dropped to my feet as she tumbled over and over then skidded on her back to a stop a few feet below me.
I slid down to her, leaned over and placed my hand on her arm, checking her for any obvious breaks. “Don’t move. Stay still.”
Gemma ignored me and rolled over. She wasn’t crying. She was laughing. “Oh man. That was stupid. I was doing so great!” She grabbed the hood of her jacket and shook out the snow, then flicked it back over her shoulder.
“Are you hurt anywhere?” The dryness of my mouth made it hard to get the words out.
“Nope. I’m fine.” She swung her legs around, planted her skis sideways on the slope and pushed herself up with her poles.
I bent to brush snow from her knees. “You sure?”
Gemma leaned down and checked she was still clipped into both skis. “Yeah, totally. I was feeling really awesome.”
“You looked it.” After another quick physical and verbal check that she was okay, I asked, “Can you tell me why you fell?”
She brushed her knuckles against the strap of her helmet. “Forgot to have a heavy outside ski and I crossed them. My legs are kinda tired,” she admitted.
I held up a hand for a high five, our gloves making a dull puff sound as they connected. “Nailed it. You good to keep going?”
“Yep!”
“Okay, ski two more big S turns and I’ll watch from here.”
She skied off as though nothing had happened. Kids. I pulled a roll of chewy candies from my pocket and stuffed one into my mouth. Chewing hard, I tried to push away my trembling fear. The girl was fine, no need to get myself worked up. Yeah, right.
I pushed off and followed her down. After a couple of feet, the familiar tightness hit my gut like a churning, muscle-trembling punch. I turned across the face of the trail and slowed down, skiing long wide turns for the rest of the run, avoiding people making their way down to the bottom. The anxiety would dissipate soon enough, as long as I wasn’t racing down the mountain. Just breathe. Nothing’s wrong. The kid’s okay. You’re okay.
I caught up to Gemma, made a few observations and adjustments then skied backward for the rest of the way, watching her. Together we glided slowly back onto Friday Flat toward the clock tower where we’d started. Weaving in and out of tiny bodies on tiny skis, and unsteady adults and kids, I did a quick recap of everything we’d spoken about.
I found us a spot, ignored the tightness in my chest and yanked my goggles up. “All right, you had some really great improvement, Gemma, and I hope to see you for another lesson. But if I don’t, remember everything we talked about today, yeah? And feel free to come find me if you want to chat.”
Gemma fiddled with the straps on her poles. “That was really great. Thanks, Aspen.”
“My pleasure.” I pushed off and did a glide-past high five. “Stay safe, and enjoy the rest of your vacation!”
Chapter Two
The tremble of adrenaline stuck with me while I completed an incident form for Gemma in case her parents were litigious types. By the time I’d removed my high-tech knee brace, changed into jeans, swapped ski boots for snow boots and reapplied some heat rub, my anxiety was just an uncomfortable memory. Thank you, brain, for your cooperation. Hurrying as fast as my useless legs would let me, I arrived at the stop just in time to board the shuttle back toward the village.
When I disembarked it felt like the temperature had dropped another few degrees, and the wind had picked up. Miserable. I tugged my scarf up around my neck and hunkered down with my hands stuffed into my pockets. Keeping my eyes on the damp concrete to make sure nothing lay in wait to trip me, I made my way along the sidewalk and then up a flight of stairs from the street. A few yards ahead of me, a couple walked arm in arm, pressed closely together as they talked quietly. For the briefest moment the surge of loneliness rose inside me, bringing an almost panicked feeling along with it. As always, I shoved it away into the place where I kept all the other things I didn’t want to think about.
Music from Poolside, the outdoor bar, provided background noise for people talking and laughing around the fire pits. A couple of friends waved me over and raised questioning beer bottles at me, but I shook my head and pointed toward Schuss, the bar nestled inside and upstairs. Their disappointed jeers and catcalls followed me across the narrow courtyard before I was out of sight and apparently out of mind.
Trudging up the second set of stairs, with a hand on the railing and eyes on my feet, I collided with a body on the top step. Instinctively reaching out to steady the person, I offered an automatic apology before I realized who I’d almost sent flying.
Gemma’s smile was fleeting, but bright. “Hey, Aspen.”
“Hey! Long time no see,” I joked, letting go of her shoulders and moving out of the way of people going up and down. “How’re you?”
“Good thanks.” She was still dressed in skiwear, holding her helmet and goggles. It was the first time I’d seen her eyes. Huge, inquisitive, and a clear light blue. A few feet behind her was a very attractive ash blonde who I assumed to be Gemma’s mother. They had the same features and smiles, though the woman’s eyes had a touch more gray in them.
I saw so many people during my workday, most of them hidden under helmets and behind goggles, that even the people I knew became featureless blurs. Not this woman. She seemed older than me, maybe late thirties, with an attractive face—all angular symmetry. The kind of woman that if you passed her on the street, you’d take a second and probably third look. Dressed in expensive, but well-worn ski gear, her messy ponytail, smile, and flushed cheeks softened any aloofness her patrician features might have conveyed.
I noted the woman’s expression but couldn’t make sense of it. Expectant and curious, but with no trace of the instant recognition that usually accompanied such intense scrutiny of me. How interesting. She acknowledged me with another smile, but seemed happy to be quiet and let Gemma take the lead. I straightened my beanie and tugged it down over my ears.
Gemma swung her helmet on a finger. “I’m booked in with you again tomorrow.”
“Awesome! Can’t wait,” I said, genuinely pleased. “We’re gonna nail the trails.”
Gemma nodded vigorously and I allowed myself another quick look at the woman. At my glance, she stepped forward, the uncertain smile turning confident. She shifted her gloves and beanie into one hand and offered the other to me. “Hi, I’m Gemma’s mom, Catherine Tierney
. She hasn’t stopped talking about how much fun she had with you.” Catherine’s voice was delicious. Low with the tiniest trace of gravel, it was warm and soft, like a gentle caress.
Even with me standing a step below, she was still looking up at me. My six-foot-plus body was part of what made me a good skier. Or so my dad had said when I was a gawky, self-conscious teen. I dipped my head, returned her smile and took her hand. It was soft and smooth, delicate but with a firm grip. “Aspen. Nice to meet you and I’m so pleased to hear it.” Reluctantly, I released her.
“Oh. I thought…it is—” Wide-eyed, Catherine stared at me for a long moment, then her shaped eyebrows came together to deepen the crease between them. “You’re the Olympic medalist, Aspen Archer.”
Here we go. Four-time Olympic medalist, thirty-eight World Cup podium finishes, two World Championships in Super-G, overall World Cup champion, and at the time of my downfall I was on track to win that big crystal globe for the second season in a row. Then there was a whole bunch of other sportsperson awards, and Athlete of the Year a couple of times. I nodded and responded with a calm, “Yes.”
Gemma squeaked. “What? Olympics?”
Catherine placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, effectively quieting her. “Wow, I don’t know why I just called you an Olympian, like that’s all you are. That’s really rude of me. Sorry. You look different than I…from…” She trailed off and flashed me an apologetic smile. A stunning apologetic smile. If I’d actually been offended, that smile would have changed my mind in an instant.
“No worries.” I ignored my racing heart, grinned and tugged at a section of short wavy hair that stuck out from under my beanie. “I changed my hair after I retired.” Back to its natural muddy brunette, instead of the almost-black I’d had for years because my ex liked that color with my swampy green-ish eyes. Disguising Yourself 101. Apparently it worked.
Catherine shook her head as though shaking off a thought. “I’m a big fan of yours but uh, I’m also a physical therapist. I work predominantly with college athletes, mostly post-surgical rehabilitation. Actually, I was at a conference last year and you were one of the case studies.” She paused, her smile dimming back to uncertainty. “Sorry, I’m sure it’s weird to hear that.”
My eyebrows took a trip north. A fan? It’d been a while, and I almost didn’t know what to say. Was she a fan of my career or my knee replacement? Years ago, I’d signed a release for my medical files to be used for teaching, and my scans and x-rays were now porn to hundreds of wannabe orthopedic surgeons and other medical professionals. They were identity redacted of course but I was fairly sure everyone knew it was me. The case history coupled with the initials A. A. were a bit of a giveaway.
“No problem,” I assured her. The replacement was a damned good knee and I really didn’t have an issue talking about it, or my two ACL repairs, or the rods holding my tibia together, or even my unplanned nose job. My last ever competition run, Super-G at the 2010 Vancouver Olympics, had been cut short by a spectacular crash.
A group of snowboarders approached the doorway of Schuss, talking and laughing. They bore down on us and I hopped up the final step, then shifted out of the way to let them pass. After a few awkward steps, I managed to get both feet underneath myself again.
Catherine took a deep breath, her eyes tracking down to linger on my legs. A warm flush ran over my skin at her not-so-subtle checking out. Okay, so she probably wasn’t checking me out so much as wondering what my issue was, but I could dream. Catherine’s tongue slid out to wet her lower lip. “You still have pain?”
Pain yes, and also a feeling I’d never been able to describe, like my leg wasn’t mine. Like it didn’t know how to match my right one or it wasn’t quite there. I waved dismissively and trotted out a well-used line. Just a little lie. “Oh, uh, yeah but it’s the old injuries. I’ve got so much titanium in me, I’m practically a robot.”
She grinned at my lame joke. “Then the knee is fine?”
“Absolutely. Bionic Knee is incredible.” I glanced down at it then back up to meet her piercing gaze. “I almost wish I had two.” We’d pushed for the joint replacement rather than a reconstruction because I needed to be back up and running for 2014. Pity they couldn’t give me a psychological replacement while they were at it. When they’d picked out the shattered fragments of kneecap, the last microscopic traces of my competition nerve were picked out along with it and never came back.
“That’s great to hear. I’m sorry to talk shop with you about it, but yours is a really fascinating case.”
“Really, it’s fine. I don’t mind.” Anything to keep talking to this attractive, captivating woman.
“So…if the joint’s okay and the leg is stable, why did you retire? You were only twenty-five?” A faint blush colored her cheeks, and I could almost imagine her mentally clapping a hand over her mouth.
I gave a casual shrug and pushed out another of my standard not-quite-truths. “All the other injuries just added up and I couldn’t risk another big one. But I can’t stay away from the mountains so now I teach instead.” Knowing the only real paths for me once I retired were commentator or coach, I’d attained my certifications early during my pro career. I’d just never expected to use them so soon.
If Catherine suspected that I wasn’t being completely truthful, she didn’t let on. “That makes sense,” she said evenly. “How do you find the joint flexibility?”
Gemma shifted, clearly bored with listening to our conversation. “Mom, really? We’re on vacation.”
“Mmm, yeah. Okay, sorry.” Catherine’s eyebrow crease came back as she absently patted her daughter’s shoulder. Adorable. When she looked up at me, there were unspoken questions in her eyes. Questions that I sensed had nothing to do with my medical history. We regarded each other for another few seconds until she looked away, the pink coloring her cheeks leaning more to red.
I shifted my gaze to Gemma. “So I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Gemma nodded. “You bet!”
“Awesome.” I tilted my head toward her mother. “Great to meet you, Catherine. Enjoy your time at Thredbo.”
I stood politely until they’d collected their skis leaning against the outside wall, and waved as they walked off. Pushing through the door into the bar, I spotted my friends settled at a table, in full view of where I’d just been standing. Edward was about three minutes from putting his hand down Girl of the Moment’s shirt.
Rach was already at the bar and she snapped her fingers in my direction. “Aspen! What do you want?”
“Beer would be great, thanks,” I called back.
“Kozzie?”
“Mhmm.” I was still trying to figure out how I could smuggle a shipment of Kosciuszko Pale Ale out of the country when I left at the end of the season.
Rach’s mischievousness rose to the surface. “What size?”
“Don’t make me say it…”
She clamped her lips together and I knew I’d get no beer unless I said what she wanted. In my best Australian accent, which was pretty awful, I muttered one word. “Skoon-ahh.”
“Schooner of Kozzie coming right up!” Rach’s laugh echoed through the bar.
I stretched over the table to flick Ed’s ear, then sat down, exchanging greetings. His hand was making good progress and I was glad he wasn’t coming home, or it would be an earplug night. Kyle shook a basket of fries at me until I took a handful.
Rach pounced the moment her butt hit the seat. “Who was that?” She pushed my beer along the table toward me.
“Thanks. Who was who?” I picked at a piece of flaking navy blue polish on my short thumbnail before taking a deep swallow of beer. Heavenly.
Rachel’s eyes moved to where I’d been standing outside the bar a few minutes earlier conversing with Catherine Tierney. “Blond Goddess,” she clarified.
Blond Goddess indeed. “Oh, just a parent.”
“Didn’t look like a standard thanks for not letting my child break its leg chat, A.�
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Nearly every head at the table nodded. It looked like a bobblehead convention. Clearly, they’d been spying on me. No, most likely they were checking Gemma’s mother out, the same way I had been. I admit freely and shamefully that we could be a shallow group.
“Ah, and she’s just a, uh…” I lowered my voice to mumble, “…fan.”
Next to me, Kyle spluttered and coughed. Patting him on the back until he stopped wheezing I got in first before anyone could say something smartassed. “She’s also a PT, okay? I’m sure she was just interested in the bionic wonder here.” I tapped my left knee.
Kyle wiped beer foam from his mouth. “Maybe if I had four Olympic medals, I’d have more luck with women.”
I nudged him under the table and smiled sweetly. “I’m pretty sure it’d take a whole lot more than that.”
The table quickly dissolved into laughter and trash-talking. I stole another lukewarm fry from the basket and tried not to think about the expectant look in Catherine Tierney’s eyes.
Much to the disappointment of my friends, I skipped out early on Après and headed back to my accommodation in Jindabyne, a forty-minute drive from Thredbo. Rach promised to follow me in fifteen minutes or so, giving me enough time to shower before she came around. The house was a small two-bedroom on the edge of town, with great views and an enclosed deck we kept meaning to use for a party.
Ed truly lived by the unspoken code of the ski instructor—as much sex and booze as you could handle during every season—and was hardly home at the same time I was. All in all, he was fairly easy to get along with, tidy to the point of OCD, and he made an orgasmic peanut butter chocolate cheesecake.
I set fresh milk in the fridge and noted the carton already sitting in the door was actually half-full and well in date. His good qualities were balanced by the fact that he could also be an airhead, and had an annoying habit of playing my saved games on the Xbox. I showered quickly and was changing my nose piercing from the clear stud I wore during the day at work to a small ring when Rach knocked on my door. I yanked her inside, closed the door behind her and covered her mouth with mine while pulling her to the couch.
