by K Larsen
“Yeah, but how many said it out loud?”
“Only three.”
She looked up at him and offered a half-smile. “Gee thanks, funny guy.”
“I’m sorry. I know this sucks. I don’t want you to leave, but the weather is cooperating, we’re both injured and it’s going to happen eventually. Let’s just rip the Band-Aid off.” She visibly steeled herself and nodded sharply.
“How will this work?”
“Well, I have a sled.” Meghan laid a finger over his mouth.
“Not that, how will we work?”
Tristan stared at her uncertain. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.”
“I can’t call you. I can’t text. We can’t email. And letters, well how often do you pick up mail?”
“Twice a month I go to my PO Box.”
Meghan deflated. Her shoulders sank, turned inward, and her face—that gorgeous face—hung dejected in front of him.
“I’m not ready to say goodbye.”
“Everything will work out. It always does. Have a little faith.”
The words sounded right, but inside he knew they were all lies. She’d go back to real life, one with kids who needed her and a house in a suburb, a car in the driveway, a job to be at, and forget all about him eventually. She’d easily fall back into the routine of her life and with that, he’d fade from her thoughts. And he needed her to. He wanted her to have a full life. To be happy. He’d made his choice long ago to live how he did, and he knew that it wasn’t a choice he could force on someone else. Everyone left him eventually, whether by will or by fate, every woman he’d ever loved had slipped through his fingers.
It wouldn’t be the same for him. When she was gone, the cabin would feel emptier. He’d have no modern conveniences to distract him from his memories of her or their time together. He’d go back to just being alone.
Thirty-Two
Meghan
Meghan was bundled on a sled. She watched Tristan’s body work double time to keep them moving forward. It was only now that she had the bandwidth to realize that the first time he touched her it felt as if she knew they’d have history between them. That in that moment she somehow knew there would be regret but she chose to ignore it and now here it was full blast. Not regret for meeting him. Not regret for being intimate with him—no, this was regret that her life was so vastly different from his. That she had taken so long to find out who she truly was and to get in touch with her desires, her needs and wants. Always putting others first. Always taking care of everyone’s needs but her own. She’d come to the mountain to spend five days in search of her true self, but what she found unexpectedly was another person who made her finally feel like herself.
It was as if she and Tristan had danced backward through life into each other. A movie in rewind where the end was the real beginning of the storyline. And now it was over, and she’d never find out how it ended.
She wished she could make time stop, so they could give into what they wanted. Make a concrete plan, a solution to work it out so they could forget about people and life and past baggage just a little while longer. Her mitten ran over her lips as if his kiss still lingered near enough to touch.
Every so often, Tristan glanced over his shoulder at her. It took all her effort to reassure him that everything was all right. It wasn’t. She was sullen and it showed. She’d all but had a temper tantrum in the time it took for him to be ready to go. She’d behaved like a sulky teenager. She was just as full of out-of-control hormones and heartache as one. That wasn’t how she wanted him to think of her, but she couldn’t go back and change that now.
The sound of the snow gliding beneath her in the sled was soothing but it also made it hard to chit chat as they went, leaving her entirely too much time to mull over all of the could have, should have, would haves of the morning. Her foot pulsed under the weight of the bandage, layered socks and boot. Tristan grunted every so often and was favoring his injured shoulder. She let out a bone deep sigh. Her soul ached. She knew he was right. She knew they needed a hospital, that didn’t mean she wanted what was right to be true. She needed more time with him. She chided herself for being petulant.
“Can we take a break?”
Tristan slowed enough that he could look back at her. “Everything okay?”
“I’m thirsty. Even though you’re doing all the work.”
He slid to a stop, quickly maneuvering himself so that he could also catch the sled before it plowed him over. Meghan dug her mittens into the snow to slow her down in an effort to help. He still lost his balance and ended up twisted and planking. She squealed and laid back as she came to a stop under him. A grunt of exertion left him as his hands planted in the snow on either side of the sled. His torso twisted—his ankles stacked.
“Hey there,” he said.
Meghan laughed as he stared down at her.
“Fancy meeting you here like this,” she answered. He did a half push up—descending just low enough to kiss her before pushing back up and thudding in the snow to her left. He propped himself up to a sitting position before removing a glove and pulling the tube from his pack. She wrapped her lips around the spigot and drank until her mouth didn’t feel dry.
“How much longer?” she asked, handing the tube to the water bladder back.
“Only about ten minutes from here, I’d say.”
“Ten minutes?”
“Look at me,” he commanded. He cupped the side of her face, sliding his hand inside the scarf wrapped around her. “I won’t magically disappear as soon as we cross the town line. You know that, right?”
Meghan nodded.
“I’m going to stay with you in the hospital. We aren’t being yanked apart just yet. Please cheer up. Seeing your eyes so full of sorrow really bothers me.”
“I’m not trying to upset you. Maybe you should call your sister when we get to town. She’d probably appreciate knowing what’s up with you.”
Tristan froze when she mentioned his sister and she knew she’d made a grave mistake. He held his face steely, but she could sense the turmoil behind the mask. His practiced poker-face didn’t work on her anymore.
“She isn’t alive, is she?” Meghan asked. She’d known it the second the question fell from her lips. She knew instinctively that her death had been the reason—it was what he meant by “snapped.” He’d hidden himself away from love and pain by denying all human contact.
“Addy had the BRCA gene. Dad had always nagged her to get tested. She joined the Air Force and became a pilot right out of college. By the time she got tested, it was already too late. She had an aggressive form that took her five months after diagnosis.”
Meghan’s eyes welled with tears, her heart became a heavy anchor in her chest. That’s why there were no letters, no recent pictures. That’s why Tristan had all but given up.
“I’m so sorry, Tristan. It’s sadder than I can imagine. I know you loved her so much. I didn’t mean to just barge in and wreak havoc on your life. Here I am crying about leaving and you probably can’t wait to see me go.”
He pressed his forehead to hers. “I am sad to see you go. You’re something special, Meghan. You really are. Don’t think I haven’t noticed because I have. I see you. And if I could always be there when you wake, I would.”
She rubbed her nose against his. Her breath came hard and fast at his admission. She wanted to lighten the mood, to break the unbearable tension.
“What’s your favorite song?” she asked.
Tristan’s brow wrinkled. “Why?”
“I want to know it.”
“’Sittin’ On the Dock of the Bay,’ I guess.”
Meghan smiled. “Good choice.”
“Glad you approve.” He took a couple swigs of water before getting to his feet again. “You good to keep going?”
Meghan nodded. She shook slightly at the chill in the air despite the ridiculous amount of layers Tristan had wrapped her in. She watched as he stabbed his poles into the snow
and tilted one ski to push off and get them moving again. At least it wasn’t 1860 and she wasn’t in labor with her husband rushing her down the mountain to the midwife. She knew they needed medical attention and resolved herself to be thankful their condition wasn’t worse than it was.
She started singing his favorite song, loudly, and barely in tune. The shake of his shoulders gave away his laughter. And at the chorus, he joined in with her. This is how she wanted him to think of her. Smiling, free, and content. Joyful.
The farther down the mountain they went, the grayer the sky became. She kept singing right until she saw the top of a building not far enough in the distance. Clouds hovered over the town as they approached. It was completely overcast, much like her mood. Craning her head, she looked at the mountain they’d come down. Above those clouds, dark and gloomy, was sunshine and pristine snow and a cabin that she could nearly picture forever in. And since that was something she couldn’t have, she’d hold the memories forever instead, tucked away in her heart.
Thirty-Three
Tristan
Heartbreak and broken promises. That was where his head was at as they skied through the park trail near the town hall and police station. He’d had too many of both. With a heavy heart, he slowed them to a stop near a park bench nearest to the street. With a pole, he popped one boot free followed by the other. The cloud cover over the town was dense and low. An owl hooted in the distance. His and Meghan’s heads both whipped around anxiously looking for the owl. Was it a sign? That damn owl had led him to her and seemed to be following them ever since.
Meghan wiped her cheeks with the backs of her mittens. He helped her up from the sled and sat her on the bench. From the pack he pulled a pair of hiking boots. She didn’t speak. He understood, he couldn’t either as he changed from his ski boots to hiking boots. She took his hand as he stood. Together, Meghan using him as a crutch, they walked into the police station. The hospital was too far out of town to ski to and he had a sneaking suspicion that someone had reported her missing by now anyhow.
“Hey George,” he said to the officer at the front desk.
“Tristan?”
“Can we get a lift to the hospital?” he asked.
“Jesus, everything okay?” George asked as he looked them both over.
“We both need to be checked out.” he looked to Meghan and squeezed her hand. “This is Meghan Taylor, you might want to see if she’s listed as a missing person.”
George’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “The hiker who disappeared before the storm? She sure as shit is!” He shuffled through some papers in a neat stack before producing what he was looking for. He clutched the sheet of paper in front of him and looked repeatedly from it to Meghan and back. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
“I found her just after the storm started. She lost a toe. I did what I could, but she really needs a doctor.”
“He saved me,” Meghan’s voice cracked at the end.
“You’re damn lucky. That storm would have killed you. As it is, we lost a seasoned skier to it. He just couldn’t wait to hit that powder.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Tristan said.
George sat Meghan down and handed her a coffee. Tristan refused his. It looked weak and old and he didn’t think his stomach would tolerate it. As Meghan recounted her story, every so often George would look to him and shake his head in awe. When he was satisfied he had all the information he needed, he ushered them into a patrol car and took them to County General Hospital with the sirens on. Tristan gripped the door handle the entire time. There was something completely unnatural about being in a car. It was a death trap. A plastic box on wheels. It had been years since he’d ridden in one. Meghan stayed permanently molded to his side the entire ride.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“I don’t like driving.”
“That’s obvious. Just breathe. I’m right here.” She nuzzled into him more and stroked his thigh. She was probably an excellent mother whose kids were somewhere losing their shit over the loss of her, all the while he had her stashed away for himself. A pang of guilt stabbed at him.
“Don’t leave me, okay?” Her words were frantic as they pulled to a stop at the hospital entrance. “Promise me, Tristan.”
He looked into her eyes as George opened the back door for them. “I promise,” he said and bent to kiss her.
“Media is gonna have a field day with this. Her face has been all over the news. Pretty mother of two goes missing in a storm,” George remarked.
The noise inside put him on edge. He swore he could hear the hum of the electricity powering every goddamned thing around them. Beeps, blips, hums and buzzes coming at him from all directions. And the questions. She peppered the back of his hand with kisses at just the right moments—when he wanted to stand up and bolt. It was as if she could sense his discomfort.
He stayed with Meghan until they had her registered and she was with the triage nurse. Then it was his turn. Full name, address, insurance, social security number, phone number, he could barely answer three of the seemingly endless questions thrown at him. What did they really need to know to treat someone? Stitches didn’t require a phone number. An IV didn’t need a social security number to be effective. Most countries you could just walk in off the street and buy antibiotics. His blood pressure was off the charts. Anxiety, old and familiar sank its teeth into him deeper and more painful than any wolf bite.
“We’re going to need to get you on a round of intravenous antibiotics and get you stitched up. I bet this isn’t the way you planned on spending Christmas Eve, huh?” The nurse said. He barely heard her. She whipped the curtain back—the sound of the rings against the metal pole hurt his ears. Don’t worry, we’ve got cookies and punch here and some carolers will be coming by from the high school,” she reassured him before disappearing.
“Meghan?” he called out. She was gone. He felt panic.
“Meghan!” he bellowed but got no answer.
They’d already been separated.
Thirty-Four
Meghan
What surprised Meghan the most was that both James and Alex were at the Moosewood Lodge. She didn’t think anyone would notice her missing, she felt so invisible these days.
But Tristan had found her in near whiteout conditions—found her and kept her safe.
It was Rob, the employee from the hotel, who’d alerted the authorities, even before their agreed upon five days. They’d actually sent out a search and rescue crew within twenty-four hours of the storm passing. Apparently, the protocol Rob had talked her into following really did work. She was grateful for his diligence.
They put her on a strong antibiotic and cleaned her amputation site. The staff was fascinated with her story of home-cooked surgery which meant every doctor and nurse wanted to examine the foot, wrapping and unwrapping, the constant recounting had her exhausted. The doctors laughed at the hot spoon, yet admired Tristan’s work. Told her she was lucky she wasn’t dead, either frozen in the snowbank or killed by the infected toe. They wanted pictures for her record, but she refused. She had to draw the line somewhere and the toe was special, a bond for just her and Tristan to share. Meghan was grateful to the interested hospital staff. She nodded and thanked them, asked after Tristan, but none of them paid attention. They brought her James and Alex instead and she was distracted by their presence, having to switch into mom-gear and comfort them at their imagined loss—the trouble in leaving school two days earlier than planned. She hugged her boys and reassured them she was alright.
“Are you done then, Mom? With your dangerous stunts? Can’t you just chill for a while and garden or something?” It had come from Alex, the more pragmatic of the two. Just chill. Just sit still and do nothing. Fade back into being invisible so no one has to worry. Was that really her duty? She didn’t want it to be. Meghan needed so much more from life, than quiet and complacency.
Soon Rob was there, too; even though she didn’t understand why they would let
him into her room when he wasn’t family. He acted over-protective, fawning, like he himself had saved her. They’d given her a dose of painkillers that she could feel swimming through her system, making the reunion surreal and the stimuli overwhelming. The newspaper reporters showed up next with their cameras and notepads. Meghan thought about her roots and the shape of her eyebrows, remembered she needed remover for the two-week old nail polish that clung to her dirty and jagged nails. Those invading thoughts were the first she’d thought about her appearance in a week. Tristan had her feeling sexy and beautiful without even contemplating her looks or seeing her reflection in a mirror.
“I knew we’d make it through this. I could tell you were a fighter from the moment we met. And thank God we did, because could you imagine the alternative. Buddy systems work, and I’m just humbled by fate, grateful that you and I met,” Rob said. He clasped her hand intimately. The performance seemed directed more at the reporters than at Meghan, herself. She watched Alex and James exchange one of those knowing twin glances. They were speculating about the nature of her and Rob’s acquaintance.
She wanted to put a stop to it, to clear up the confusion, but she remembered the dry season and the tips that Rob had spoken to her about. So, she kept a tight lip and posed for a photo with him for the newspaper. He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in snug. Rob seemed to want the publicity—the status of heroism. Meghan remained passive and let Rob take the spotlight.
“Dad’s here. I mean, he’s at the hotel,” James told her sweetly. He was the quieter of her boys, the one who always held back and allowed his brother to speak first.
Emotion welled up inside her, perhaps only because Bruce was the father of her children, because they’d shared a lifetime together. Or perhaps it was because him being here told a story of just how close she’d come to death. He’d show at her funeral certainly, if only to support the kids.
