by Amy Waeschle
Cassidy scooted along with the other skiers loading onto the two-person chairlift. She joined up with another single, a mom in a thick woolen hat with earflaps and navy blue bibs that squeaked as she shuffled. Her two kids, boys on snowboards, stood paired up ahead of them. Cassidy looked again for Pete in the mob behind her, then at the clock: 10:48. It was going to be tight.
The liftie swept the seat free of snow for Cassidy and the mom and the two of them sat. The mom next to her gave a great sigh as they soared into the air.
Cassidy scanned the area below the lift as they rose above it, including the lodge zone behind them for signs of Pete. A nervous tingle zipped over her chilled skin at the thought of seeing him again. Since their date at the pub, she had gone back and forth about her decision not to invite him in. He hadn’t seemed disappointed, which was a relief, but after she had climbed into bed, alone, she felt a longing for his touch. Pete seemed like such a gentleman, but she didn’t know him well enough to read him. A painful memory from her time with Luke on the mountain pulled at her heart like an anchor. He had seemed like a great guy at first, too. She had no intention of enduring anything like that again, though making sure of this seemed out of her control. After finally leaving Luke, she had wondered for a long time if there was something wrong with her. She had dated a few guys since, but it always ended with her pulling away.
But something about Pete felt different, and it scared her.
Cassidy’s stomach growled, and coupled with the butterflies tickling her insides, made her feel slightly sick. The chairlift climbed up and over a rocky cliff face that offered one narrow chute, which she thought might be skiable in the right conditions. Her years as a ski patroller had taught her more about human stupidity than she ever cared to know, but it had also forced her to become creative in regards to terrain. After five years on the same mountain, finding new routes or places to ski became critical to preserving the fun factor. She would not be skiing the chute today, however. Not enough snow.
At the top, she slipped her mittened hands into her pole straps and pointed her tips down, heading for Pan Face. The middle was completely tracked out. She found a bit of fluff remaining on the sides, so she carved her way down the top section, feeling a slow burn in her thighs. By the time she hit the cat track at the bottom, her quads were on fire, but she had forgotten her nervousness and her teeth were aching from smiling in the cold for so long.
Pete was waiting at the edge of the lift line, scanning the crowd. A tremble hit her knees and the nervousness swirled up again. He was wearing black pants, a light blue coat, and a yellow hat with an argyle pattern. She zoomed straight towards him then arrested sharply, spraying him with snow. He put up his hands in protest.
Cassidy eyed the clock: 11:04. Not bad.
“No friends on a powder day, is that it?”
“Guilty,” she answered, still catching her breath. “Sorry, I was early, and I thought . . . ” she trailed off because the rest sounded lame.
“No worries. It was my turn to wait for you,” he said, knocking against her shoulder. The sudden contact kicked her butterflies into action again. A craving to kiss him flooded her body, but she realized the awkwardness of it. A funny image flashed into her mind of the two of them embracing in the middle of the lift line, their goggles bumping and their skis getting tangled while an angry mob yelled insults.
The two of them slid forward to the loading spot and turned toward the center to catch the chair. She noticed the tiny freckles dotting Pete’s nose and cheeks. The pub had been too dark for her to notice them, and during their St. Helens trip he must have been too tanned.
“Are you hungry?” Pete asked as the chair whisked them into the air. He tucked his poles under his leg and unzipped his coat.
Cassidy’s stomach replied with a grumble. “I brought a few hard boiled eggs,” she said.
“Here,” he said, handing her half of a hearty-looking sandwich.
“Wait, this is yours,” she protested, “You don’t have to share your lunch with me.”
“I want to,” he said, still offering it. “I couldn’t eat all of this myself anyway.”
Cassidy hesitated, wondering if he was bullshitting her. “Thanks,” she said, taking the sandwich. They each took a bite. The whole-grain bread was soft but hadn’t been completely smashed, and there was something salty inside—salami?—and cheese, plus some kind of veggie.
“Yum,” Cassidy said.
This must have pleased Pete because he seemed to glow. “After I saw your lunch on our field day I decided you needed rescuing.”
“Oh?” she said after another bite. “What’s wrong with peanut butter cracker sandwiches?”
“Nothing,” Pete said with a laugh. “But for someone who works as hard as you do, it’s hardly enough.”
Cassidy shrugged. Food was fuel, plain and simple. Though this sandwich was a welcome change. “Do you like to cook?” she asked.
“I like to eat,” he said. “Cooking is merely a byproduct.”
They finished off their sandwiches as the lift approached the top. “Where do you want to ski?” Pete asked.
“I just did Pan Face and it was still good at the edges,” she said.
“Let’s do it,” Pete replied. “You lead.”
A thrilling tingle shuddered through her as she pushed off from the lift and soared down the ramp, then cut a sharp turn to the right. The cold wind brushed past her cheeks as she picked up speed, finding its way into the tiny gaps in her neck gaiter and the chest zipper of her coat. She carved a series of short turns to get her blood moving, her edges catching on the more dense, wetter snow underneath the fresh. In her peripheral vision, she saw Pete doing the same, matching her pace, his poles swinging with each turn.
The heat in her quad muscles spread into her core and the slope widened. Cassidy let her turns loose, drawing wider arcs in the snow, leaning her body with each then releasing, feeling weightless at each transition. A whoop sounded from Pete who was now behind her.
Cassidy’s lungs burned and her leg muscles begged for a break, but she pushed on, the final slope steepening. Here she dug her hardest turns, fluffs of snow misting her cheeks, her knees like pistons. Behind her, the sound of Pete’s skis cutting against the slope rang in her ears as if he was chasing her.
Finally, the slope flattened and merged onto the cat track. Pete appeared next to her, grinning, then went into a tuck and sped ahead. Cassidy went after him.
The lift line had thinned further—the lunchtime drop—when they arrived, so that they were still catching their breath by the time they loaded onto their chair and swung away.
“Whew,” Pete huffed. “Have you been down the North Face yet?”
Cassidy tucked her poles under her leg. “Nope.”
“There’s a line not many people know about,” he added.
“Awesome. You lead this time,” she said, feeling warm all the way down to her toes.
They glided down the ramp to the left, and Cassidy followed Pete’s flash of light blue coat down a broad slope. Again they linked turns along the edge, the falling snow blurring her vision. Then Pete dropped suddenly down a steep face partially carved into giant humps. Cassidy made a hop over the ledge and landed in the deep powder with Pete just ahead. Scrubby trees dotted the slope, and they zigzagged through them, Cassidy’s breath sharp and fast in her chest. “Yewww!” someone called at them from the lift above, but she didn’t break her stride to look. The slope cascaded over another edge that steepened below. Cassidy felt her gut lurch as she caught air over the lip. Pete landed just in front of her and continued down, his first few turns explosive, as if his legs were made of coils. She executed a jump turn and found her flow, her core muscles burning with fatigue but her grin stretched wide.
An hour later, they took a short break for water at the lodge drinking fountain, each panting between breaths, then headed back out.
“North Face?” Pete asked, his eyes electric.
�
�Let’s do it,” Cassidy replied.
By the time they had raced each other down their favorite runs and secret bowls, a precious hour and a half remained before closing, enough for only a handful of runs. Cassidy had shared her hard-boiled eggs and peanut butter M&M’s. They had paused only for water and bathroom breaks. Though they had shared plenty of shy smiles and great conversation, they had not kissed or touched. Cassidy thought she might explode.
“We haven’t hit Chair Eight yet,” Cassidy said.
“You’re right,” Pete answered. “Let’s fix that.”
They were in the Chair 8 line when a voice called out to Pete.
“Yo!” Pete called out, grinning as a group of three skiers fell into the line behind them. He and Cassidy let other skiers pass them so that Pete’s friends could catch up.
“Tara, Mark, Aaron,” Pete said. “This is Cassidy.”
A round of hellos filled the air. “You guys want to ski Gabi’s with us? They’re closing it at 2:30,” Pete said.
“We were just there,” Mark said. “I hit a few rocks, which of course aren’t marked.”
“Anyone know how much snow has fallen today?” Tara asked as they all inched forward in line.
“It’s gotta be at least fourteen inches,” Aaron said. “I had to go to back to the RV at lunchtime, and there was a good eight inches covering her hood.”
As if on cue, they heard a loud boom in the distance. Cassidy knew that sound—the patrollers were launching avalanche bombs. She remembered the feeling of excitement and purpose during a big snow like this. Cassidy wondered if Luke was still on Kirkwood’s team, and who his bomb duty partner was now.
Their group paired up and loaded onto the lift, Cassidy with Pete. Even though it was early afternoon, the temperatures had dipped lower, and the wind had increased. She tucked her chin down into her neck gaiter but it was moist and chilled from her breath. A shiver passed through her. “So, Aaron has an RV up here? Are all four of you sleeping in it tonight?”
“No, just Aaron and me,” Pete replied. “Tara and Mark are just here for the day. Mark and I were dorm mates our first year at Washington State,” he explained while sliding snow off of his ski tips with his poles. “He met Tara in Seattle. She’s a teacher.”
“Did I hear you say the RV has a name?”
“Yep,” Pete said with a chuckle. “Ginny.”
Cassidy pictured a hulking RV with tattered curtains topped with a mounded pile of snow.
“You should drop by for cocktail hour,” he said. “We’ll show you all her bells and whistles.”
Cassidy laughed, though the idea of a cocktail was starting to sound appealing. Especially one shared with Pete. Her belly tingled with the thought of kissing him again.
A charged, urgent energy buzzed through the group as they bombed down the top of the run—an intermediate groomer—and regrouped at the top of Gabi’s. The wind began to swirl and the ceiling of sky seemed lower as well, muting the light. Mark yodeled, the others added their own war cries, which were muffled by the thick flakes of falling snow. Cassidy paused to adjust her ski boot buckles to give her aching toes a bit more room. When she straightened, the rest of the group had taken off and Pete was looking at her expectantly.
Cassidy wondered if she’d missed something, but figured that Pete would fill her in. She had skied Gabi’s—a double black diamond run—the day before with mixed enthusiasm. Because of the new snow, conditions today would be better, but the flat light made some of the terrain features harder to see. Her eyes were feeling dry, too—which usually happened after a long ski day. She looked forward to removing her contact lenses at the cabin later.
She pushed off and sensed Pete do the same, and they quickly picked up speed. Her legs burned with the effort of executing the steep turns, and so her focus narrowed. In her peripheral vision, she noticed the group spreading out. The snow beneath her skis puffed into the air with each turn as her ski tips scooped and surfaced. Her fatigued legs found their rhythm and a feeling of lightness bubbled up inside. Spring, swivel, turn—her body knew what to do and, in that freedom, came a pulse of joy.
Her left eye suddenly burned, she stopped and removed her goggles—slowly, expecting a contact lens to tumble out—then felt around her eyelid with her fingertip. The wintry air cooled her hot cheeks. Nothing seemed amiss, and after a series of blinks, the pain lessened. She replaced her goggles and continued down to the bottom of the run, where other routes merged together. Although she didn’t see the group, she expected to find them at the bottom of the lift. After continuing on to the lift line, she still didn’t see them. Had they already loaded? Because of their odd numbers, someone would have to ride single. Maybe they had arrived before her and paired up, knowing that Cassidy would follow. As she looked up squinting to confirm this, fat snowflakes blew across her vision. But the chairs lofting into the sky did not carry Pete or his friends. Could she be so far behind them that they had taken the lift and were already halfway up the mountain? Or could she have passed them? She looked around, unsure of what to do.
From underneath it all came the thought: Pete forgot about you. The tingly feeling that had swelled inside her all day bottomed out so suddenly that her legs felt weak.
Cassidy tried to shake the feeling, instead piecing together what had gone amiss. They had stood at the top of the run. She had adjusted her buckles. Had they made some kind of decision about where to go and she’d missed it? Surely Pete would pass on that information. Or could someone have gotten hurt? Oh God, no, she thought. What if Pete or one of his friends was hurt and she had left them up there by themselves?
The thought built up in her mind and she saw it: a figure crumpled in the snow at the edge of the woods, in pain, with no one to help.
Six
Mt. Baker Ski Area
November 28, 2014
“Cassidy!” a voice called from her left. She turned sharply to see Pete hurrying her way.
Relief washed over her, followed quickly by a stab of anger. She turned her skis around and met him halfway. “Where’d you go?” she asked.
“I thought you knew we were going back to Pan Dome,” he gushed, his chest heaving from the exertion.
“How would I know that?” she said, unable to stop herself.
“At the top,” he said, cocking his head. “We all decided.”
Cassidy’s anger quickly faded because of the confused look in his eyes. “I must have missed it,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” he replied. “I thought you heard us.”
She shook her head, chiding herself for being so quick to jump to conclusions. Though the miscommunication unnerved her.
“We have time for one more run,” Pete said, stepping closer, his clear eyes fixed on her in a way that made her heart race.
“Okay,” she said after a deep breath. “Though I think my legs need a break from the steeps.”
“So, Cassidy Kincaid has a limit, huh?” he said, his mouth twitching with a grin. “I’m glad to hear you say that, actually,” he added. “Mine do too.”
They pushed off and skied to the bottom of Chair 6. Pete’s friends were nowhere in sight.
“Mark wanted to start back, with all the new snow on the roads,” he explained, as if reading her thoughts. “And I’m sure Aaron had cocktails on the brain.”
“Last chair,” the liftie said as they slid into place and took their seat. Cassidy shivered. The stormy sky was breaking a little, revealing a thin band of blue above an endless chain of snowy mountains.
“You ever gone into the backcountry here?” Pete asked.
“A few of us from the ski club have,” she said. “There’s some nice bowls off Artist’s Point.”
“I’m sure all of your patrol training really comes in handy,” Pete said.
Cassidy shrugged. “I’ve been out of it for a few years now, but hopefully it’s all still in there.” She tapped her temple for emphasis.
She soaked in the dusky view opening by the se
cond as they rose higher up the mountain. Though she tried to stay in the moment, the miscommunication had rattled her.
“Are you guys skiing tomorrow?” Pete asked.
“No, most of us have work to finish before Monday.” Cassidy pictured the stack of Geology 101 labs that still needed grading and the looming Kilauea grant proposal deadline. “How about you?”
“Not sure,” Pete said. “I have to go to Portland on Monday, and I have a deadline tomorrow night. I think Aaron wants to ski first tracks then leave in the afternoon.”
Cassidy wondered if Pete was traveling to Portland for a story. “If you want, I can give you a ride home in the morning,” she said before she could stop herself.
He glanced at her, and their eyes locked. “You sure? It’s out of your way. You would have to drive up here from the cabin in Glacier to get me,” he answered.
“It’s only a few miles,” she said. “Plus, then I could meet Ginny.”
Pete grinned. “She is a beauty,” he agreed.
As they approached the top of the chairlift, the din of the machinery turning the lift hummed louder, making conversation impossible. After gliding down the ramp, Cassidy followed Pete to the backside of the ridge, where the snowy valley yawned below them. A metallic ribbon from the hidden sun shone from the underside of the cloud cover, casting a warm glow over the freshly coated slopes.
Cassidy removed her goggles to take it all in, shivering a little as the sweat from her all-day exertion cooled on her skin. To her right, she noticed the ski patrol hut and collection of poles and skis parked outside. No doubt the patrollers were resting up before completing their final sweep of the mountain after the lifts closed.
“You okay?” Pete asked.
Cassidy was pulled back to the present, and paused to wrangle the rush of emotions crowding into her thoughts. “I thought . . . ” She took in the view, hoping the beauty and strength of the mountains would fortify her. “I thought, when you didn’t show, that something might have happened to you.”
