She takes the little burst of adrenaline from that thought, lets it get her moving. The snow started falling intensely about ten minutes earlier. She’d heard the officials discussing whether to hold the skiers on the hill until it passed, but now their radios crackle with assurances that the blizzard is only at the very top and the course clears after the first turn.
Mindy readies herself, visualizes the course, her body bending and weaving as her mind takes her through every turn one last time.
A buzzer pulls her to the surface. There are no shouts and screams as Mindy slides into place in the starting house; the crowds are at the bottom of the mountain, less than ninety seconds away. Up here, she’s surrounded by coaches and officials and other competitors; it is not a friendly place.
It’s snowing hard, not gentle whispers of white drifting down, but tiny flakes wedged together in the sky creating a perpetual wall of white. The eerie silence, the loneliness of it, makes her heart pump harder. She often feels like this when she takes her place at the gate. Beat, alone. Beat, alone. Beat, alone. It feels good. It feels right.
She adjusts her goggles against the blinding white and slaps her skis against the icy snow, digging in her poles, making sure her ankles are seated and her boots tightly clipped. In response, the snow seems to come down even faster; the first section of the course is completely obscured from her vantage point above the gates. She has to have faith that they won’t send her down if it is too dangerous, that the reports saying it clears after the first turn hold true. Anyway, Mindy knows this course like the back of her hand. She has raced here many times. Considering the awful weather, it is a blessing that the championship is being held in Vail. She has the home-field advantage.
Kill it, Mindy!
It is her mom’s voice, spectral and distant. It happens every race, and it’s strange because she knows her mom and dad are at the bottom of the mountain, waiting for her to slide to a stop in front of them, her skis shuddering on the snow, her fist in the air, pumping hard because she’s won.
Once, she’d told her mom how cool it was, standing up there alone, hearing her voice cheer her on. It had become the talisman, the good luck charm. Her mom smoothed down her hair with a quizzical smile and said, “I’m always with you, Mindy. No matter what.”
Not for the first time, Mindy wishes her mom had ridden up the mountain in the gondola with her. She can imagine her perfectly: starkly beautiful, not speaking, her mouth tight, her blond hair mussed and sticking out from under her red snowflake hat, holding her daughter’s gloved hand tightly. It isn’t allowed, but it would be nice. Then again, maybe it wouldn’t. Mindy sometimes wonders if her mom is more nervous than she is when it comes to the final run. She wouldn’t want that negative energy seeping into her psyche.
Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.
Finally, the official signals. It’s time. She slaps her skis against the ice again. Tight, a little grainy, and she can barely see the track now because the snow is coming down so hard. But she knows it’s there, a long, invisible line flowing out from the tips of her skis downward. Without another thought, she leans forward, into the mountain, feels the hard bar across her shins. Sets her poles again. Takes a deep breath. Her coach’s voice now. Visualize it. Visualize winning.
The beep sounds three times and she’s off, bursting out of the gate, poling hard, gaining speed quickly. She slices through the first turn, a hard bank left, her downhill edge rattling against the ice. It feels good, so good, and she tucks her poles against her body and lets the skis take her through the first flat. The skies do clear; she can finally see the blue lanes of the race course. Into the second turn, she starts gaining speed, feels the total thrill when she accelerates to eighty-five, ninety, ninety-five miles per hour. She is a rocket, a cheetah, the fastest girl on earth.
Left, right, left, right, poles stuck to her body, over the jump, airborne, arms windmilling slightly, but she stays tucked perfectly, totally in control. She has it; she has it, she is flying down the slope. She can hear the screams and cheers as she zooms past. She knows with the assurance of years of skiing that she is in the zone, is going faster than she ever has. All the hard work, the ski camps, the weight training, it is all coming together.
Left. Right. Left. Tuck.
The burst of swirling snow comes from nowhere. It catches her full in the face just as she makes the last gate. Her skis slip out of the ruts. The tip of her left ski hits the plastic guard of the flag, and she is in midair, flying for real this time.
Everything is silent. She doesn’t hear the gasps, the screams, just focuses on relaxing, like she’s always been taught. Though she is airborne, if she isn’t too far off, she can still make it if she keeps her tuck, lands correctly, gets the damn right ski down, and makes the next turn... The flag slaps her in the face, and she goes down in a flurry of skis and poles and snow.
She doesn’t know how long she lies there before it registers she has crashed. Her champion’s body resists the idea, continues to make the last turns, her torso writhing in the snow.
The snow is cold.
My face hurts.
My leg hurts.
Her eyes are closed. She opens them to whiteness. I’m blind, oh my God, then realizes her face is freezing. She is facedown. She plants her arms in the snow and tries to rise. The pain in her leg is white-hot, and she cries out. Seconds later, she is surrounded. Ski patrols, red jackets, white crosses. The first touch is from a woman, her face deeply tanned, her goggles opaque.
“Your leg’s broken, sweetie, try not to move. I know it’s cold. Hang tight. We’ll get you splinted and get you on the sled.”
“My leg? It’s broken? How do you know? Did I make it all the way down?”
“Tough girl, you didn’t. You tagged that last flag, and it knocked you upside down. You did a backflip, came down hard. You’ve been out for a few minutes. Pretty spectacular crash. And your leg...trust me, honey, it’s broken. No, no, don’t look.”
Mindy ignores the admonition, wishes she hadn’t. There is a large jag of white sticking out of her shin. Her blood looks like rubies against the icy slush. She fights back the urge to scream. “But my time...if I don’t finish, I’m DQd from the event. I have to get down. You’ve gotta let me up.”
The patrol’s voice is sympathetic. “You’re out of it now, sweetie, I’m sorry. Maybe you have enough points to qualify from your other races. But you can’t go anywhere, this leg’s pretty gnarly. Okay, here’s the splint, hang tight, this is going to hurt like a bitch.”
Mindy grits her teeth as they start pumping up the air cast. Fights back the tears, focuses on the voice that keeps saying, You didn’t make it, you didn’t make it. She stops fighting, tries to relax as they lift her into the sled and start down the remainder of the mountain. She tries to be a good sport about it, as she’s been taught, raises a fist toward the worried faces, and the crowd goes absolutely wild, cheering for their girl, but inside she is wailing.
She wanted this so badly. It’s all she’s ever wanted. And she’s blown it.
What happened? She runs the course again in her mind, realizes there is a big blank. She doesn’t remember how she went down. She knows this isn’t entirely unusual; she’s heard about it happening to other racers. She’s been so blessed, so lucky, never to have had a major injury. Granted, she’s seventeen, and she’s only been on the circuit at this level for a year. But still.
What if I can never ski again?
This spike to her heart is too much to bear. She wipes away tears as they reach the bottom. Her dad is waiting; she can see his bright red North Face jacket, concern etched on his handsome face. He pushes aside two ski patrols and kneels beside her.
“Poor baby. Does it hurt?”
“Daddy, I didn’t make it.”
“Let’s worry about your leg first, peanut, then we’ll worry about the rest.”
“I don’t r
emember falling. What happened?”
“Microburst of snow. Came out of nowhere.” As if to prove his point a swirl of snow surrounds them. Her father says, “They really should close the course, it’s too dangerous now.” He pats her hand. Mindy can only feel pressure through the glove, not the warm reassurance of her father’s hand.
“Where’s Mom?”
“I’m right here, honey. Right here. You’re okay. I’m here.”
Mindy hears the calm concern of her mother’s voice and takes a deep breath. If her mom isn’t frantic, it isn’t too bad.
“Mom will meet us at the hospital, honey. They won’t let us both ride with you. She’s going to drive the car—”
“No!”
Her dad’s face registers a tiny bit of shock. “Okay, no worries. Mom will ride with you, and I’ll bring the car.”
“No, it’s fine. I don’t care who rides with me. But we can’t leave. I need to find out who wins.” As she speaks, she hears them blow the horn. The course is being closed.
Her dad’s smile warms her. He leans close, whispers, “Maybe we’ll get lucky. You’re still in first place overall.”
The EMT isn’t quite glaring at them but is clearly anxious to get moving. “We have to take her now, folks. Who’s riding with us?”
Her mom presses her palm against Mindy’s cheek, unstraps her helmet. “Hang tight, baby. I’ll meet you at the hospital. We’ll get you fixed up. Be strong.”
Mindy grits her teeth again when they put her into the ambulance; the jostling makes red-hot pokers shoot through her leg. Her mother’s face disappears as the doors slam closed, the worry etched as deep as a fissure in granite.
Her dad takes a seat on the bench, trying to stay out of the way. The paramedic leans over her, takes her blood pressure and pulse. She tries to stay calm, not cry, not fall apart. All she can think about is her coach’s disappointment that someone else will be standing on the podium because she got too aggressive toward the bottom and let her ski get caught in that rut. He’s always told her aggressive equals arrogance, and arrogance equals crash.
“Mindy, I’m Todd. I’m going to start an IV and give you some pain meds so that leg doesn’t hurt so bad. Okay? A little pinch here, hang tight...that’s a brave girl, well done.”
Within moments, the horrible pain in her leg is gone. Her thoughts become disjointed.
Arrogant Crash. That’s a good band name. I wonder if they’ll let me have the gate I hit. Would it be arrogant to ask? The snow was so cold.
I didn’t make it.
Mindy doesn’t care, which surprises her. She feels sleepy and warm, hears her dad and Todd talking. And then there is nothing.
2
VAIL HEALTH HOSPITAL
Lauren Wright bursts through the Emergency Room doors exactly ten seconds behind the stretcher carrying her broken daughter. The paramedics wheel Mindy into a treatment room. Jasper is holding Mindy’s hand, even though she’s asleep. When he sees Lauren, his eyes close in relief. He reaches out his free arm and she snuggles in, letting him hold her while he also holds their daughter’s hand. Mindy looks dead. Gray, pained, lifeless.
“Is she okay?” Lauren asks, her voice barely a whisper.
“Yeah. They gave her some morphine so she wouldn’t hurt so badly. She was mumbling about a band named Arrogant Crash before she went out like a light. Todd here thinks it’s a punk rock band from Aspen who played Coachella last spring, but who knows?” Jasper grins, and Lauren manages a breath.
“Hope she’s okay. She’s an amazing skier,” Todd the EMT says, and Lauren nods her thanks to him.
“We appreciate you taking care of her.”
“Sure thing.” He hands off the chart to a petite redheaded nurse in blue scrubs. “Fingers crossed.”
The nurses are sweet and smiley, and Lauren’s blood pressure ticks down another notch. They bustle around, adjusting the IV tubing, attaching leads, turning Mindy from skier to patient. It makes Lauren uneasy to see her daughter tethered to the beeping machines. One of the nurses lifts the white-and-red towel covering Mindy’s leg, and Lauren gets her first good look at the severity of the injury. The lower half of Mindy’s leg is a tangle of hamburger with a large white bone sticking out. Lauren feels an odd tingle run through her body. Gooseflesh raises on her arms.
Jasper sees her blanch. “What’s wrong? What is it?”
She points at Mindy’s leg, whispers, “That. Oh God, Jasper, what if—”
He grabs her hand tightly, tips up her chin so she has to look into his eyes. They are good eyes. Exceptional eyes. Light blue centers with a dark blue ring. Add in the sandy hair and athletic frame, and Jasper is a man to be noticed. A man who, to her never-ending relief, only notices Lauren.
“No, no, no. Do not say it. Don’t even think it. She’s going to be fine. She’s young and healthy. The leg is badly broken, but it’s fixable. Everything is fixable.”
Fixable.
Lauren feels the wail begin inside her. Her lip wobbles. She cried in the car all the way to the hospital, tears of fear, tears of anger, tears of frustration for her only child. Jasper was right to separate them, if only for ten minutes. He’d given her a gift, moments alone to come to grips with the situation. It was kind, and necessary.
When she arrived at the hospital and put the car in Park, the tears ended. She’d wiped her face, fixed her hair. Vowed to be strong for Mindy. And for Jasper. And for everyone. Because that’s what mothers do. And Lauren is great in a crisis. Ask anyone.
Now, she is doing everything she can to stay calm and in control. Mindy is so strong, so driven, so determined—so perfect—and seeing her daughter broken and bleeding in the snow, and now unconscious on this impersonal bed, breaks something inside her. She doesn’t want to be overly emotional in front of Mindy, who hates scenes. Keeps Lauren at arm’s length when she makes a fuss. Mindy has a cold, calculating streak in her—which is why she is such a brilliant athlete and competitor. She can turn the emotions off and on at will. It is a trait Lauren continually worries about. Did Mindy get it from her? From Jasper? They are both excellent compartmentalizers. Have they done their only child a disservice by being overly rational?
Oh, her leg...it looks hideous. Lauren doesn’t want to think about what this accident might mean. Lesser injuries end careers. And she doesn’t know what will happen to her little girl if she can no longer ski.
A burly dark-haired man comes into the room. “I’m Joe, from radiology. I’m going to take her to X-ray now. You guys stay here. We’ll be back in fifteen.”
“Can’t we come?” Lauren asks.
“We’re going three doors down. You can come if you want, but trust me, I’ve got her.”
She gives the boy her best mother look, a steely-eyed glance that usually makes even the strongest young people quake in their boots. He smiles. “Come on then, let’s go.”
The X-rays are quick. Lauren has a hard time watching. The radiographs pop up on the screen, one after another. The angles of Mindy’s bones are so wrong, and the very thought that she is seeing under Mindy’s skin makes her stomach queasy. It’s too intimate. At least Mindy is still out cold from the morphine and doesn’t feel the chilly steel of the plate beneath her, doesn’t hear the snick and whir of the X-ray camera, doesn’t hear her father peppering the tech with questions. She lies inert under a thick lead apron to protect her as Joe from radiology takes shot after shot. Lauren knows Mindy will be furious when she finds out. She is private, her daughter. Aloof. Protective of her personal space, even from her parents.
The tech won’t answer Jasper’s questions, and Lauren can see them both getting frustrated. “We aren’t allowed to give opinions,” Joe says for the third time, but mutters under his breath so that they overhear the dreaded words: “Compound fracture of tibia and fibula.”
The rest are denials.
“Can’t say for sure.”
“The surgeon will talk to you.”
“Bad break, yes.”
True to his promise, they are back in the room in fifteen minutes flat.
Jasper begins his research into Mindy’s injury, fingers flying on his phone. Lauren fusses with the pillow, trying and failing to get her daughter’s head to stay in a spot that looks comfortable. A tall blonde, all messy ponytail and shiny engagement ring, walks in, glances at the chart, lifts the medicated towel and looks at Mindy’s leg, then faces Lauren and Jasper.
“Hey, Mom and Dad. Got yourself a tough girl here. We saw the crash. We’re lucky she only broke her leg.”
“You were watching?” Jasper asks, and despite himself, his face glows with the praise and attention. He’s a stage mother of the worst sort when it comes to Mindy’s talent. It makes Lauren happy. It is the only way they can manage the pressure of having an athlete of this caliber. He is in charge of Pride; Lauren is responsible for Humility. They needn’t worry—Mindy’s charm belays all. She is what they call the real deal—a tough, hardworking athlete who recognizes her gifts but doesn’t let them go to her head. She has no close friends, but she has the respect of the skiing world, and that is more important to her than sleepovers and proms and whispered secrets in the night.
They’ve done well with her. Yes, perhaps Lauren too has a dash of pride for producing this remarkable creature.
“Watching our hometown girl? You betcha. It was a horrible crash, and too bad, she totally had the best run going.” She crosses her arms over her chest, the ring winking in the light, and is suddenly forbidding, like an angel of wrath descending on the room. “So, brass tacks. We’ve already called Dr. Stuart. He’s our best orthopedic surgeon. We sent an SUV to get him here safely. The storm’s getting worse, but he’s coming in to work on Mindy. We’re going to take her straight to the OR and see what’s what.”
Taking possession of their daughter, like she’s a car being repossessed. Lauren steps in front of the bed, effectively blocking Mindy from view. “I’m sorry, but who are you again?”
Tear Me Apart Page 2
