by Susan Wiggs
The joy of the ride overtook her. She could feel it in every movement, in the speed and in her stance. As she wove between the bare maple trees and birches, the cold wind on her face and the sun in her eyes made her feel alive, and full of the special energy of a brilliant winter day.
“Awesome,” said Kyle Bohner, the videographer, who was on skis and down the hill from her, draped in camera equipment. “This is going to be rad.”
The sunshine today was a rare gift, its rarity making it all the more special. She was able to forget everything as the day progressed. The crew had found her a backcountry run that was untouched, a powdery head wall of snow creating a brilliant natural sculpture on the cheek of the hill, bordered by craggy Catskills granite.
The client’s signature gear, from the helmet to the snowboard’s colorful underside, would look fantastic in this light, against the dramatic backdrop. They did shot after shot of Darcy floating down the steep terrain, popping up into some trick moves, including her signature Fitz Twist.
By the end of the shoot, the sheer volume of adrenaline pumping through her had chased away the awkward encounter at the train station. The sun was just riding the crest of Saddle Mountain when the shoot coordinator declared it a wrap. They all trooped into the resort lodge for a warm-up before packing up to return to the city. Darcy took off the helmet and was running her fingers through her hair when she spied Logan with his girlfriend and her kids, leaving the lodge. He was holding the door for them as they trooped out.
He looked up and spotted Darcy—how could he miss her, the season’s bold color being apple-green—and offered a wave of the hand.
Whatever, she thought, waving back. She’d had a damn good day and she was not about to let him or anyone else ruin it.
She joined the crew in the bar, a rustic spot with Adirondack furniture and a big central river rock fireplace, good music streaming from hidden speakers. She chastised herself for getting her hopes up about Logan O’Donnell. She should’ve known better.
“Something’s on your mind,” said Bohner. “What are you thinking?”
“That if you never get your hopes up,” she said, taking a sip of hot chocolate, “you’ll never be disappointed.”
“Ouch,” he said. “Not sure I’m down with that.”
“Sometimes you need to protect yourself,” she said. “No, not sometimes. Always.”
“But if you’re always protecting yourself, you miss out on the good things as well as the bad.”
“At least you’re safe,” she said.
“Interesting that you’re willing to risk life and limb on the ski hill but not emotionally.”
“I had no idea you were an armchair psychologist.”
He laughed, the movement shaking his shoulder-length dreadlocks. “Just used to looking at people, I guess.”
While they were settling the tab, she wondered if this little incident would change her plans for Christmas. She had been totally excited about spending the holidays with the O’Donnells. Fun in the snow, a small-town celebration, good food and good friends. The fact that Logan was apparently hooking up with a superattractive woman should not matter.
Oh, she wished it didn’t matter.
Maybe she should change her plans. Maybe she should go overseas and find a country where they’d never heard of Christmas.
Her phone made a glissando sound, signaling an incoming text message.
She checked the screen. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw who the message was from—Logan O’Donnell. She felt very tentative as she touched the screen and read the message: FYI, she’s not my girlfriend.
Just that. Nothing more. What the hell was he telling her this for? Was it the truth? Did he think it mattered?
She tapped out a response. FYI, neither am I.
Part Six
Twisted traditional cookies are always a hit with kids. Also, it makes good use of the broken ones. Everyone knows a broken cookie tastes just as good as a perfect one.
Walking Dead Sugar Cookies
2 1⁄3 cups flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1⁄2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1⁄4 teaspoon salt
1 1⁄4 cups granulated sugar
1 cup (2 sticks) softened butter
1 egg
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
Cookie Icing:
1 cup confectioners’ sugar
2 to 3 teaspoons milk
1⁄2 teaspoon vanilla extract
3 to 4 drops red food color
Beat granulated sugar and butter in large bowl with electric mixer until light and fluffy. Add egg and vanilla; mix well. Gradually beat in dry ingredients on low speed until well mixed. Refrigerate dough two hours or overnight until firm.
Preheat oven to 375°. Roll out dough on lightly floured surface to 1⁄4-inch thickness. Cut into humanoid shapes with gingerbread-person cookie cutters. Place on parchment-lined baking sheets.
Bake 8 to 10 minutes or until lightly browned. Cool completely.
For the icing, mix all ingredients except food color. Divide white icing into two small cups, and use the red drops to dye one lot blood red.
Use the white icing to create mummy bandages, and the red to create wounds and bloody stumps. Use decorative sprinkles and red hots liberally.
[Source: Freely adapted from McCormick Spice collection.]
chapter twelve
Logan was uncharacteristically nervous the day the O’Donnell clan arrived for the holidays. He was on edge, so he worked it off by shoveling the front walkway until he felt himself starting to sweat. The house looked good, he told himself. Not designer-magazine good like his folks’ place in Florida, but like a Christmas house, from the icicle-draped roofline of the front porch to the strings of colored lights lining the gables to the fresh tree in the front window, which he and the kids had decorated the day of Charlie’s arrival.
It would be the first Christmas he’d hosted for the family, and he wanted it to be just right. The big house at Saddle Mountain had plenty of room for everyone. It would be a relief to fill the upper rooms with guests. The place was just too damn big.
They all pulled into the driveway at once. Three SUVs disgorged his parents, his sisters and their families, on a frigid day the week before Christmas.
“Come on, Charlie, André, Angelica,” Logan called. “Get your coats and boots on, and you can help with the luggage.”
“Excellent,” said Charlie. “The cousins are here.” He was supercharged with excitement. They all tumbled outside into the bright, cold day. There were greetings and hugs all around.
His niece Bernie bounded through the deep snow. “You live in Christmas-land, Uncle Logan.”
He grinned and spread his arms wide. “I guess I do. You’re going to love it here.”
“Are you kidding? I already do.” She and her sister Nan toted their pink backpacks up the walk.
His mother took charge the way she always did. Once his parents had agreed to spend the holidays here instead of in Florida, Marion O’Donnell embraced her matriarchal duties. She directed everyone to their rooms and brought tons of decorations in big plastic tubs.
Logan’s heart flipped over when he saw Darcy Fitzgerald walking up to his house, toting a big duffel bag. The smile she gave him was guarded.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey yourself. Hope you don’t mind taking in a stray for the holidays.” She offered a bright smile.
Damn. He liked her smile. “Are you kidding? Some of my best friends are strays. Come on in where it’s warm. I’ve got hot cocoa and spiced cider.”
“Two of my favorite things.”
He wanted to know about all of her favorite things, but he felt his chances slipping away. He hadn’t seen or spoken to her since
their brief encounter at the train station. Their quick exchange of text messages had left him in a quandary. He had simply wanted her to understand that Maya and he were definitely not an item. The way she was regarding him now was a bit cryptic, just like the text she’d sent him. On second thought, the text wasn’t cryptic at all. She didn’t want to be his girlfriend.
Once everyone was in the house, chaos ruled. The kids ran around exploring, admiring the tree he had put up, and sorting out the bunk bed situation in the kids’ room. André and Angelica seemed to be doing all right so far. It was incredibly gratifying to see them embracing the holidays, far from the city, far from their mom. They each had a part in the annual Christmas pageant at Heart of the Mountains Church. When Maureen and Eddie Haven, the pageant directors, heard Angelica sing, they immediately asked if she’d like to do a solo, “Sleep My Baby,” on Christmas morning. The little girl had been practicing nonstop.
They were already taking ski lessons at the resort, too. André was a natural, eagerly learning the new sport. Angelica was more cautious, but happy to try getting down the hill on her skis, making little snowplow turns.
Charlie had arrived a couple days before, and the moment he’d seen his son, Logan’s world had felt complete. He was grateful for the ease with which they fell into their roles, like putting on warm, comfortable boots. Having André and Angelica there was great, lending a sense of family energy the house had been missing. Charlie hadn’t been out on the slopes yet but was dying to go. Tomorrow morning, Logan had promised.
Dinner was a free-for-all, supervised by the sisters and his mom. Logan’s famous chili was the main dish, and he was gratified to see how fast it disappeared.
“I’m proud of your cooking,” his mother said. “You’re really great at it.”
“Hear that, Charlie? I’m a great cook.”
“Good to know,” replied Charlie.
“Be sure you tell Santa how good I’ve been.”
“Santa,” squealed the nieces. “When do we get to see Santa?”
“Tomorrow, after skiing,” Logan said. “The big guy has a life-size gingerbread cottage in town, and then there’s a Christmas parade.”
“I want everything for Christmas,” announced his nephew Fisher.
“You can’t have everything,” said his brother, Goose.
“But I can want everything.”
Logan chuckled. “Yo, I like the way you think.”
“How come your name’s Goose?” asked Angelica.
“It’s a nickname, on account of Mom’s favorite movie.”
“Top Gun. She watches it at night when she thinks we’re asleep, and cries every time Goose crashes his plane,” Fisher explained.
“Hey,” said India, blushing bright red.
“You are so busted,” said Bilski.
“What’s your real name?” asked Angelica.
“Reginald, and you can blame my dad. It’s his dad’s name.” Goose made a funny face.
“My real name is Emile,” Charlie interjected.
Logan touched his chest. “Don’t blame me. I didn’t get a vote. I’m just glad you have a cool middle name.”
“I’m gonna tell them at ski school tomorrow to call you Reginald,” said Fisher.
“Are not,” Goose retorted.
“Watch me.”
“Nobody’s doing anything if you kids don’t get to bed and simmer down,” said India. “I’ll take bedtime duty tonight.”
Groans erupted, but with impressive efficiency, she herded them all down the hall to the bunk room. In the ensuing quiet, Logan added logs to the fire and put on soft, jazzy music. His father made Irish coffee for everyone, and they all sat around the fire, relaxing.
“Welcome to my new digs,” Logan said, raising his mug. “Welcome to my new life.”
“Hear, hear!” said Bilski. “Your new life is awesome.”
“Thanks.” Some days, like today, Logan was absolutely convinced of the awesomeness. Other days, like when Charlie was in a different time zone and Logan rattled around alone in the old, rambling, too-big house, he was not so sure.
“So, how is the resort business going?” his father asked. Of course he would ask. To Al O’Donnell, business was life.
“It’s a lot of work, but I have a fantastic team,” Logan said. “Karsten’s director of mountain operations stayed on. So did most of the senior staff. I get expert advice in all areas.” What he wouldn’t tell his father was that the financials were precarious. At the end of every day, he felt himself teetering on the fiscal cliff, trying to juggle the overhead with the revenues. Yet somehow he stayed on top of things and made it work. Operations were chugging along. Thanks to a dumping of snow from heaven itself, conditions were great and the daily till kept the cash flow going.
“So, are the revenues just pouring in?” his father persisted.
“Al.” Logan’s mother sent her husband a warning look. “Now is not the time.”
“Pouring in, that’s right,” said Logan.
“It seems like such a lot of work,” China said.
“I’m not afraid of hard work.”
“Are you taking care of yourself?” his mother asked. “You look too skinny.”
“I’m not skinny, Mom.”
“And pale,” she added.
“It’s the dead of winter,” he said. “Everyone is pale.”
He tried to keep it light. The dynamics of the family never changed. Or rarely did. People reverted to the old roles carved out a generation ago. His parents expected him to fail. As a dumb kid, he had cheerfully obliged them, time and time again; right up to getting a girl pregnant in high school.
Now they simply expected him to screw up no matter what he did, no matter how much time had passed.
“It’s working out,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to lose my shirt. I’d never do that to Charlie.”
“Dad thinks owning a ski resort is a guy’s fantasy, like owning a sports bar or building hot rods,” India explained to Darcy. “Fun to pursue, but no way to make a living.”
“Anything that’s fun is immediately suspect, right, Dad?” asked China.
“Girls,” her mother said. “That’s no way to talk to your father.”
Logan glanced over at Darcy. “Aren’t you glad you’re here? Lucky you, getting a ringside seat to our family feud.”
She laughed. “Sounds more or less like my own family, except we’ve got more girls.” She turned to Logan’s father. “My firm brought one of our biggest clients to Saddle Mountain for a photo shoot. It was fantastic. I can understand why anyone would be suspicious that something so much fun could also be profitable.”
“I see,” said Al. “And how did the shoot turn out?”
“One of the best we’ve done all year. The client was thrilled, and Saddle Mountain gets a lot of exposure.”
“You should show us the footage,” said India. “We’d all like to see.”
“I don’t know...” Darcy ducked her head.
Logan was intrigued to see her acting reluctant about it. “Come on,” he said. “It’ll give everybody a preview of the resort.”
She hesitated. “It’s very commercial, aimed at selling gear.”
“But it was filmed right here,” said Logan.
“Okay, does your TV have a USB port?” When he nodded, she said, “I’ll be right back.”
Nice one, thought Logan as she fetched her wallet and pulled out a USB drive. She’d managed to deflect the conversation about resort finance by getting everyone to shift gears.
“All right,” she said, “barring any technical difficulties...” She slotted in the thumb drive.
“Did you really bring work with you?” Logan’s mother scolded.
“Just a little,” said Darcy. “There’s a big outdoor retailer trade show in Ja
nuary, so I’ve got some deadlines.” Logan switched on the TV with the remote, and the client’s logo came up along with adrenaline-pumped music. “This is a montage with video that will be featured on the client’s website and in their retail stores. It’s going to go live this weekend.”
The opening sequence showed the mountain on a bluebird day, the peaks stark against the crisp sky. The broad panorama narrowed, homing in on a grove of birch trees. There was a panning shot of a deer, its head turned toward the camera, eyes alert with caution, before it turned and fled over the crest of the ridge, tail flipped up to show its white underside. The movement startled a brown-and-white hawk into sudden flight. Almost simultaneously, the scene dissolved into a sequence of a snowboarder exploding straight up into the sky as though shot from a cannon. A trail of sunlit snow sparkled in her wake; then she landed in a spray of knee-deep powder, then floated along through a forest glade.
“That’s Darcy, by the way,” India told her parents.
“The snowboarder?” her mother asked. “Heavenly days, really?”
“She’s good, huh?” India said.
“Good” did not begin to cover it. She was phenomenal, gliding through the snowy wilderness as if, for her, gravity was optional. She embodied everything a snow sport should be—fun and colorful, graceful and exhilarating. Saddle Mountain had never looked better.
At the conclusion of the presentation, Bilski leaned over to China and said, “Let’s take snowboard lessons.”
“Better yet,” said China, “let’s go shopping for all that cool gear.”
“My client would love to hear that,” Darcy said.
“The resort looks lovely,” said Logan’s mother. “I’m glad we’re here for the holidays. Truly.”
“Thanks, Mom. It’s going to be great, you’ll see,” Logan promised her. “It’s going to be awesome.”
* * *
“I hope those weren’t my brother’s famous last words,” said India after the parents had gone to bed.
Darcy, who was with her in the kitchen washing up the Irish coffee mugs, asked, “What, does disaster follow him?”
