by Linda Keir
♥: how’s the fam?
CC: OK. Mom’s still frosty. I think she still thinks I have the hots for Kelly. GROSS.
♥: I’m offended
♥: they should be worried about me
♥: I’m a bad influence
CC: I’ll say. :)
♥: can’t believe they never said they broke up
♥: did you get your dad’s side of the story?
CC: Not yet.
Just then, her dad came out the door carrying his skis. As always, he looked like a middle-aged model for the latest and greatest skiwear with everything new and perfectly zipped and tucked. Seeing her, he put down his skis and stepped into the bindings.
CC: Speak of the devil. Gotta go.
♥: miss you. can’t wait to see you again
CC: Feast your eyes on this then!
She texted him a picture from the Winter Formal, one where she had posed with her chest out and slutty eyes while an unaware Tate grinned normally. Sasha, her friend from cross-country who’d taken the pic with Cassidy’s phone, had totally cracked up. In the edited version, captioned Bae and Boo, Tate had hearts for eyes and a lolling tongue.
♥: omfg
CC: XOXO
♥: stay warm, snow bunny
CC: Don’t get sand in your butt crack ;-p
She locked her phone and zipped it into a warm interior pocket, sliding her frozen hand back into the mitten just as her dad glided across the packed, crusty snow outside the main lodge.
“Ready?”
“I was, but now I’m thinking about going back in for hot chocolate.”
He grinned and lowered his orange goggles. “We’ll warm up by skiing.”
Unfortunately, Dad’s idea of warming up consisted of a quick run down a blue groomer, which he insisted was to loosen his muscles before any truly strenuous skiing, followed by a blue mogul run that was barely more interesting. They had to go down carefully to avoid contact with a mob of second graders and their moms.
Groan. She started thinking it would have been more fun skiing with Mom and Whitney, even though she was mad at Mom, and Whitney didn’t do anything tougher than a blue groomer. Owen was hopeless: he spent his time at the snowboard park watching the boarders do stunts and occasionally attempting a 180 or a grab.
Which made Cassidy wonder. “Dad, you’re not doing this for me, are you?”
“I don’t want to blow out a knee. Not that it hurts you to ease into things, either.”
They reached the bottom of the run, barely even breathing hard. “Well, okay. We’re warmed up now. Can I pick where we go next?”
“Be my guest,” he said, his smile a little tight.
She chose a black run that wasn’t too far away; on the lift up, he gave her some pointers on her technique that she pretended to politely listen to. It wasn’t that he was wrong—her dad had been skiing his whole life and knew what he was doing—it was that every year, he seemed to forget that she had been skiing her whole life and knew what she was doing, too.
“I don’t understand why you’re so cautious sometimes,” Cassidy said. “Is it because you broke your leg when you were in high school?”
She’d seen a picture of him in a family album, leg in a cast, looking miserable next to Biz and Cope, who were dressed to go skiing.
He nodded and said, “Let’s just say it wasn’t my best sport.”
“I thought your best sport was all of them.”
He snorted, warming up a little. “Apology accepted. Is there something you want?”
She watched the end of her skis dangling in space, colorful helmets and ski jackets dotting the slope below them. She wished Tate would be waiting for her back at the lodge. It was a long time to be without him.
“An answer,” she said finally. She needed to get this out before they reached the top.
“I’d need a question first.”
“Why did you and Mom break up during senior year at Glenlake? I asked you at Thanksgiving, but we got interrupted.”
He looked at her intently. He had lifted his goggles up to his helmet, and his blue eyes seemed clear but chilly.
“I mean, it’s just so weird that no one ever said anything. The way you guys got together is this family legend—if you broke up and got back together, doesn’t that make it even better?”
For a moment they both listened to the creaking cables as they bounced ever so gently up the mountain. He seemed to decide something.
“You can’t tell your mom we talked about this,” he said.
“Why not? Did she dump you for somebody else or something?”
“It was complicated.”
“Oh my god, Dad,” said Cassidy, genuinely shocked. Despite her mom’s strange reaction to the bracelet, she still hadn’t thought it could be true. “Who?”
Staring up the slope, he shook his head. “No one important, obviously.”
“That sucks,” she said, knowing there was no sense pressing him for a name. Not right then, anyway.
“It’s funny, after twenty years, it’s hard to believe it happened. Like it was a dream,” he said. “Back then, she told me she needed time to be herself. And I think that’s true, even if she was seeing someone else. We had been together for three years, and that’s a long time when you’re that young. I always knew she was the one for me, and once she figured out that was true for her, too, she came back for good.”
There was something about his tone that almost made her catch her breath. He was trying to say it almost offhand, but there was a deep sorrow just below the surface that threatened to strangle his voice.
They were very nearly at the top.
“It’s all very . . . romantic.” Cassidy didn’t know what else to say.
Her dad raised the bar and got ready to glide off the lift. “As romantic as it gets.”
As they lowered their goggles into place, she felt a sudden urge to share something, too. She had never seen him this vulnerable before.
“Dad? I have a boyfriend. At Glenlake.”
His head turned suddenly, like he had been jerked out of his memories. Then he grinned. “What’s his name?”
“Tate Holland.”
“I’ve heard of him. Did you go to Winter Formal together?”
She nodded, then pulled out her phone and showed him a picture—not the one she’d texted Tate.
“Good-looking kid,” said Dad. “Does he do any sports?”
“Soccer and lacrosse.”
“Is it serious?”
Cassidy laughed, cringing because it sounded more like a giggle. “God, who knows? It’s just . . . nice.”
“Nice works,” he said.
“Dad,” she added, “can we please keep this between us for now? I don’t think I’m ready to make this an official part of the Copeland family history.”
Her dad gave her a side hug. “I’m happy for you. However it turns out.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
IAN COPELAND’S GLENLAKE JOURNAL
Wednesday, January 1, 1997
Happy fucking New Year. Is Andi in New York City with Simon, like every year, or is she off somewhere with Dallas Fucking Walker? Fucking Dallas Walker. I should write a letter to the headmaster. Better yet, I should make this my goddamn senior page: How a Teacher Came to Glenlake and Stole My Girlfriend. He should be fired. He should go to jail. She’s only seventeen. I could use my journal from the Winter Formal, not even wait until graduation, just make copies and put them on every bulletin board on campus. Slip them under everyone’s door. Mail one to the police.
Mom and Dad, Mom especially, are dying to know who it is. They totally know she’s seeing someone else. I mean, I’d be hurting if Andi just broke up with me—I was hurting already when I didn’t know why. But that was NOTHING compared to knowing it was someone else and knowing WHO.
Last night, when she was trying to get me to come down for the champagne toast, Mom asked, all innocent, “Do you know who she’s seeing?”
A
nd I said, “Someone she shouldn’t,” before I realized I shouldn’t even have told her that much.
Not until I can figure out what to do.
Thursday, January 2, 1997
Life is great.
Just fucking great.
So, yesterday, we were skiing, and I was thinking about different ways to get revenge on Dallas Fucking Walker when I realized something huge, and it put me in a shitty mood. Then I was stuck on the lift with Dad, and he said something about how I was skiing “recklessly.” We got in a huge argument, which sucked because you can’t exactly escape when you’re dangling thirty feet in the air.
When we got to the top, I skied away and went to look for my friends, who told me they’d be in the back bowls. I didn’t see them at the top of the lift, so I decided to see how fast I could get to the bottom. Just go as straight as humanly possible like an Olympic downhill. It was a huge rush. I think it took like sixty seconds, and I totally caused a yard sale, but I was going so fast I’ll bet they won’t remember what I look like.
I waited by the lift for a while, but my friends didn’t come down, so I went up again and decided to hike up to the north bowl and take a run there. No way I could have done that one in a straight line, so I pretended I was going for the slalom world record. No breaks, just as fast as I could get down. I was about halfway down and flying when I caught an edge and lost it. Right away I knew something was wrong with my leg. One of my skis had slid away from me, but it hurt too much to even stand up and go get it. I just kind of lay there swearing until some guy came up and asked if I needed help.
Taken off the mountain on a sled—check that one off my bucket list—and ended up having an X-ray in the emergency room at the base of the mountain.
My leg is broken. Well, no shit.
Friday, January 3, 1997
Well, the good news is we go back home tomorrow, so I only have one day where I have to sit in the condo while everyone else goes skiing. Mom offered to stay with me, and I was like, god no. Just me, the TV, my journal, and the book I’m supposed to read for English class. I’ll read it on the plane. Or maybe I’ll read it during basketball practice, because I’ll be lucky if I get back before the end of the season.
I don’t even know why I’m writing in my journal—it’s winter break and it’s not like I have to—but it sucks not being able to talk to anybody. And I really can’t. The thing I figured out before I broke my leg was that, as much as I want to ruin Dallas Walker’s career by telling everybody about him and Andi, I won’t do it.
Because I still love Andi. I mean, when I picture them together, I want to fucking puke. And she definitely deserves part of the blame because even if he is a famous poet (it’s not exactly like being really famous, except to someone like Andi), she went along with it. He hit on her and she said yes. How can I compete with that?
But I can’t tell the world, or anybody, because it will hurt her as much as it hurts him. And it will hurt me because I’ll look like a fucking jackass. The girls who want to hook up with me now won’t just feel sorry for me—they’ll think it’s kind of funny that my girlfriend dumped me for a guy who’s going to start losing his hair in a couple of years.
I have to keep it secret. But there has to be something else I can do.
Kill him for real?
Ian slid the door closed, holding the champagne glasses and bottle in his right hand, then walked carefully across the icy deck to the hot tub, where Andi was already immersed up to her chin. After setting the precious cargo down, he stepped out of his shower sandals and shrugged off his robe, feeling the bitterly cold mountain air wash his chest and legs.
“No other takers?” asked Andi as he eased into the frothing, steaming hot water, the smell of chlorine more powerful than he would have liked.
“I may have mumbled my invite,” said Ian.
“I can’t imagine why you don’t want the twins playing water tag on top of us.”
“I think I’m also ready for a break from Cope’s stories. But they won’t miss us. Cassidy’s texting her friends, and Whitney and Owen are going to watch a movie with Cope and Biz. Biz is going to make her famous popcorn—with butter and salt.”
He poured glasses for each of them, trying to remember when he’d started calling his dad by his nickname—it certainly hadn’t been in high school. Sometime after Cassidy had been born, maybe. It was strange to think how many years they’d been coming to this very place on this very mountain. As a young man, Cope had purchased an old chalet that had served as home base while Ian learned to ski, and the chalet had been modernized and retrofitted several times throughout the years.
Once Andi had officially joined the family, and she and Ian had started having skiers of their own, they’d needed more space, so they’d torn down the chalet—not without some boozy toasts from Cope before the demolition began—and built a modern house with multiple balconies offering stunning views the chalet’s little windows had only hinted at.
“Happy New Year,” said Ian, clinking glasses with Andi.
“It better be,” she said flatly.
They both drank quickly and then put the glasses down so they could dunk their hands back in the warm water.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.
“I’m just glad the saga of Cassidy’s college apps has finally come to its conclusion,” said Andi peevishly. “If she didn’t spend so much time on that phone, she might have gotten them done before the very last minute.”
Ian knew the real reason for Andi’s irritation had something to do with the fact that Cassidy had decided early on not to apply to her mother’s alma mater, Smith. Even worse, she was applying to Amherst. Ian didn’t understand their daughter’s reasoning any better than Andi but thought they shouldn’t take it personally.
“She got them done on time,” said Ian. “You’ve been awfully hard on her lately.”
“Imagine if I hadn’t been.”
“Then the college counseling office at school would have made sure she got them done. That’s part of the reason we sent her to Glenlake.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t have.”
“Sent her to Glenlake?”
Andi reached a hand out of the foam for another drink. “I’m worried there may be something inappropriate going on with her teacher. With Wayne Kelly.”
Ian suddenly felt cold to his core, his mind reeling with the possibility. “What?”
“When I saw them together before Thanksgiving, I had a strange feeling about it. And then there were some texts on her phone.”
“From Kelly?”
“They had to have come from him—but they sounded like a boyfriend.”
“And what did they say?”
“Do your parents know? About us?” she quoted. “And one of them said, Are you going to get your dad’s side of the breakup?”
“Anyone could have written that.” Ian wanted to tell Andi she was jumping to the wrong conclusion because of her own experience, not her daughter’s. But what good would it do her to learn he’d known about it all along, ever since he saw her embrace her poetry teacher on the doorstep of his cottage? They’d never discussed it.
The chill gave way to hot anger, anger that after all these years he was still dealing with Dallas Fucking Walker.
“You’ve heard how she talks about Kelly, Ian, how much she idolizes him,” she was saying. “And it’s apparently mutual. She’s the star of his class, and he wrote her a recommendation letter that sounds like he wants her as his personal assis—”
“Cassidy has a boyfriend, Andi, and it’s not her teacher,” he said, unable to keep the anger out of his voice. Cassidy’s request that he keep her secret was less important than strangling Andi’s suspicions. “His name is Tate.”
Andi stared at him. “How would you know? Why would she tell you?”
“Because you’ve been riding her too hard, and your mistrust is the very thing that made it impossible for her to confide in you. They went to the Win
ter Formal together.”
“That doesn’t—” she started to say, and then stopped.
He could have finished the sentence for her, but didn’t. That doesn’t mean she can’t also be seeing her teacher.
“Our daughter isn’t hiding some dark secret,” he said. “She seems happy. I think this new relationship may be part of the reason she’s been asking about us and what happened back at Glenlake.”
Andi seemed startled. “Goddamn Georgina and her big mouth. It’s none of her business.”
Now it was Ian’s turn to stare at Andi. He reached for his champagne glass, downing half of it before plunging his hand back into the roiling hot tub.
A hot surge of emotions caught him off guard. It suddenly felt like months since they’d really talked, like they’d been navigating around each other. Clearly, she’d been as preoccupied with the ghost of Dallas Walker as he had.
As on the night when Walker had resurfaced in their lives, jealousy and anger fused with longing and lust, and he felt an urgent need to make her forget about Walker and remind her that he, her high school sweetheart and now husband, had been there for her all along—and would always be there for her.
Remind himself that he’d won, and not Dallas Fucking Walker.
Ian slid in close and kissed Andi. Deeply. Hard.
“What are you doing?” she asked as they came up for air.
He put his hand on her breast, over the sexy red bikini she always wore in Vail, but only in their hot tub.
“I want you,” he whispered.
“Not here, Ian. Not now.”
No one could see them. The great room was downstairs and looked out onto the valley. The hot tub, which led off from the upstairs master suite, was around the corner and off the side of the house, almost built into the slope of the mountain.
“We’re as good as alone,” he said, trailing his hand between her thighs.
She moved his hand away gently but firmly.
“I’m cold,” she said.
With that, she rose dripping from the tub, wrapped herself in her robe, and went indoors. Apparently, she preferred to spend time alone with her memories.
