by Jaime Maddox
Ward’s partner, Dr. Jessica Benson, had left home at eighteen and hadn’t been back. Not until recently, anyway. After four years at Pocono Mountains University for her undergrad degree, she spent another four at medical school in Philly. Ward had met her there, when they were both emergency-medicine residents. They’d been together for six years now, worked in downtown Philadelphia and owned a house nearby. Their jobs and their travel agenda left few chances to come back to Jess’s hometown of Garden in the mountains of Northeastern Pennsylvania.
The hills melted into the lake and Zeke coasted into a small clearing. He parked the truck, and once again she helped him with the toboggan. This was his show; she was just along for the ride. She’d never even fished before coming home with Jess. She left all her gear—gifts from the Bensons—here at the cabin for their visits. Now, as she felt the frigid air, she was happy her in-laws had insisted on the warm coat and gloves, and that Jess had given her the new boots. It was going to be a long day.
Her face was the only exposed flesh on her body, and with each of her steps on the unyielding surface of the ice, her cheeks grew numb. Avoiding holes in the ice slowed them down. When she dared to look up, she saw the same view as the one behind and to either side: blurry mountains became snow-covered trees that blended into hills of ice that bled into this frozen lake below her. For a second she feared getting lost out here in the wilderness, where everything truly looked the same. She might never find her way back. Zeke would, though. This was his home.
The air was still, and quiet, and the only sounds disturbing the peace were the hissing breaths escaping their lungs and the swish of the toboggan Zeke pulled behind him. A complaint about the cold came to mind, but she kept quiet as she tried to keep pace with the man nearly twice her age. Instead, Ward thought back a few months to a blissful Saturday afternoon when she and Jess had spent the day kayaking on this lake. They’d just moved to Garden, returning to help her mother die peacefully. The chemotherapy was killing Pat Benson more quickly than the cancer, and she’d decided to stop treatments and just enjoy her remaining days.
Jess had seen the crisis coming, and they’d planned the sabbatical from their jobs in Philly months before they actually changed their address. Garden was the largest city in the county, with a population of five thousand, and home of the only hospital in a wide and rugged radius. Luckily, the hospital needed ER doctors, and after a decade of practice in the inner city, both she and Jess were well qualified. They never worked together now, but they were on duty only three or four days each week, so they still had some quality time as a couple.
In the beginning, they had spent much of that time at Pat’s bedside, but since she passed away at the beginning of December, their mission had been to fill Zeke’s hours. He’d lost his partner of forty years, and although his job as the local sheriff kept him busy, he was still hurting. Jess had the day shift in the ER, and so Ward found herself on this frozen lake on the first day of the year, with only memories of that other day and the woman she loved keeping her warm.
They walked on silently, carefully, until suddenly, Zeke stopped. “Here,” he said, and turned to the toboggan. “You set up the tent and the fire. I’ll get the auger.”
Ward knelt on the ice and felt the cold in her knees, even through three layers, but she’d be warm soon enough. She knew what to do. Zeke had taught her.
Ward had grown up just outside Trenton, New Jersey, and never held a fishing pole until Zeke put one in her hands on her first trip home with Jess. She never could have imagined how much she would come to love fishing. It wasn’t the fish—she usually threw them back. It wasn’t a desire to outsmart the little guys—they usually won that battle. She suspected it was the solitude she enjoyed, alone with the towering pines and a plethora of thoughts. At home in Philly she sought other solitary activities to occupy her time—visits to museums, hikes through parks—past times that nourished her body and her mind. Fishing seemed to refresh her spirit.
Ward placed the worn, aluminum sledding disk on the ice and set a few small logs in the center, atop a mound of kindling and paper. She threw a match into the pile, and a minute later she was warming her hands above the blazing fire. The tent practically set up itself, and within a few minutes, Zeke was seated next to her at its entrance, their feet stretched out toward the flames as they watched the ten flags over the holes in the ice. When a fish nibbled on the bait, it would tip up the flag, indicating they might have a catch. Or maybe just an empty hook, but it didn’t matter to her. She wasn’t here to catch anything but peace.
“Ice is a foot thick. Strong enough to hold a car’s weight.”
“Good thing you have that power auger.” It had been a gift from her and Jess a few Christmases back.
“You’re not kidding. Used to take a half hour just to open the ice with the hand auger.”
“See, Zeke, everything modern isn’t bad.” She knew how he felt about electronic gadgets.
In response, he cleared his throat. “I guess you’re wonderin’ why I brought you all the way out here,” he said as he handed her a steaming cup of coffee he’d poured from the thermos.
Ward unwrapped her peanut-butter sandwich and studied him. “Actually, Zeke, I thought you brought me out here to ice fish.” Something told her she’d been terribly naive in her assumption.
“Hmmfp, ha,” he said, and Ward knew from experience he was laughing. “You’re such a kidder, Ward. You always know how to get a chuckle out of me. We’re pals. And that’s exactly why I need your help.”
“With what?” she asked. Taking a bite of her sandwich, she studied him cautiously. Something strange was going on.
“With Jess. I know you two are more than just friends. We’ve known about Jess’s lesbian phase since college.”
His pronunciation of lesbian required only two syllables and sounded like something that might be served in an upscale restaurant. Thin slices of roasted duck on a fresh baguette, served with a side of lez beans.
“But I think it’s time she settles down and finds a husband, before her baby clock stops tickin’. Emory Paldrane’s still around. Divorced with a couple of kids, but he’s a nice boy and was always fond of Jess. And he’s willing to overlook her past. I just don’t think she’s gonna date him with you in the picture.” He dipped his chin and turned his head slightly, but his eyes never wavered, holding hers, allowing his words to sink in.
Ward leaned against the sturdy frame of the chair and sipped her coffee. It scalded her tongue, but she barely noticed it as she studied the only relative Jess had left in the world. He’d always been kind to her, accepting her as his daughter’s partner. Ward had spent holidays and vacations with him and his wife, and they’d visited the home she shared with Jess. And on all of those occasions, she and Jess openly shared a bed. They’d done nothing to conceal the nature of their relationship, and Jess had come out to them a dozen years earlier, while she was in college.
So Zeke knew the truth and was obviously hoping to change things anyway. As Ward ran her blistered tongue across her teeth in an effort to dislodge persistent peanut butter, she considered her possible responses. After all, she was in an unusual situation—in the middle of nowhere, on a frigid cold mountain, ice fishing with the local sheriff who was wearing a gun and wanted her to stop sleeping with his daughter. Refusing him could have life-altering consequences.
Yet she couldn’t very well agree with him, either.
“It’s up to Jess to decide who she wants to date, Zeke. And I think she’d prefer me over Emory, or any man, for that matter. Have you discussed this with her?”
“Eh, Ward, you know Jessica. She’s as loyal as a puppy. As long as you’re around, she’s not going to look at anyone else.”
“I’m not forcing her to be with me, Zeke. Jess and I love each other. Just as you and Pat did. We don’t have a piece of paper that proves it—except a mortgage, but it’s just as binding.” She chuckled at her joke, but the strained look didn’t leave his
face.
“I think she’s too polite to say if she wants you to go. We raised her better than that.”
Suddenly, Ward felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. Did Zeke know something she didn’t? Ward had to admit her relationship with Jess was far from perfect, and Jess hadn’t been happy in some time. But that had nothing to do with Ward. Watching her mother die, giving up her staff position, moving home—all that stress had taken its toll. Wouldn’t those burdens melt, like the winter snow, as her sorrow softened with the passage of time? Ward thought they would and hoped they would. She’d never questioned that they wouldn’t. She’d never had a reason to, until this moment.
She tried to shake her doubts. Even if Jess told her their relationship was over tomorrow, Jess wouldn’t be looking for a man to help her rebound. She’d look for another woman. Jess was a lesbian! Hell, Jess had seduced her, way back when. And a dozen other women, too, before Ward.
She looked across the frozen lake and pictured Jess on that day not so long ago—her red hair pulled back in a ponytail, blue eyes flecked with green squinting in the sun, her strong shoulders and arms effortlessly pulling her kayak across the water. She was beautiful, and she looked so much like Ward they could have been sisters. Ward’s hair was brown, not red, and she wore hers short, but their eyes were the same, their faces both oval and their skin fair. Jess was decidedly more feminine, but they both tended to dress down, doubling the size of their wardrobes because they wore exactly the same size in everything. Bras. Shirts. Pants. Shoes. Jess fit Ward perfectly. Didn’t she?
Ward imagined Jess’s face, the blue eyes meeting hers, smiling. The passion in those eyes as she made love to her, and the gentle way Jess’s hands slid across her body. All that was magical, and they would get it back. Ward had no worries about her and Jess.
The sheriff’s gun was another story.
Chapter Three
Surgical Abdomen
Abby Rosen pulled her goggles down over her helmet and her scarf up. It was fucking freezing, and as she gazed down the trail she asked herself once again why she was doing this. Was anything worth this torture?
Abby had grown up twenty miles from this mountain and had spent the winters of her childhood following her dad down the hills and trails. They’d skied from November to March, weather permitting, thousands and thousands of runs every winter. Whenever her father had a few hours off and the conditions were favorable, they threw their equipment into the back of his truck and headed for the slopes. So many times that it lost its appeal on days like today. There was so much else she could be doing.
Glancing to her left, she saw Cassandra readying for their run and imagined her as she’d looked a few hours before, naked on the hotel room bed. And on the floor by the fire. And on the couch. It didn’t require much debate to formulate her conclusion. Yes, it was worth it.
Cass lived in Philadelphia, where there were no ski slopes, so when she came to the mountains, she wanted to ski. As long as she wanted to fuck, too, Abby could weather the weather.
They pushed off and glided across the glistening surface of the trail, taking the circuitous route down the mountain. Low temperatures and a biting wind had created icy conditions, and Abby didn’t want to risk an injury. Cass was an expert in bed, but her skiing skills weren’t quite at that level. In a soft powder, the diamond trails challenged her. Today, they bordered on dangerous.
Looking up, she took a moment to enjoy the view. In spite of the cold it was a brilliant day, with a bright-blue sky backing up the shimmering mountain peaks. Few others had come out to celebrate the new year on the slopes, and the quiet was blissful.
It lasted for about three seconds.
“Fuck,” she murmured as her phone began vibrating in her breast pocket.
In spite of her helmet, Cass heard her. “What’s wrong?” she asked in the sweet way Abby adored.
“My phone is ringing,” she said.
“Do you need to get it?”
“I can’t do anything before I reach the bottom, so we might as well enjoy the run.”
Suspecting this would be the last, Abby concentrated on the world around her, the feeling of her skis beneath her, the tension in her calves and her thighs and hips, and the vibration that rattled all the way up when she cut a corner too sharply. The wind hit the exposed flesh of her face like a razor; she’d need some extra makeup in the morning to cover the burn. Still, she was sorry when she reached the bottom of the hill and checked her phone.
Cass’s eyes were waiting for hers when she raised them a second later. “It’s the hospital.”
“Maybe it’s nothing.”
Abby snorted. “It’s always something, Cass,” she said as she dialed the number.
“Abby Rosen,” she said when the ER answered.
“Hi, Ms. Rosen. Let me get Frankie for you,” the clerk said.
A moment later she heard the always-cheerful voice of the ER’s head nurse. “Happy New Year, Abby,” he said.
In spite of the intrusion of the call, Abby returned the greeting. Frankie was a third-generation hospital employee and as loyal as they came. Like so many from this area, he was the first to attend college and chose to use his nursing and leadership skills to help his friends and neighbors in his hometown. Abby had the pleasure of working closely with him on various committees, and because of her nature and his, he was never afraid to call her when problems arose.
“So, what’s up?” she said after a moment.
“I thought you’d want to know. They just brought Dr. Rave in. He’s pretty sick.”
“Shit,” Abby said. Dick Rave was the ER director, a dedicated doctor who’d been the head of the ER since she first started rounding with her parents as a toddler. He’d indulged her then, with lollipops and soda, showed her X-rays and amputated fingers, hoping to lure her down the same path her parents had chosen. She’d gone the other way, though, into administration, and when she was offered the job as CEO of the hospital a few years earlier, he was one of her biggest supporters. Like Frankie, Abby worked closely and well with Dick and was very fond of him. Her worry was more personal than professionally motivated.
“Is it serious?”
“He’s on his way to the OR. It looks like a ruptured diverticula.”
Although the words sounded vaguely familiar to Abby, she had no clue what they meant. “Speak English, Franklin,” she commanded him.
“Diverticulitis. Little potholes in the colon. One of them got infected and ruptured, so now he has poop floating around his belly. If the surgeon doesn’t fix the hole and clear up the infection, he’ll die.”
“Oh, wow. I guess I asked for that. Is he really that critical?”
“He’s stable now, but this is a big surgery.”
“When does he work next?”
Frankie laughed, bitterly. “Seven o’clock tonight.”
Abby whistled softly. “I’ll be there in an hour.”
When she looked up, Cass was still watching.
“That doesn’t give us much time,” she said.
Abby glanced at her. She’d also removed her helmet, and her blond hair was cascading down her back. The form-fitting ski suit showed off her curves, and once again Abby remembered Cass naked. It would be so easy to invite her over.
Abby’s house was less than half an hour away, and she had to stop there anyway before heading to the hospital. She had no keys, and she wouldn’t even think of going in dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, as she was for her day on the slopes. She’d change into something more professional, go help solve this crisis, and be back home in a few hours. How much nicer to be back home with someone to snuggle up with beside the big fireplace in the living room. How nice to make love and fall asleep beside a warm body.
But Cass had never been to Abby’s place before, and it scared her to set that precedent. They were good friends, great playmates, and phenomenal lovers. But they would never be more than that, and Abby feared the invitation to her home would
send Cass the message that more was a possibility.
They gathered their gear and hugged good-bye. “I’m really sorry,” Abby said as they kissed in the parking lot.
“Are you sure you can’t come back?” Cass asked.
“I’m sure this is going to take up the rest of the evening, and then I don’t think I’ll be much company.”
One of Cass’s best features was her sense of decorum. She didn’t push it. “I’ll call you soon,” she said before walking away.
An hour later Abby found Jan Rave and her son Rich in the surgical waiting room at Endless Mountains Medical Center. It was far away from her office in the administrative suite, but she’d been in this position many times before and didn’t hesitate to walk right in and offer support. After they exchanged hugs, Abby sat beside Jan and held her hand. “What happened?” she asked.
Jan shook her head in frustration. “He’s had pain for a few days. He knew it was diverticulitis, but he thought he could treat himself with antibiotics. This morning he developed a fever and his pain got worse. Then he started vomiting, so I called the ambulance. Dave Simpson said he wouldn’t have lived through the night.”
Dave Simpson was a very capable surgeon, and Abby trusted his opinion. When he emerged from the operating room two hours later, the grave look on his face alarmed her. She had difficulty swallowing as she waited to hear his report.
“He’s in recovery, and he’s stable. But it was bad in there. I had to remove an entire section of infected bowel and create a colostomy,” he explained.
Jan’s hand flew to her mouth and she burst into tears.
“But he’ll live?” Abby asked.
“Yes, I think so.”
“When can we see him?” Rich asked.
“Half an hour. They’ll come let you know.”
