Rebound

by Noelle August

  The group reaches a plateau where Jasmine Star stands in front of a broad wooden platform about shoulder height. Next to it rises an elaborate climbing wall with the caps of rough-hewn logs jutting from it and lengths of bungee cord shuffling together in the wind. On the ground, a Day-Glo fuchsia line brightens the white terrain.

  Jasmine claps her hands excitedly at our approach. She’s bundled in a patterned alpaca coat that looks like she fashioned it from one of the lodge blankets.

  “Good morning, lovelies!” she calls. “And here’s my magnificent partner!” she cries, homing right in on Mia, who seems even more clumsy and slow this morning than I feel. “Look at all that hair! You’re like a Botticelli!”

  “It’s just really hard for me to find a hat to go over it,” Mia says.

  “Well, it would be a shame to cover it,” Jasmine exclaims then dashes a few steps toward us to give Mia a morning kiss—on the lips. “Minty!” she exclaims.

  Mia angles a “just shoot me” look at Paolo, who laughs and gamely leans in for his kiss from Jasmine.

  Then it’s a flurry of kisses and pats in sometimes questionable places. Her hands are cool against my skin as she pulls my face toward hers. I can see every pore, see the manic delight in her hazel eyes, and the spray of capillaries on her ruddy cheeks. “Good morning, you beautiful creature of light,” she says to me. “Who are you going to trust today?”

  Even the word sends a dart of panic into my solar plexus. “Um, my team? I’m . . . I’m going to learn to trust my team.”

  She shakes her head. “No, my special darling. You’re going to learn to trust yourself! Isn’t it marvelous?”

  It’s not a question, really, though she still punctuates it with another kombucha-scented kiss on the lips. “Today, you’re going to learn to trust each other, yes. But you’re learning to trust yourselves, most of all. Trust that you can push yourself harder than you believe. Trust that when you fall—” she nods at the raised platform—“you’re truly worth catching!”

  My cell phone buzzes in my pocket, and I lift it out and clear off the condensation on the screen with my gloved finger.

  Dad: Any progress?

  Part of me wants to ignore him, to smash the phone under the heel of my boot and forget all about Adam’s past, about my “mission.” But I know he’ll persist, and giving him an answer now is the best way to keep from having to deal with a text every hour on the hour.

  Ali: Just getting started. But I told you, I’ve got it. Will fill you in tonight.

  Now leave me alone, please, I want to add, but I don’t. Here’s hoping I’ve bought myself a few hours of peace, at least.

  I thumb the switch to silent and thrust the phone back in my pocket.

  “Everything all right?” Adam asks, kicking up little clouds of snow as he closes the space behind us.

  I nod. “Yep, just had to let my dad know I got in okay.”

  “Too bad he’s not here,” Adam says with a hard-to-read grin. “He could use some trust exercises himself.”

  I hear my dad say, “Trust me, Ali. We have to keep this between us. It’ll break your mother’s heart, and for no reason. I don’t want to destroy our family. You have to understand that. Things like this . . . they mean nothing.”

  Trust me.

  Family is everything.

  “I’m glad you took my advice,” my dad says, and with a flourish, he hands me a small box. It’s Christmas. Catherine, my parents, and I sit in the cozy family room, warm cinnamon-sprinkled hot chocolate in our hands, tinny holiday music playing over the expensive speakers. My parents give each other cordial smiles, and I open the box. Two earrings—large A’s for Alison—studded with diamonds. “Just for you,” he tells me. “Because you mean so much to me. You all do.”

  Now, I run a finger over one of the earrings, feel the softly pebbled texture of the diamonds, now cold in the November Wyoming air.

  “All right,” Jasmine exclaims, bouncing on the toes of her boots like a little kid. “Our first exercise is called ‘Walk the Line!’ Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

  She pairs us with our team-building buddies and ushers us over to the end of the fuchsia line in the show.

  “All right, she says. “Stand side by side, facing me. Cookie, you put your left foot on the line. Philippe, put your right foot on it, right up against Cookie’s. Get cozy!

  “Don’t get cozy,” Cookie snaps, but I can see from the mischievous sparkle in Philippe’s eye that she doesn’t intimidate him.

  “Now the trick, my sweetest pets, is to simply walk the line—from here to the end.”

  Cookie starts to stride forward, but Jasmine reaches out and tugs her roughly back by the collar, almost lifting Cookie right off her feet.

  If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I’d never have believed it. The pixie Arnold Schwarzenegger is everything Sadie and Pippa promised.

  “Now, now, my hasty one, let me finish.”

  Cookie sighs and rolls her eyes but returns to stand near Philippe, her ankle aligned with his.

  “The trick is for the two of you to walk the line together, to keep connected, your feet in contact with each other at all times. But you’re not allowed to touch one another otherwise. And you’re not allowed to speak. You must go deep within your partner’s energy and intuit his or her movements, fall into a rhythm that speaks to both of your hearts. You see?”

  From the mystified faces around the clearing it’s obvious we’re all lost, but Cookie and Philippe gamely try again. And again. Jasmine stops them every time they fall out of sync, which is often.

  “Cookie, my darling, you have to give something to our dear Philippe. Slow down. Allow yourself to consider his rhythm. You can’t bully your way through something like this.”

  Mia and Sadie giggle at Cookie’s frustration, and at someone having the guts to call her a bully to her face. Finally, they’re able to walk the entire length of the fuchsia line, and Philippe celebrates by wrapping Cookie in a bear hug and rocking her back and forth until she finally, reluctantly, puts her arms around him.

  “Oh, how honored I am to have seen that!” Jasmine cries. “Truly, so special to see your souls at work together.”

  She lines the rest of us up and coaches us through the activity. It takes Rhett and Sadie about twenty tries to align their grossly mismatched strides—like watching a bear and a hummingbird attempt a salsa. While barely touching.

  Everyone else bumbles through the activity with greater or lesser success. Then it’s my turn with Adam. We line up, the sides of our feet touching in the center of the fuchsia line. I feel the warmth and solidity of him, and even without looking, I can feel that his eyes are on me.

  We start to move, and with no conversation, no touching, and no trouble at all, our strides fall in together. Our feet stay pressed together as we move, a single fluid unit, across the line.

  The others cheer us on, but Jasmine stands frozen, her hands pressed to her lips like she’s witnessing a legitimate miracle.

  “Oh, my, that was the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen! You two are perfectly in sync. I predict great things from your partnership.”

  All of which brings my father, Adam’s secrets, my obligations, crashing right back down again.

  Next, Jasmine tells us we’re going to do an old-fashioned trust exercise.

  “You’ll climb up to the platform there, and all of these beautiful souls around you will gather to give you a safe place to land. But you’ll line up with your buddies, all right? I want you to get in a row before the platform. Hold hands, and really latch onto each other. Imagine that there’s a steel rod running between you that’s unbreakable. And know that you’re responsible for the safety of another living being. That we’re all trusting each other with our hearts and our lives. Understand?”

  This all feels a little dramatic for what’s essentially a five-foot drop. But when she asks for volunteers, I find my arm is the first to shoot up. I have to know what it’s like. To fall into
the arms of people I barely know. To open myself up to their strength. To trust.

  My whole body trembles with excitement—and with cold—as I climb up the log ladder to the platform.

  “Oh, my dear, kudos to your bravery!” Jasmine says, and the others applaud for me.

  Mia comes to stand near Jasmine. She looks up at me, her wild cloud of dark hair whipping around in the wind. “We’ve got you,” she says and smiles. Then she and Jasmine clasp hands.

  Next to them Rhett and Sadie. Then Paolo and Pippa. Then Cookie and Philippe. All clasp hands, making a kind of human rope bridge for me, with Adam standing at the end.

  “You’ve got this, Quick,” Adam says, making me want to believe.

  I turn, smiling, even though no one can see me.

  Then I stretch my arms out over my head and let myself fall.

  Chapter 30

  Adam

  On the afternoon of our first official day at Camaraderie Camp, Ali and I pile out of the Four Seasons’s vans with the rest of the crew and shuffle into the snowmobile park. Rhett and Jasmine have already arranged for everything, and I know where I’m going from past years, so I lead Ali around the small double-wide that is the park’s office and head to the snowmobile course around the back.

  I move to the helmet rack and hand one to her, taking another one for myself. We pull them snug over our ski beanies.

  “Looking Mmm good, Quick,” I say, remembering her apron from the other night. I offer a hand down the slushy slope to the course below.

  “Thanks, Blackwood,” she says, grabbing onto my arm.

  We keep touching each other now, thanks to all the camaraderie work. We’ve only been at this for eight hours or so, but it’s already become natural. My hands are almost always on her, zipping up her coat for her or resting on the small of her back. Trust work—the art of supporting your partner in ways big and small, as we’ve been told endlessly by Jasmine—completely rocks. Jazz is getting a huge tip from me this year.

  The snowmobile is my favorite event of the retreat, and I’m more pumped for it than usual because of my partner this year. At some point yesterday, between trust falls and scavenger hunts through the lodge, I started having a legitimate blast with Ali.

  She’s competitive, maybe even more than I am, and her eagerness, the way she’s enjoying herself, her whole attitude, is addicting. Totally addicting to be around.

  “Hold up, guys,” a snowmobile guy says, blocking us at the bottom of the path. “Hey, I’m Gooter.” He steals a glance at Ali beside me—who looks amazing with her cheeks pink from the cold and her hair in a long braid that hangs to the side—and I watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “Sorry, but, I just need to show you how to work the snowmobile and tell you how to run the course.”

  “That’s all right,” I say. “I’ve done this a few times. Just point me in the direction of the fastest vehicle.”

  Gooter appreciates a speed junkie when he meets one. He smiles. “Cool, bro. That one’s got the best pick-up. Get her running for a minute to warm her up, and she’ll fly for you.”

  I snag it, and Ali swings her leg over, mounting behind me and scooting close. The feeling of her thighs tight against mine is one I have to take a few moments to enjoy.

  “I didn’t even ask you if you want to drive,” I say.

  She wraps her arms around me. “You drive. I’ll grab flags.”

  I fire up the engine and get us out on the starting line then explain the rules to Ali.

  The object of the game, I know from past years, is to ride the course while keeping an eye out for yellow flags along the way. Each team has to collect four flags to qualify, and then it’s pretty much a race to the finish line.

  “What do you think?” I ask, as the other teams assemble around us. “Who do we have to look out for?”

  She’s quiet, and I feel her studying the others. Rhett and Sadie, who are ten kinds of awkward together. Paolo and Pippa, who’ve created some kind of leg kick and cheer. Mia and Jasmine—who, in snow gear, looks surprisingly like she was born riding snowmobiles across Alaska. And Philippe who stalls again, and again, and again, until finally Cookie yanks him back into the passenger position and takes over.

  “No one,” Ali says. “We’ve got this in the bag.”

  I’m suddenly grinning from ear to ear. “Damn right, Quick,” I say, wanting to hang onto this feeling, that we’re invincible. Together, that’s exactly what we are.

  When everyone’s set, Gooter walks out to the starting line lifting what appears to be a pink dog toy in the air. “Are. You. Ready?” he yells.

  “Wow! This race feels so official,” Mia says gamely.

  Pippa and Paolo do a cheer, their legs kicking left and right.

  “Hell yes!” Cookie yells, revving her engine.

  “Hold on tight,” I say to Ali.

  “I am,” she says, firming her arms around my chest. “Don’t hold back.”

  Jesus. What I wouldn’t do to have her this close in private. Saying these things in private. With less clothes. Maybe sitting in front of me, where I could—

  “On your marks! Get set!” Gooter lowers the dog toy. “Go!”

  We shoot away from the starting line and I put us right into the lead, going full throttle down a steep drop. Ali and I come up off the seat as we catch air, and when we land, the impact is jarring. I feel her arms clamp around me, and the snowmobile finally gets traction again.

  “You all right?” I yell.

  “Yes! Keep going!”

  I can’t open up the throttle any more, so I concentrate on finding the best track.

  “Flag!” Ali points. “Right there!”

  I see it, and make a sharp turn. When I stop, I bury the bottom half of the flag in the spray the snowmobile kicks out.

  “Shit. Sorry,” I say, but Ali’s already hopped off, taken four steps to the flag, and pulled it out of the ground.

  “It’s okay. Go!” she says, hopping back on.

  I look behind us. Pippa and Paolo, and Cookie and Philippe are just coming down the steep decline Ali and I flew over.

  “Go, go, go!” Ali yells, and my chest fills with the sound of her voice this way. So competitive and sure.

  We tear back onto the track and find another flag. I get us close, Ali snags it. We blaze on. We’re strategic. Efficient. Ruthless. And we don’t make any false moves. By the time we come up to the fourth flag, I don’t even see anyone behind us, but we’re still gunning for the finish line, the two of us racing some imaginary competitor.

  Ali jumps back on the snowmobile, the fourth flag tucked in her arm, but I don’t go anywhere. Not yet.

  “Adam, go! What are you doing?”

  I turn so I can see her face. We’re alone, but I can hear the hoots and hollers of the others approaching. “I’m kissing you.”

  The urge is so strong I won’t be able to do anything—move, think, breathe—until I answer it.

  I bring my mouth to her soft lips. A brush was all I thought I wanted. We’re both out of breath and we’re in the middle of a race. But a passing taste isn’t enough. It never is with her.

  My tongue sweeps in and strokes hers, and she’s warm and sweet, and so willing, so responsive, I almost forget what we’re doing until our helmets clack together.

  I kiss her nose, which is a little red from the cold, as I back away. “What do you say, Quick?”

  She smiles at me. “I say let’s finish this.”

  And we do.

  We’re sipping hot chocolate with Gooter before the next team even crosses the finish line.

  Chapter 31

  Alison

  I know when I see the blindfolds that I’m in trouble. Well, I think, mentally replaying Adam’s kiss during yesterday’s snowmobile race, more trouble.

  We’ve gathered on the expanse of lawn right beyond our lodge’s back deck, which has been littered with colorful mini pylons in what seems like a randomly arranged pattern but that no doubt reflects the perfe
ct symmetry of a hummingbird’s flight or the pattern the brain makes when it falls in love.

  Jasmine seems to have a transparent bag filled with blindfolds, along with several lengths of bright yellow rope coiled in her hands.

  “Oh, look everyone,” says Paolo. “It’s Fifty Shades of Grey, mountain edition.”

  “At least buy me some flowers first,” mutters Mia.

  Philippe snorts.

  The early morning wind carries a cutting chill, the temperature easily twenty degrees colder than yesterday. I shiver and zip the collar of my coat up as high as it will go. Adam stands next to me, and I feel the tension of him wanting to put his arm around me. The same tension I feel, wanting to snuggle close but knowing it’s the wrong thing to do. Maybe just here and now. Or maybe anywhere, anytime. I still don’t know.

  “Supposed to be a big cold front coming in,” Rhett tells me. Wearing only a heavy sweatshirt, he jogs in place and blows on his hands as we await further instructions. “Maybe an ice storm.” To Adam, he adds, “Gotta keep an eye on that.”

  Adam nods. “I’m checking the alerts. We’ll probably know more in an hour or two.”

  Jasmine gives a sharp ear-piercing whistle, and all eyes turn to her.

  “I know it’s become a bit bracing out this morning, my lovelies, but we’ll get you warmed up in no time with a little game I call ‘Blind Pilot.’”

  “Umm, blind pilots crash,” says Sadie.

  “Not if they have expert navigators,” Jasmine replies. She explains that each team is to select one mask and one rope. The pilot and navigator will be tethered together, and the pilot will wear the mask. “You’ll find three blue cones among all of the orange ones on your course. Your job as navigator, my precious angels, is to guide your pilots to each of the blue cones by giving them directions and gently guiding them with the rope. Each time you reach a blue cone, you’ve come to a Trust Layover.”