“Uh, Winnie?”
“What?” I say sharply.
Sam is looking in the general direction of my face. I can tell he can’t see more than a blur by the way his eyes flick around, focusing on my nose then my mouth before settling on some spot in the middle of my forehead. “I didn’t know it was your mom for certain,” he says. “I just figured someone close to you had died because… well… you know.”
“No, I don’t know. Why don’t you enlighten me?” I’m being a jerk, but what else is new? Sharing my feelings isn’t something I am accustomed to. It’s like my body throws up an automatic defense when it senses someone is getting too close. Walls of sarcasm first, barricades of anger second and a moat of distrust to finish it all off. Sam would have to be some kind of super hero to get past all that. It’s almost too bad he is just a dorky kid with glasses who dresses like his dead cousin.
“You look like you’re at somebody’s funeral all the time,” he says bluntly. “Which would be fine if that’s how you looked, but I can see your roots and they’re not black. Plus your makeup has started to run and now you look more like a drowning raccoon than some bad ass Goth chick and everyone knows bad ass Goth chicks wear waterproof eyeliner and mascara. Obviously some tragic event has recently happened and judging by the way you talked about your dad’s new girlfriend I would guess your mom is dead. Am I wrong?”
I like the way he says ‘your mom is dead’. Not ‘she has passed on’ as if she went to the next state for a temporary visit or ‘she is in a better place’ like he knows it for a fact. Who knew sweater vest Sam would burst through the wall of sarcasm with guns blazing?
“A good guess,” I say grudgingly because hey, when you’re right you’re right. No sense in getting angry about it. Zing! The barricades have been tunneled under. “What did you do when your cousin died?” I ask him.
“Started wearing sweater vests and glasses,” he says.
The laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it. “That is so weird.”
“No weirder than filling my face full of holes and changing my hair color. Why’d you do all that, anyways? I do like your star tattoos, though,” he says as an afterthought. “Very cool.”
We both stop. Sam leans against the railing on one side of the walk way and I lean against the other. We face each other, but we don’t look at each other. My gaze lifts to the tops of the pines trees while his floats somewhere around my chest. I’m pretty sure he thinks he is looking me in the eye, so I don’t punch him in the gut.
I think about his question, rolling it back and forth in my mind. If anyone else would have asked it – which they have – I would give my usual response of ‘mind your own damn business’. But sweater vest Sam deserves more than that. He deserves the truth, or at least as close to the truth as I can get without having some kind of seizure.
“I guess it’s because…” I start to say. Pause. Backtrack. “People always used to say my mom and I looked identical. My dad called us twins. He used to make us dress alike to take pictures.” I smile unconsciously at the memory. “It drove me nuts. So I guess I did all this because… because when my dad looks at me I don’t want him to see her.” I glance covertly at Sam, waiting to see what he will say, hoping it’s not something stupid.
“I would like to see a picture of your mom sometime, if that’s okay. She must have been really pretty if you look just like her,” he says simply.
It is silly and cute and a little embarrassing. It is also the exactly right thing to say. Cue barricade reinforcements before I do something really unforgivable, like cry or try to hug him. “For God’s sake put on your glasses, Sam. You’re staring right at my boobs.”
“I am?” he asks guiltily.
My eyes narrow. Maybe Sam isn’t as blind as I thought. I push away from the railing and continue walking. Sam follows me after fumbling around in his pocket to retrieve his glasses. They slip easily over the bridge of his nose like they’re meant to be there and I decide he looks much better with his glasses on. My lips quirk at the realization that I am developing a little crush on sweater vest Sam, dork extraordinaire. It’s too bad I live five hundred miles away. I could use a friend like him.
“So,” I say when we reach the end of the walkway. The front entrance of the lodge looms in front of us, temptingly warm and cheerful with all the lights lit up and smoke curling from the twin chimneys.
“So,” Sam says.
I cross my arms. Uncross them. Put my hands on my hips. Put my hands in my sweatshirt pocket. Every attempt at cool casualness feels more awkward than the last. Finally I just let my arms hang down by my sides. Stiff, but effective. “Do you… uh… want to come in or something?”
“I would really like too.”
“But…” I say the word that lingers in the air.
“But I can’t.”
Disappointment flutters in my belly. “Why not?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Sam looks down at his feet. “I just can’t. I’m sorry.”
“Is it because of me?” Jeez, Winnie! Just. Stop. Talking.
His chin lifts. Gray eyes lock on mine with alarming intensity. “No, no, nothing like that. I would love to go inside with you. Really. I just… I just can’t.”
“Uh, okay.” I am stunned by the strength of my reaction to his refusal to come inside, and instantly I go on the defensive. “Like whatever. I have shit to do anyways.” I stomp past him towards the sliding glass doors. With a quiet whoosh they split apart, beckoning me inside. The scent of pine and vanilla is nauseating. I take a step forward.
“Winnie, wait a sec!” Sam calls out.
“What?” I turn around and can’t help but remember we’ve had this conversation before. Last night, or the one before that? I don’t know. The vacation is starting to blur together, each day suckier than the last. Whatever night it was Sam wouldn’t come inside then either, which is weird. Why would he hang around the resort yet refuse to come in? Maybe he’s banned. Or maybe it reminds him of his cousin. Probably the latter, I decide. Sam doesn’t exactly strike me as the getting banned from stuff type.
“It was good to see you,” he says.
“It was good to see you too,” I say, my tone softening. “I think the weather is supposed to be nice tomorrow,” I lie – I haven’t checked the weather forecast since we’ve been here – impulsively. “Maybe we could go skiing or snowboarding or you know. Something.”
Sam rubs the side of his face and for an instant, so quick if I blinked I would have missed it, he looks impossibly sad. Then he smiles, a sweet, slow, charming smile that wipes my brain completely clean. “A walk would be nice,” he says. “Meet me out here tomorrow morning at ten?”
“Uh, yeah. Yes. Ten. Ten would be good.”
“See you then.”
“See you then,” I echo. I start to wave, remind myself I am not a blithering idiot, and hurry inside. The doors close behind me, sealing out the cold and Sam in one fell swoop.
“Who were you talking too?” an irritated voice asks. I look to the main desk. Bridget, dressed in her receptionist’s best, fixes me with a cool stare. “You let in all the cold air and now it’s freezing in here,” she continues, the corners of her mouth tightening. “Thanks a lot.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t see a sign that says No Talking Allowed.”
“It’s called common courtesy,” she snaps.
“Huh,” I say, feigning sympathy with a purse of my lips. “Sorry about that. Well, I’m off to my nice warm room now. See you later!”
“Bitch,” she mutters under her breath.
“Skank,” I toss cheerfully over my shoulder. My feet feel weightless as I cross the lobby and wait in front of the elevator. I think I am actually happy, but the emotion has evaded me for so long I forget what it feels like to be excited. To anticipate something. To be anything other than miserable. It’s like I have clawed my way out of a pit. I’m not at the top – not even close – but for the first time I can see a streak of dayligh
t and it feels good.
CHAPTER FIVE
I wake up the next morning to a pounding at the door. Groggily I roll out of bed and pad barefoot across the room to look out the peep hole. Girlfriend #3’s brown eyeball stares back at me. Something must be really wrong if A) she’s out of bed before eight and B) she forgot to put in her colored contacts. Stifling a yawn, I unlock the door and open it a crack.
“What d’you want?” I mumble.
She pushes the door open and shoves past me, surprisingly strong for someone who has arms the size of toothpicks. “What have you done with Brian? Don’t you get that I’ve won? Taking your brother isn’t going to fix anything. Now,” she finishes with a huff of breath, “where is he?”
“What?” I stare at her blankly. It sounded like she just said I have Brian. Except I haven’t seen my brother since I stormed out of the dining hall a day and a half ago. I tried to see him yesterday afternoon but when I went up to my dad’s room it was empty so I ordered room service, watched a marathon of bad action movies, and went to bed. “Brian isn’t here,” I say. The genuine panic that flashes across her makeup free face sends off about a thousand different alarm bells. “Trish, where is he?”
“I don’t know,” she wails, throwing her hands in the air. “He got up at like six in the morning and wanted to get breakfast. I told Tom I would take him but by the time I got dressed and went down to the lobby he was gone.”
“You sent a five year old down to the lobby by HIMSELF?” I shout the words out, each one louder than the last until they end on a crescendo that makes Trish cringe.
“I didn’t think he would go anywhere.” She rubs the corners of her eyes and scowls, as if the whole thing is Brian’s fault. “And when I couldn’t find him I thought he was up here with you. What am I going to do? Tom is going to kill me.”
“Don’t worry, Trish. If you really lost Brian my dad won’t get a chance to kill you because I’ll do it first.” It is not an idle threat. Brian is the only family I have left to speak of. The only good and innocent thing still in my life. Without him… I don’t even want to contemplate what I would do. “Did you search the hotel?” I ask.
She stares at me blankly, as if the thought of actually looking for Brian had never occurred to her. “I didn’t –”
“Do you think there is any way he could have gotten outside?”
Her bottom lip begins to quiver. “I’m not sure –”
“You are, hands down, the dumbest DUMB person I have ever known!” I try not to think of all the ways a little boy could get hurt on a mountain. Unfortunately, my imagination is not being cooperative. He could get caught in an avalanche. Trip and fall down a ravine. Get hit by an out of control skier. Fall through the ice. Be attacked by a deer. Trampled by a moose. The possibilities are endless. Even if he stayed in the hotel that doesn’t guarantee his safety. Brian thinks every stranger he comes across is a long lost relative. Any attempts at teaching him about ‘stranger danger’ have failed miserably. The kid just doesn’t understand that there are people out there who could hurt him.
Trish’s hands flail helplessly in the air as I push past her to grab my sweatshirt off the back of a chair. Using the hem to cover my nakedness, I strip out of my blue duck shorts (a birthday gift from Brian) and yank on a pair of jeans. My sneakers are at the door. I don’t bother putting on socks before I stuff my feet inside.
“W-where are you going?” Trish asks.
“Where do you think?” I bite out before I rush from the room. I’m halfway down the hall before I realize Trish isn’t following me.
“Are you KIDDING me?” I say in disbelief when I double back and find her in my bathroom applying mascara.
The wand bobbles as she jumps, streaking a long strip of black across the side of her cheek. “You scared me,” she whines, blotting at the mascara with a tissue.
“You lost my brother and now you’re putting on makeup?” The absurdity of it makes me grind my teeth, a habit I gave up in the fifth grade after Ritchie Jenkins told me it would cause all my teeth to rot and fall out.
Trish turns away from the mirror. Her lower lip juts out in a pout as she says, “But you’re here. Why can’t you find him? You’re his sister.”
“Yeah and you’re the last person who saw him. Is that really something you want to explain to my father?”
The threat hangs heavily in the air between us. Trish’s eyes flick between me and her reflection in the mirror. I can all but see the wheels spinning in her pea sized brain. Beauty or the boy? The seconds begin to tick by, one after another. I snort in disgust and turn to go – because really, how helpful can someone who prioritizes mascara over finding a missing child be? – when she answers me.
“Fine,” she sighs, setting the mascara tube down on the counter. “I’ll go. It’s not as if anyone is going to be awake this early anyways.”
I force my mouth into something that vaguely resembles a smile. “You’re a real saint. Now show me the last place you saw him.”
We search every hallway and unlocked room in less than thirty minutes. Both of us are sweating by the time we conclude our frantic search in the lobby. Trish staggers over to a chair and falls into it while I double over and clutch my knees as my breath comes out in funny little pants and gasps.
“We have to get my dad,” I wheeze out. “And alert the staff.” I can’t imagine where Brian has disappeared to, but one thing is certain – he is not in the resort. All of my earlier fears come flying back with a vengeance and I call myself an idiot ten times over for not immediately getting help.
“No!” Trish gasps. “No, Win, you can’t. Please. If Tom knows I’ve lost Brian he’ll never forgive me. We can find him. I know we can. He – he probably just went to see the ice sculptures.”
I straighten up and look at her sharply. “Ice sculptures? What ice sculptures? What are you talking about?” And why didn’t you mention this before you halfwit?
“The ice sculptures at the base of the Baby Bunny trail. We went to see them yesterday. Brian loved the one of the horse. He wanted to sit on it but they wouldn’t let him. I bet that’s where he went.” Anxious brown eyes meet mine. “In fact I’m sure of it. Come on Win, please. Let’s just check this one place okay? And if he’s not there we’ll wake up everyone in the resort if we have to. Please, I… I know what your dad told you yesterday. About the boarding school for Brian.” Trish bites her lip and looks down at her hands. “I could… I could probably talk him out of it if you help me. Please?”
I run my fingers through my dreadlocks. Pull on one of the thicker ones. Weigh my options. As much as I hate to admit it, Trish is probably right. Brian has always had some weird fascination with horses. If he’s gone anywhere it would be to see this ice sculpture and if we can find him without telling my dad… and Trish can talk my dad out of the boarding school… “How far away is it?” I ask.
Trish scrambles to her feet. “Not far! We can walk there. It’s just past the ski shop. Win, you’re the best.” Her arms stretch out as if she is going to hug me or something but I step neatly to the side and skewer her with a glare.
“No. No touching,” I say firmly. “And if Brian isn’t where you think he is we are coming right back here and getting my dad. Got it?”
“Yes. Yes. Oh, thank you Win. Thank you. I always knew you were nicer than you seemed. This means so much to—”
“Come on,” I say. The last thing I need is Trish spouting off about how much she likes me. When this is over and we find Brian we won’t be best friends. We won’t be gal pals or bosom buddies (whatever the hell that is). I will still be trying to get rid of her with every breath I take and she will still spend her time scheming up ways to ship me off the Switzerland. It’s how we operate.
The cold wind is like a slap to the face as we leave the resort and head towards the ski shop. Trish gasps and holds her arms in front of her face, but to her credit she doesn’t complain. I burrow into my sweatshirt like a turtle, flipping the hood up
and drawing the strings tight until only my eyes and the tip of my nose is visible. I wish I had thought to at least put on socks, until I think of Brian and how cold he must be, and then I ignore my frozen toes. Snow flurries swirl in the air, making it difficult to see a straight line, and not for the first time I wonder why a ski resort in the mountains is our yearly vacation destination.
Together we weave and bob our way to the ski shop. Built to resemble a log cabin it squats in the middle of a grove of pine trees. The lights are dim and when I bang on the front door no one answers. A new alarm bell shrieks in my head, this one much louder than the last. If Brian did come out here he could have easily become disoriented by the wind and the cold. He could have wandered into the woods or headed up the side of the mountain. He could have fallen and hurt himself.
I start to run, following the red painted arrows with the words Bunny Trail scrawled across them. Trish yells something – or least I think she does, it is hard to hear over the howling wind – but I don’t stop. I don’t even slow down. I need to find Brian. I need to find him now.
Even through the falling snow the ice sculptures are easy to spot. Nearly life size, they form a semi-circle around an outdoor fireplace. I duck under the yellow rope with the ‘no touching’ sign hanging from it and go around every sculpture twice, shouting Brian’s name at the top of my lungs. I’m still shouting when Trish catches up to me. She pulls at the sleeve of my sweatshirt to get my attention and her fingers are like ice when they wrap around my wrist.
“He’s not here,” I cry in dismay.
“I know,” she says. Fear makes her eyes wider than normal.
The Mysterious Death and Life of Winnie Coleman Page 6
