He whipped past a line of pine trees, veering dangerously close to the edge of the trail.
Pay attention. Stay on course.
Somehow, after seeing Jo, it was suddenly important that he make it through this run in one piece. He didn’t want to be another ghost on the mountain for her.
As he schussed toward the bottom of the mountain, where the black diamond trail cut back into the intermediate run, exhilaration flared in his chest.
He felt alive again.
It was more than that blazing sense of danger, more than the adrenaline rush of walking on the edge and cheating death.
As he tucked his arms and hunkered down low, he realized that he never needed to make peace with this mountain. And as for Shane, there’s no making amends with a dead man.
This was about making things right with himself.
Time for a good, hard look at his own black soul.
Chapter 5
For as long as Jo could remember, her family had celebrated Thanksgiving on the Monday after the actual holiday. Bob and Irene Truman had always been pressed to work in some food service industry or another over the holiday weekend, and as soon as they were old enough to get work permits, each of their children had followed suit.
So Thanksgiving Monday had officially become “Thanksgiving II,” or, as Jo’s mother, Irene, liked to say, “Thank Goodness Thanksgiving is Ovah!” The five Truman offspring and their children always assembled at Bob and Irene’s home, just a stone’s throw from the apartment where Jo lived with Ava and Molly.
With its cherry-paneled walls, bookcases, fireplace, and tall ceilings, the great room of the old house on Bull Moose Road was the perfect spot to assemble the large Truman family. Colored dots of cheery light—the lights outlining the frame of the old house—bobbed in the wind as Jo crossed the driveway with her contribution to dinner. Pops considered anytime after Thanksgiving fair game to trim the place, and it was already looking good, with twinkling lights and garland made from trimmings brother Dave had left over from his landscaping business. Jo and Molly were not the only Christmas fanatics in the family.
Earlier that day, as soon as school had let out, Pops had taken all the grandchildren out in search of a Christmas tree, and from the tall pine that now graced the large picture window, Jo could see they’d had success.
“The Holly and the Ivy” was playing as Jo carefully juggled a tray of roasted sweet potatoes and a tin of cookies to press open the door. The smell of pine and roasting turkey and the bright faces of children reminded Jo that Christmas really was coming. Teenagers were sprawled on the sofas, and the little ones perched on the oriental rug between the tree and the fireplace, a few of them dipping and tiptoeing in time to the music.
Ava popped up from the cluster of cousins. “Mommy, Mom! Look what we cut down from the woods!”
“I see you found the perfect tree, as usual.” Jo peered up at the tall pine that nearly grazed the ceiling. “Though you may need a cherry picker to get the star on.”
“We’ll figure it out. We always do,” Jo’s father said, crossing the room with strings of lights coiled on his wrist. At six-two, Bob Truman was a burly man who enjoyed his meals, as evidenced by the paunch that graced his argyle sweater. Jo and her sister, Fran, had gotten Pops’s dark hair and big brown eyes. And though the girls had spent some nights in junior high worrying that they might grow to be giants, only Bob’s sons had inherited his height.
He bent down to kiss her cheek. “Happy second Thanksgiving, sweetheart. Mmm, sweet potatoes.”
“Matthew, Michael, get off your duff and help your Auntie Jo carry that stuff,” Fran snapped from behind a big box of ornaments.
Immediately, seventeen-year-old Matthew was at Jo’s side. “I’ll take that for you, Aunt Jo.” His gravelly voice belied his boyish face. He handed the cookie tin to his brother, Michael, and took on the heavier tray.
“Aunt Jo, we’re doing white lights on the tree this year,” thirteen-year-old Laura announced. “Dad says it looks classy.”
“That and Costco was having a sale on white lights,” Dave said as he plugged in a set to test them, and a hundred white diamonds sparkled to life.
Tommy and James, Jo’s other brothers, entered the room carrying boxes.
“These are the last of the ornaments in the attic,” James said.
“And we have extra hooks here.” Dave’s wife, Chloe, held up the box of hooks, a schoolteacher all the way. “Now as soon as the lights are on, you kids get to take over. It’s up to you teenagers to help the little ones.”
“We will,” James’s daughter Katie promised.
“We can get a boost from Matthew to reach the high branches,” little Tommy Junior said. He was on all fours on the oriental rug, stretching like a cat.
Ava bunched the hem of her dress in one hand. “I want a boost from Matthew.”
Matthew swooped down and lifted Ava as if she were a doll. “You’re supposed to wait till we start decorating,” he teased, and she giggled as at something hysterically funny.
Jo smiled, her heart warmed at the exchange. Molly could chase her dreams to the big city, but Jo was set and content right here, in the heart of her big, loving family. She shrugged off her down jacket and hung it on a peg in the little nook by the door, where enough boots were lined up to outfit an army.
“Easy on the appetizers there,” Irene Truman told her grandchildren. “Smell that turkey? It’s been roasting all day, and it’d be a crime if you lost your appetite.”
“But we’re really hungry, Nanna,” Laura said. “I was supposed to have hot lunch at school, but they ran out of pizza.”
“Just stick to the veggies,” Irene advised, offering a platter to Jo and Fran. “Cheese puffs?”
Jo grabbed two. “Thanks, Mum. Molly will be here as soon as her friend Meg shows up to take over the store.”
“Good. Your Uncle Ted and Aunt Lisa are driving in from Haverhill. They should be here soon.” A few years ago, Molly’s parents had moved south, to Massachusetts, in pursuit of jobs, but they never missed a holiday or family event.
Jo and Fran went into the kitchen to help James’s wife, Brittany, chop vegetables. They were joined by Tommy’s wife, who came straight from the clinic in her scrubs.
Within the hour, the men had the lights strung and the ritual of family decorating began. Jo and her sister sank onto the sofa as the teenagers set up the open boxes and bins.
“I can’t see! I can’t see!” Chrissy, Tommy’s youngest, shrieked. “What if I don’t get to hang one?”
“You’ll get a chance, Chrissy. Look at all these ornaments!” As the oldest grandchild of Irene and Bob, Matthew had become the unofficial facilitator, and over the years he’d begun to grow into the role. “In fact, everyone will get a chance to hang at least one of their favorites. And you can definitely hang any ornament with your name on it.”
“I want to hang the blue snowflake!” someone cried.
“I want the Mickey Santa.”
“You always get the Mickey Santa.”
“Do not ...”
“Don’t you love the sights and sounds of Christmas?” Jo said.
“I love that the kids are old enough to decorate the tree on their own, but then you should really love it. You decorate all day long.”
“But it doesn’t feel like work.” Working in the Christmas shop was a labor of love for Jo. “We have fun with it.”
“Molly told me you had a weird encounter up on Dare Mountain.”
Word traveled fast in the Truman family; Jo had known the story would get around when she told Molly early Saturday morning, but she hadn’t been able to keep it to herself. The encounter had haunted her thoughts and disturbed her sleep.
“You know, it was my first time back on skis on Dare Mountain, and here comes an ace skier who reminds me of Shane. What are the chances of that?”
“You thought he was Shane?” Fran’s eyes grew round. “Did he look like Shane?”
&n
bsp; “I couldn’t see his face. He was wearing a mask, but something about his style reminded me of him.”
“That’s scary.”
Jo nodded and told her sister about how the skier had insisted on going down the closed trail, how she’d tried to get him to stop, but failed.
Fran smacked her forehead. “A raving lunatic. Did he break his neck?”
“By some miracle he made it down the mountain safely. Carla and Les checked the recordings from the camera at the base of Heartbreak Ridge, and they saw him skiing like a pro. Somehow my masked man made it down in one piece.” It still bothered Jo to think about it, partly because it had to be someone she knew. He’d called her Jo, right?
What she hadn’t shared with her sister or with Molly was the emotion that gummed up inside her when she remembered tackling him to the ground. There’d been a jolt of connection, like a flash of electricity, and, though it didn’t make sense, she’d liked being tangled up with him in the snow. Probably just her own depraved desires. Things tended to get all bottled up when you kept them tamped down for a few years.
“Well, sounds like it was a harrowing experience for you,” Fran said. “But I gotta say, he’s lucky to be alive.” She lowered her voice, adding, “Guys can be such assholes.”
“I heard that,” her husband, Keith, called from behind the tree, where he was checking a string of lights.
“But I love you, honey,” Fran said.
“Ma, you owe a dollar to the swear jar.” Fran’s son Alex grinned from behind a box.
Fran waved him off. “I’ll pay you later, and mind your business. You’ve still got a couple of bare spots on that tree.”
Jo and her sister joined their mother in the kitchen, where meal preparations were in full swing and savory smells of roasted turkey, sage, and rosemary filled the warm air.
“Is that a wicked gorgeous turkey, or what?” Irene lifted the turkey from the oven, with a satisfied grunt.
“That’s a big one, Mum. You sure you want to parade it around?” Jo asked.
“Of course. It’s tradition.” Armed in oven mitts, Irene hoisted the pan and walked carefully, passing through the dining room to the activity of the great room. “Hey! Look at this magnificent turkey!”
Peeking out of the kitchen, Jo smiled at the chorus of oohs and aahs, even from the little ones.
“If this family gets much bigger, we’re going to need a shopping cart to tote that thing around,” Fran said from the fridge.
“But it’s a great tradition.” When Jo was a child, she’d taken all these rituals for granted. Now, with a child of her own, she embraced them, longing to pass down the full joy of family holidays to Ava.
Their mother returned and gratefully eased the pan back onto the counter. “Your father will start carving in a few minutes. I’ll put you on the gravy, Jo. Fran, let’s get this stuffing out of the bird.”
Jo popped her sweet potatoes into the oven for one last warming, then set to work making gravy from the drippings while Fran spooned stuffing into a casserole dish.
Molly and her parents arrived just as the green beans were coming out of the steamer. Aunt Lisa took over mashing the potatoes, and soon Irene was calling everyone to dinner.
The family assembled around two tables, with some negotiation and shuffling of teenagers who’d been deemed ready to move from the “kids’ table” to the main table.
Irene clanged a spoon against a glass to get everyone’s attention, and her husband rose at the head of the big table, a glass of sparkling cider raised. Jo’s brother Dave had joined Alcoholics Anonymous two years ago when he finally realized his drinking was out of control, and the entire family had joined him in refraining from drinking alcohol, in a move of solidarity.
“Let’s raise our glasses in thanks,” Pops said. “A wonderful family, a fine meal. We have so much to be thankful for. I’m grateful to be employed during these times. And I’m very happy to live in this beautiful neck of the woods. A nook of heaven.” He turned to his wife. “Irene?”
“I’m thankful to have my health and all of you. Very thankful that the teenagers will be helping me with the cleanup in the kitchen.”
There was laughter at the adults’ table and then the gauntlet was passed to Jo. She let her eyes sweep the room, landing on Ava, whose blue eyes sparkled in the candlelight of the kids’ table. “I’m thankful to be here with my family. I’m so glad to live in this beautiful town that gives us all jobs. Sometimes I think they should call it Truman instead of Woodstock.”
There were a few chuckles, and then Molly talked about how she was grateful that Cousins’ Christmas Shop was doing stellar business. “And, by the way, how’s the sign coming, Tommy?” she asked.
“I got it out in the garage,” he said. “And let me say, I’m grateful that the auto repair business is going well. And happy for family and good food and all that.”
Jo’s stomach growled at the sumptuous food aromas, but no one ate until everyone spoke a word or two about what they were grateful for. Most of the kids said they were grateful that Santa was coming. Ava said she was grateful for Mommy and Santa.
After everyone added their two cents, Pops said a short prayer of thanks. “Lord, the kids are all excited about Santa coming, but we know the true celebration of Christmas is about you sending your son to save the world. As the scripture says, ‘Today in the town of David, a Savior has been born to you. He is Christ the Lord.’ Help us remember that that’s what Christmas is about. And thank you, God, for the start of this joyous season. Amen.”
Jo held back a grin. Leave it to Pops to tuck in a lesson when he had a captive audience.
“Amen!” came the chorus from hungry diners around the two tables, and Jo’s sentiments gave way to the clatter of dishes and the buzz of conversation.
Chapter 6
Later, when the dishes were under control in the kitchen and Ava was sprawled on the floor by the Christmas tree dictating a Christmas list to her older cousin Laura, Jo headed out to the garage. Although Tommy had moved out years ago, he still kept his classic Mustang there, and Mum and Pops didn’t seem to mind at all. “A restoration in progress,” Tommy liked to say.
“Hey.” She stepped into the cooler garage and noticed the string of colored lights over the workbench. The front of the car was up on blocks, and a light beamed out from under it. A radio played James Taylor’s version of “Winter Wonderland.”
“Okay if I enter the Man Cave?” she asked.
“You’re safe to enter,” Tommy said with a wry grin. “I keep the naked hula dancers down at the shop.”
“Now you tell me,” came another male voice from under the car. “I’m in the wrong garage.”
Jo squinted at the car. Was that one of her brothers?
“Just find where the oil leak is coming from, okay?” Tommy answered.
“Really, Tommy.” Jo folded her arms across her chest. “It’s a wonder you have any employees left down at the shop when you talk to them that way.”
“Yeah, Tommy.” This time the voice under the car was clearly not one of her brothers’. “Show some respect.”
“You got your turkey dinner, buddy. Time to sing for your supper.”
Jo laughed. “Harsh, Tommy. But I came to check on my sign. Did you fix it yet?”
“Well, I did and I didn’t.” He picked up the sign leaning against the wall. It glistened with a new coat of polyurethane, though the letters underneath were blurred at the edges. “Some of the paint bled when I tried to waterproof it.”
Jo frowned. “Ooh, that’s not going to work. We’re going to need a new sign.”
“Yeah.” Tommy hitched back his Red Sox cap and sighed. “I can cut the wood for you, but I’m no good with the painting.”
“I can make you a sign,” said the man under the car.
“Who’s down there?” Jo asked.
Tommy’s brows rose. “Sam Norwood from high school. Do you remember him?”
Hands on her hips, Jo s
tared down at the car. “Are you kidding me?” Sam Norwood had been Shane’s best friend, the two of them inseparable.
“He’s back from Afghanistan,” Tommy added.
“Can’t be the Sam Norwood I know,” she said, digging her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “The guy I used to hang out with would never come back to town without calling me.”
Tommy winced, scratching his chin.
“Someone has a pretty high opinion of herself.” Sam’s voice rose from under the car. “It’s not like we were best friends.”
“Nah, not best friends, but good friends,” Jo said. “So I’m thinking this isn’t the same Sam.”
“It is indeed,” Tommy said. “We were in the same grade in school.”
“I’ll believe it when I see his face,” Jo said. She was going to order the soldier out from under the car, but her brother’s frantic arm motions gave her pause. “What?”
Tommy shook his head and mouthed something. When he mimed his face being cut, she realized he was saying, he was hurt.
Oh. So was she supposed to be nicer to him? Of course she’d be nice to him ... after the kidding.
“So what’s the deal, Sam? You come back to town and don’t pick up a phone?”
“I figured you’d be busy, and apparently you are with the shop and all. You always did have your hands full. Prom queen, snow bunny on the alpine team, and class president rolled into one.”
“Yeah, all those school activities taught me about the real world. They prepared me to be a single parent and a working girl. How about you?”
“Eh. There isn’t a lot of skiing in Afghanistan,” he said.
Sam had been an excellent skier, training for the Olympics alongside Shane, though he’d withdrawn after Shane got killed. A great skier; but she remembered Sam as so much more. Agile and athletic, he was one of the few guys able to keep up with Shane.
But while Shane was flash and smiles, Sam was like one of those faceted stones that you could stare into for hours. He was artistic back in the days when it wasn’t cool to illustrate or sculpt. His sculpture of a bobcat still stood in front of the high school, never defaced because it was so darned good.
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