“Did he know I was staying with you?” I ask, after I hear the crunch of Mr. Stone’s boots on the snow fade away. “Or that Oli was staying here?”
Trick sighs. “Nope.”
Later that morning, Oli pulls his Airstream out of the Stones’ driveway. Leaning out the driver’s-side window of his truck, he asks if I want to come with him and get some runs in on the mountain. I grab my gear.
On the hill, I keep falling. I can’t concentrate. People jostle and push at the lift lines and cut people off on the hill more than usual. Their energy, combined with my earlier fight with Trick, makes me sloppy and frustrated. Oli shoots me a concerned look as we ride silently up the Big Blue, but I ignore it, studying the contrast of sky against snow.
Funny how our moods can determine the shape humanity takes around us. Today, I almost hate everyone. After a near miss with a snowboarder at the base of Gold Coast, I sit in a clump, near tears, until Oli skis over to me. “You okay down there?”
“I hate people.”
He tries to hide a grin. “Anyone in particular or just all people?”
“All of them. Not you,” I hurry to add. He laughs in his easy way, and the sound of it lifts part of the heaviness from my chest. A smile twitches the corners of my mouth. “And not that guy,” I say, nodding to a man gliding happily behind his three-year-old son, who wears a ski leash and an Edgie Wedgie to hold his skis in place. “But definitely that guy.” I point at the thirtysomething guy in a splashy ski outfit who pushed in front of us in the lift line earlier.
Oli follows my gaze. “Well, that guy’s a tool.” He offers his hand to help me up. “Want to call it a day?”
I grab his hand and let him lift me up. The mountain has cleared a little and I feel suddenly brave. “Actually, can we ski Mountain Run?”
Mountain Run is the highway of Squaw Valley. It connects the upper mountain to the lower, spitting out just behind where the funi takes off. It’s an especially long run, but I make it all the way to the bottom without taking a break. Oli skis near me the whole time. Even when I can’t see him, I can feel his presence close by, making sure I’m safe.
We ski as far as we can before we have to take off our skis. Loading them on our shoulders, we clomp by people lounging at the outside bar with plastic cups of beer or hot chocolates, red cheeked from a day on the mountain. “You want something? Coffee or something?” Oli asks as we walk into the main stretch of the Village.
“I’m sorry the Stones made you leave.”
He sets his skis in a rack near Elevation. “Their house, their rules.”
I’m angry at the Stones for their dumb rules, angry at Trick for not making it work out, for not trying harder, for not caring where I was last night. For a lot of things. “It’s not fair.”
He turns back to me, his hands in the pockets of his parka, his eyes like the slice of Tahoe visible from Big Blue. “I don’t waste my time with what’s fair and what’s not. Not when someone just crushed Mountain Run. With no falls! Come on, that’s at least worth something warm to drink. Do you kids still drink regular hot chocolate or does it have to be something mixed with fifteen different types of fancy syrup and have a name I can’t pronounce?”
I prop my skis next to his, pulling off my helmet and running my fingers through my messy hair. Following him into Elevation, I marvel at how he just rolls with what happens, doesn’t try to fight what he can’t control. “I’d love a regular old hot chocolate.”
Logan meets me at the funi at nine on Wednesday. “Ready?” We hit Gold Coast first and then take the Big Blue for some runs on Shirley Lake. My skis feel strong beneath me and I find myself picking up speed, my body warm even though the day is cold and leaden. On the lift, we do the Venn diagram thing with the movies, books, and music we like, trying to find the places where they overlap. I’m surprised by all the shared space. We both like spy movies and reading books set in foreign countries. We both loved Harry Potter as kids. “You should come over this weekend and we can have a Harry Potter movie marathon,” he says. “I’ll make you pizza.”
“You’ll make it?”
“I make great pizza. What do you like on it?”
“Mushrooms and olives.”
“I make my own dough and sauce. That’s the secret.” He raises the safety bar as we approach the end of the lift. “But if you’ve got other stuff going on, no big deal.” I can tell he’s trying to keep his voice light.
“I have absolutely nothing else going on,” I say, and even mean it a little. We exit the lift, gliding to the right toward Shirley Lake. I follow Logan down the shoot, my body smooth even as I push my muscles, feeling them heat and burn. Logan is a beautiful skier, his lanky body like liquid. He makes wide smiles with his skis, encouraging me to track him, and as we play follow the leader, I study his comfortable form as he moves down the mountain. Oli’s right — it’s also very much how he moves through life.
We hit the lift line at Shirley. I pull my goggles away from my face, letting the patches of fog that built up on the last run fade from the lens. “How’d that feel?” Logan leans into me just barely, his arm firm against mine. “You’re doing great out there.”
My whole body warms, but it’s not from the compliment; it’s from how close he is, the weight of his body leaning into me. “Thanks.” I peer up at him, taking in his slightly chapped lips, the color the exercise and cold make in his cheeks, the laid-back focus of his eyes through his goggles as they study the line of people in front of us. In line, he always takes the outside because he knows I don’t like being on that side of the lift. It’s a small thing, but it feels huge all of a sudden.
He catches me scrutinizing him. “What?”
I’m sure my face is already flushed from cold and skiing, so I don’t have to worry about his noticing how it heats for all sorts of other reasons. “I’m looking forward to that pizza.”
His face melts into a smile. “Excellent — how about Friday?”
“Friday,” I echo. The air is supposed to be thinner at elevation, but in this moment it solidifies around us, swirls with the weight of the way Logan is looking at me.
A voice cuts in. “Looking good, San Diego!”
Beck Davis, auditioning for Guy with the World’s Worst Timing. I struggle to remember what I found so interesting or charming about him those first few weeks. He and a couple of the Frost Boys hover just outside the Shirley lift line. I stare straight ahead, sliding up in line, the air around us thinning.
Beck scoots forward on his skis, mirroring our progress in line. “Awww, come on. Are you still mad about the stupid car ride? I wasn’t going that fast.” Other skiers notice, their gaze darting between Beck and me. I don’t respond.
Logan’s body turns rigid beside me. “What car ride?”
“We’re hitting Granite Chief,” Beck calls out. “Come with us.”
“We’re good, thanks,” I say, still looking straight ahead. Logan says nothing, his face blank, no trace of the smile left.
“You can ski Granite Chief,” Beck insists, even if we’re almost at the front of the Shirley line. “Come on, where’s that overachiever I know and love? Push yourself.”
Logan and I hop onto the lift and it carries us away. After pulling the bar down, Logan says stiffly, “He’s right, though. You could ski Granite. At least some parts.”
“Isn’t it a black? I haven’t skied a black yet. I know I should try it, but I don’t even feel comfortable on blue runs yet.” Even though I crossed that one off the list. “You can go ski it if you want. Don’t let me stop you.” My voice comes out jagged, still edged with leftover annoyance from Beck’s ill-timed arrival.
“Hey.” Logan puts his hand on my leg. “I’m not saying you should ski Granite Chief. I’m just saying you could. But there’s always next season.”
His kindness sands away some of the edges. “I know. It’s not you. It’s Beck. I’m just so sick of him.” I tell Logan about the car ride the Friday he and Isabel were in Mammoth.
“You can’t let him get to you. This is what he does.”
Watching the skiers zip down Shirley’s bowl below us, I say, “You know, for someone who claims to be so chill and philosophical, Beck sure needs his friends to agree with him all the time.”
Logan laughs and leans back into the lift chair, his skis swinging. “Beck doesn’t have friends. Beck has disciples.”
I smile when Logan’s number comes through my phone. Pizza date tonight. “They better not be out of olives.”
“Come to the store.” Logan’s voice sounds frightened.
I sit up on the couch, my chem textbook falling to the floor, my body buzzing with the worry in his voice. “What’s going on?”
“Oli’s missing. He went backcountry skiing and there was an avalanche and —” He breaks off to talk with someone, their voices muffled as if he’s put his phone against his chest, then says, “Just come over.”
My throat grows tight. “I’m at Trick’s —”
“Beck and Isabel will pick you up.” He hangs up.
Ten minutes later, Beck’s Jeep pulls into the driveway and I jump in the back before he pulls to a full stop. Isabel fills me in. Oli and a couple of his friends went out on their Tele skis in an out-of-bounds area in Alpine Meadows this morning and there was an avalanche. Beck makes the right turn onto Squaw Valley Road, adding, “They’re experts and they have the gear. They’ll be okay.”
Isabel stares out the window, and I can see the fear in her profile. I can’t quite hear her, but I think she says, “Maybe.”
We run through the Village, pushing through the door at Neverland. It’s busy in the way that waiting for news creates busyness, people milling around, making calls, talking in hushed voices — the whole room crackling with uncertainty. Isabel makes a beeline for her mom. April leans against the counter, a cell phone pressed to her ear. She nods and nods but says nothing. She disappears into the back before Isabel can reach her.
I’m left standing with Beck. “How does April know Oli?” I ask, mostly just to toss some words into the awkward silence.
Beck’s worried eyes settle on me. “I keep forgetting how new you are to all of this, how much you don’t know.” He isn’t being mean. He just says it, simply. As fact. But I realize it’s what drew me to him in the first place. Sometimes, we need people who don’t know our histories, who haven’t already built up their view of us, because we hope they will see us in a new way. We need them to. And he did.
He nods toward where Isabel waits for her mom. “When Isabel’s dad left, when she was six, they both had a hard time. I don’t really remember it. We were just kids.” Beck clears his throat. “But Oli took care of them.” He swallows, his eyes on the group of men standing by the far wall, all dressed in jeans and Patagonia jackets. “I should go see what they know.” He walks away.
Outside, the afternoon darkens. Feeling helpless, I cross to Isabel. “Can I do anything?” I ask. “Do you need anything? I can go get us tea?”
“Thanks, no — Logan went to get some.”
I notice she’s holding a card. I can’t quite see what it is as she absently runs her thumb over it.
“What is that?”
She reddens slightly, slipping it into her pocket. “Nothing — you’ll think it’s dumb.”
“I’m surprisingly open-minded.”
She pulls it out and hands it to me. “It’s my mom’s.”
I study it. The card is ink blue with a hooded robed figure holding a lantern and a staff. He stands on top of a snowy mountain looking down. “What is it?”
She peers at it. “I don’t know that much about it. It’s a tarot card. The Hermit. That’s Mom’s nickname for Oli.” Isabel thinks for a minute. “Mom says the Hermit is one who lives in solitude by choice, and in his solitude is at peace. He’s comfortable with who he is in the world and doesn’t seek outside approval.” She shows me the card again. “See here, he’s looking down because he doesn’t need to look around and see who’s watching him, who’s noticing. He lights his own way.” She clears her throat. “Anyway, Mom wanted me to bring it to her so she could, you know, hold on to it.” Her voice catches and I feel its waver in my gut.
“That’s nice,” I say quietly. Any way someone wants to hold on to her hope in a moment like this one makes sense to me.
Soon, April comes out from the shop and Isabel looks at her expectantly, but April simply crosses to her, her long arms encircling her daughter.
They don’t know anything yet.
Across the store, I see Trick slip out the front door and disappear. Following him, I find him several stores away around the corner sitting on a bench, his breath powdery in the cold dark. The falling night in Squaw tastes like metal, and I shiver as I take a seat next to him. “Trick?”
He stares straight ahead, wiping quickly at some tears edging his eyes. “I keep telling myself he’s fine. But it’s been a long time. And it’s getting dark.”
“They’ll find him.”
He lets out a shaky breath. “You know, when your mom left, I lived with Oli for about four months. He was like that for people. If someone left or got hurt, he’d fill in for a bit until things started to right themselves. He did that for me, for April. He even took Beck in once when he was about fourteen when Jason threw him out.” Trick stares at something far away — a memory — or maybe nothing at all. Finally, he mumbles, “I just want them to find him.” His head dips, his hair shaggy, curling over his ears. He doesn’t even have a hat on. Something about this detail — about how exposed he seems out here in the cold — thickens an ache in my chest. Why haven’t they found him yet?
I chew at one of my fingernails, watching him. “Listen, it’s freezing out here. Can I get you a beanie or some gloves or something?”
He shakes his head. “You know the thing about Oli? He never judges you for whatever baggage you show up with. He says people get dealt crazy hands and then spend most of their lives just trying to put the cards in order. He thinks our one job as humans is to not keep adding messed-up cards to the pile.”
“That sounds like something he’d say.” I think of Oli following me down the mountain with that same spirit, always a steady presence in case I fell, and the thought of him lost out there sends tears spilling down my cheeks. I wipe quickly at them. “When we were skiing once, he told me we shouldn’t worry what other people say or think about us because most of the time they aren’t thinking about us at all. Most people are just trying to find their car keys.”
A smile glimmers on Trick’s face. “That’s classic Oli.”
After a few minutes, he takes another shaky breath. “I need to tell you something, Mara.”
It’s as if all the cold from the air around us concentrates in my body and I’m afraid to even breathe. Still, somehow, I manage to say, “Okay.”
“About my accident.” He turns to me on the bench, his green eyes searching my face. “It was … the thing is … you were with me.”
My body goes liquid. “What do you mean?”
“You were with me, skiing. I had you on my shoulders. I was goofing around — I’d do that sometimes because it would get you laughing … this belly laugh that just lit up the world. Anyway, I had you on my shoulders and I caught an edge. You went flying and I tried to … I tried to catch you, and that’s when I jacked up my leg. And then there you were, just this little crumple in the snow, not moving.” His voice shakes with the memory. I can’t feel my face anymore or the tears helping to freeze it. “Your mom tried not to blame me and I tried not to blame myself, but, well, you were so tiny in that hospital bed, with all those wires and those beeping machines.” He drops his eyes, his face pale.
I don’t remember any of this. “But I was fine.”
His face pained, he whispers, “You almost weren’t … fine. You almost weren’t. You were lucky. As bad as it first seemed, you just had bruises and a sprained knee. But when your mom saw you in that hospital bed, she had every right to leave.”
I shake my head, running my hands absently over my knees. It’s weird to not remember. “Oli said anyone can fall.”
“I should never have had you on my shoulders. I was cocky and careless. I was careless with you.” His voice breaks and he slides away on the bench, angles his back away from me, his shoulders shaking.
Feeling paralyzed, I study his back. Around me, lights come on in some of the windows of the Village, yellow and soft, and there is a band playing in a restaurant somewhere near the main corridor. Two guys walk by us, en route to the main drag, their banter full of the day they just had on the mountain, their faces bronzed. They glance at Trick, their laughter dying down as they quicken their pace through the empty corridor past where we sit, until their voices fade completely.
Quietly, Trick says, “She decided it would be better if I just wasn’t in your life.”
“She did?”
“She was right.”
I slide closer to him on the bench. “No, she wasn’t. She was angry.”
He doesn’t respond because the air fills with footsteps slapping on the icy walk and a flurry of color emerges from around the corner. Isabel and Logan appear, panting. “They found him. They found him. He’s okay. Broken arm. They’re taking him to the hospital in Truckee.”
His eyes pained, Trick looks at me. “Go,” I tell him, my limbs flooding with relief.
He races back toward Neverland.
I sit by the fire Saturday afternoon at Elevation, sipping a latte and reading Catcher in the Rye, when I see Logan pull open the door of the café. “Hey!” He crosses to me. “I was looking for you. Did you get my text?”
“I did.”
“I owe you a pizza.”
“Last night was a little nuts.” I went with April and Isabel to the hospital to see Oli, who didn’t look at all like he’d been caught in an avalanche except for his left arm in a cast. “She’ll get me someday,” he said of the mountain. “But not today.”
Logan takes in my ski clothes. “Did you already ski today?”
The Possibility of Now Page 21
