Movement caught Perry’s attention, to his right near a stand of trees. It was hard to see what it was through the falling snow. Three, no, four big-eared mule deer bucks, walking toward the snowmobiles. What are they doing here in the winter? It seemed to him like every deer in the mountains had moved into the foothills down near Buffalo. There was a sign in the lodge that said the elevation was 7,700 feet. The bucks were close enough to him now that he could tell two of them were little more than spikes, a third had a decent enough rack, and the fourth had a monster set of antlers. The big boy—the stag—suddenly whirled and ran into the white gloom. The smaller bucks followed him. As quickly as they had appeared, they were gone. Stag party. Perry smiled.
He lowered his face shield and squeezed the throttle. The snowmobile jerked forward too fast, so he decreased the pressure. When he seemed to be about the right distance behind George, he followed him into the invisible turnaround loop, easing the skis to the right, then back to the left. Even though the loop was big, because of the low clouds and heavy snowfall he never saw the trees around the edge of the park, other than as dark shadows that felt like they were closing in. It was disorienting. He lost his sense of direction. Suddenly, they were crossing behind Abraham as he started the loop and George and Perry got back on the trail to the lodge. Perry was glad George was in the lead and knew where he was going.
Keeping a steady following distance wasn’t hard, and Perry’s mind soon wandered. There was nothing to see anymore because of the weather. The ride was strangely quiet, even though the machines were loud. Or maybe because they were. Usually when he went on hikes or drives or trail rides with his dad, there was lots of singing involved. His dad loved to sing. But with snowmobiling, all he could hear was engines. He kind of missed the singing. Maybe next weekend they could snowmobile one day and ski the other. His dad would sing on the ski lifts. Perry had gotten skis, boots, and poles for Christmas—from “Santa Claus,” who his parents still insisted was real even though he and Trish were way too old to believe in that whole rigamarole anymore—and he was definitely asking for a snowmobile for his birthday. A used one. He snorted. Like his cheapskate dad would ever get him one. But the kids at school would think Perry was so cool if he had a snow sled. John’s smiling face flashed into his mind. Would he have liked snowmobiling? He hadn’t liked horseback riding in the mountains, so Perry wasn’t sure.
John’s face was replaced by another. One that made his cheeks hot. Kelsey, the prettiest girl in their class. So pretty that John had a whopper crush on her. After he died, she and Perry had been sadder than any of their friends. Talking to each other had helped. He’d tried hard not to notice her silky hair or dark brown eyes, or the smile that made his stomach flip over. It had been a losing battle. Now, he had a hard time keeping her out of his head. She’d pop in there at weird times, like now, when he was snowmobiling in a blizzard. Truthfully, her last name kind of freaked him out, too. It was Jones. Like Ben’s, but they weren’t related. At least he didn’t think they were. Maybe he should ask Trish.
His snowmobile suddenly hit a bump and caught air. It landed hard, jerking the handlebars from his hands. With his thumb off the throttle, the machine came to a quick stop. He lost sight of George instantly. Behind him, he heard another engine. His dad, too close. He was going to run into Perry. Perry grabbed for the handlebars and squeezed the throttle. The snowmobile surged forward, but with the handlebars cattywampus, the skis were pointing off trail. He let off the gas—too late—and tumped sideways in a huge snow drift. He had a sensation of falling.
After a moment spent in stunned silence, Perry laughed. The fall hadn’t hurt him. He couldn’t see anything, though. His face shield was full of snow. He pushed it up, dropping the snow out of it onto his chest. His laughing ended quickly when he realized his machine was sideways and in so deep, it was like being under water. He started swimming away from it. By the time he got uphill of the sled and had his feet on the ground, he discovered that the way back up to the trail was steep. It would have been hard to walk it even if he wasn’t in three feet of snow, much less dragging an upended snowmobile.
“Dad?” he yelled.
There was no answer. Had his dad not seen him go off the trail? Was Perry by himself? Maybe it was just that no one could hear him. His machine was still running. He went back—not easy—and turned it off. Without its noise, he heard a thump and a crack and the engines of the other snowmobiles. They sounded close. That’s good.
“Dad? George?” he shouted.
“What are you doing down there, bud? The trail’s up here.” It was Wes’s voice, back up the trail a little way.
Perry saw his dad’s and Wes’s forms silhouetted above him. He waved. “I went over a bump and lost my grip on the throttle. Then I worried Dad would run into me, and I couldn’t see George ahead of me. I hurried, and I think I gave it too much gas.”
His dad said, “I’d say so. Are you okay?”
“I am. My snowmobile’s stuck, though. Who all is up there?”
His dad sighed. “Well, I’ve caused a pile-up, so my guess is everyone.”
“A wreck?”
“Kind of like bumper cars. Nothing bad, though.”
Wes rotated his neck. “Says you. I think I have whiplash.”
“Luckily you know a good doctor.”
Wes guffawed. “Where’s Dr. John when you need him?”
Perry hoped people weren’t mad at him. “Sorry. Is George with you?”
“I don’t see—actually, wait a second. I think I hear his snowmobile coming back. Yeah, here he is.”
Perry was relieved. He didn’t want to admit it, but he had more faith in George getting him out of this mess than his dad.
Within a minute, George, Ari, Dr. John, and Cyrus had joined Wes and his dad on the trail. There was lots of head shaking, teasing of Perry, and laughter. But it wasn’t everyone. Abraham and his uncle Barry weren’t there. Maybe they’d smashed up their machines and were too upset to look at him.
Perry had to know. “Um, where are Uncle Barry and Abraham?”
“I’m not sure,” Wes said. “They were behind me going into the turnaround loop, but I don’t know after that. Can’t see sh-, uh, I mean anything in this storm.”
“I hadn’t even realized they weren’t here. Abraham hasn’t said a word all day,” Ari said.
George peered back up the trail, then back at Wes and Perry’s dad. “You need my help with Perry?”
Wes shook his head. “Nah. I’ve got it. Half of snowmobiling is digging out. I’ve got lots of experience.”
“Thanks. You know there are shovels under the seats.”
“Except for mine,” Perry’s dad said. “I took it out to make room for my medical bag.”
George nodded.” I’ll just go find the others real quick. Gotta keep this group together. I’ll be back in five.”
Within seconds, George had disappeared back the way they’d come with a roar of his snowmobile.
Perry said, “Should I start digging or something?”
Dr. John shucked off his backpack. “Let’s get you up here with us. I imagine we’ll want to get your machine on its skis so we can tow it out.” He unzipped his bag and dug around, then held up a rope. “Never leave home without a tow rope.”
“I’ll get the snowmobile righted and attach the rope,” Wes offered.
“I defer to the younger and stronger man,” Ari said.
Wes flexed his arm. His bulky coat made it look huge.
Dr. John sighed. “Ari has always had a talent for getting out of real work.”
Cyrus said, “That’s why he went into diplomacy. All jawing, no heavy lifting.”
Perry wasn’t sure what Cyrus meant, but Ari didn’t argue with him or Dr. John.
“Perry, can you grab my hand?” his dad said.
“I can try.” Perry scrambled as high as he could, then reached up. Their fingers were only a few inches apart. They clasped hands, until Perry’s feet slipped ou
t from under him. His glove came off in his dad’s hand. Perry slid down a few feet.
His dad held up the glove. He was sort of bent over, and his face had a funny color to it. “Whoops.”
“It’s really steep at the top.” Perry blew on his hand. He moved a few feet over and climbed as high as he could, then tried again.
“I’ve got you, Patrick,” Wes said, grasping the back of his jacket.
Perry’s dad leaned over the edge. He took a deep breath, but the color didn’t come back to his face. This time, he was able to clamp his hand over Perry’s wrist. “Gotcha.” He grimaced.
Perry scrambled against the slope. It was a lot easier that time. He got a face full of snow, but in a few seconds, he was standing by the men, shoving his stiff, damp hand back into his glove. It was kind of scary how fast it had gotten cold. His dad put an arm around him. Perry was surprised to feel him shaking. Then he remembered. His dad’s ribs were hurt.
Wes picked up a small shovel in one hand and the end of the rope that was now attached to the back of Dr. John’s snowmobile in the other. “Tally ho.” He stepped off the hill and slid down on his behind. When he found his footing, he tied the rope to a ring on the front of Perry’s machine.
“Don’t worry about me down here digging your kid’s snowmobile out, Doc.” Wes waved the shovel at Patrick. “You just stay up there and keep those expensive physician mitts safe.” Snow started flying behind him as he shoveled.
Perry’s dad shook his head. “Har de har har.”
Dr. John said, “As hospital administrator, I approve of Patrick’s role in this salvage operation.”
Ari hefted a thermos in the air. “Cyrus and I will continue the important job of testing the hot chocolate. Me, because I can provide no additional value. Cyrus, because there’s no telephone around.”
Cyrus was the kind of guy everyone listened to, even though he didn’t say much. He reminded Perry a little of his Grandpa Joe, only less grumpy. He held up a hand. Perry’s dad, Dr. John, and Ari all turned toward him. Perry, too. “There’s chatter out of the middle east. I’m lucky to even be able to break away for this weekend.”
Ari snorted. “There’s always chatter. You’re on vacation. Give the job a rest.”
“My job started the second I took the President’s phone call and hasn’t stopped since.”
As was becoming the norm with everything Cyrus said, Perry had no idea what he was talking about, but he could tell Ari, Cyrus, and Dr. John really liked each other. They joked around like his dad and Uncle Barry.
Ari poured some cocoa. He offered it to Cyrus first, but Cyrus passed it on to Perry.
Perry took a sip. It was warm and sweet. “Thanks.”
Cyrus smiled at him. “You looked like you could use a hot sip to warm you up.”
He took the cup back and passed it around to the others.
Wes shouted up at them. “I’ve got it upright and pointed in the right direction. The rope is attached. Looks like if we can get about ten yards down the trail there’s a section that will be easier to climb out of. Let me just start her engine and you can give me a tow, Dr. John.”
“Got it,” the older man said.
Perry scrambled to the edge of the slope and stood beside his dad. Wes was standing on the uphill runner of the Ski-Doo. He signaled with his hand to move out. Perry passed the signal to Dr. John, who gave his snowmobile some gas. The yellow snowmobile below started up, wallowing toward the downhill side, but Wes leaned his behind away from it uphill and pulled on the handlebars. The machine’s engine whined as Dr. John pulled and Wes maneuvered it. It leveled out and lumbered forward.
“Now,” Wes shouted.
“Now,” Perry shouted. He pointed his thumb in the air, jerking his hand up and down.
Dr. John had been watching over his shoulder. He nodded. The engine noise increased. With one hand squeezing the throttle, Wes started jumping up and down on the uphill runner. The engine sounded stressed, but it kept going. Suddenly, the belt gained traction and the snowmobile jerked forward. The machine dug in and launched itself up, up, up, catching a little air as it crested the incline. Perry, who had followed the men down the trail without even realizing it, jumped backward out of the way.
“Yahoo,” Wes shouted. He swung over the saddle.
Dr. John stopped pulling as soon as Wes landed. Wes positioned the snowmobile in the center of the trail.
Perry was on his rump and holding his breath. It came out in a rush. “Yeah.” He jumped to his feet and threw his fists in the air. Behind him, he heard whoops and cheers from the rest of the guys. I could barely get myself out of there, but Wes made that look easy.
When the engines had been shut down, Perry ran up to Wes and slapped him a high five. “Far out.”
Wes lifted his face shield. “Piece of cake.”
A snowmobile engine approached from the trail behind them. It was George and the Boss Cat. He dismounted and trudged over to the group.
“Did you find them?” Perry’s dad’s voice had an edge.
But Uncle Barry and Abraham weren’t with George. Dad’s worried. Tingles ran up Perry’s spine.
George’s expression was grim. “Looks like they took a wrong turn. Dr. John, could you lead the group back in? I need to round up our strays. Neither of them know the area. Can’t risk them getting stuck out overnight in this storm.”
“By yourself?” Cyrus asked. “That doesn’t seem safe.”
“I can accompany you, if you wish,” Ari said.
George shook his head. “I’ll come back for help if I need it. We’re not far from the lodge.”
Perry was dying to be at the lodge in front of a big fire with a full belly, but not with Uncle Barry lost in the wilderness. Despite the weather, he’d felt mostly warm all day, but his tingles turned into a cold chill deep in his bones. Perry remembered the moment he’d lost sight of George before he went over the embankment. It wasn’t so difficult to get separated. Uncle Barry had Abraham with him, though, and Abraham was a snowmobile expert. They’d be fine. Wouldn’t they?
“I’m going with you, George.” Wes climbed off Perry’s snowmobile and crossed his arms over his chest.
“I agree. Wes should go with you, George. I’m fine with leading the group back to the lodge.” Dr. John looked calm and confident. In Perry’s experience, though, he always did.
George nodded. “That’ll work.”
Dr. John said, “Ari, you’re my sweeper. The rest of you stay closer to me and each other than ever. We’re going to ride in slow. Got it?”
Everyone answered in the affirmative. Perry snuck a look at his dad. He was mumbling something to himself and holding his helmet under one arm. His forehead was bright red where he was rubbing it with the other hand.
Wes walked toward his own snowmobile but turned back to Perry. “Keep it between the lines this time.”
Perry nodded. He was planning on tailgating Dr. John big time. Getting stuck or lost out here like his uncle was not an option.
Chapter Twenty-two: Yearn
Denver, Colorado
Friday, December 30, 1977, 10:30 a.m.
Trish
Trish sat on her hands, trying to keep from biting her fingernails. She bounced a little on the hotel bed, eager for the women to leave.
“The stores are open, ladies. Time to shop.” Dian stood and crossed her arms. “Who’s with me?”
Trish pulled one of her hands out from under her thigh. She bit at the nail, but it was too short. She switched to a cuticle. It ripped. Ouch. A bright red drop of blood oozed up from the torn skin.
“Stop chewing on yourself, Trish,” her mom said.
Trish snapped back before she could stop herself. “It’s not like I’m not trying, mother.” She braced herself for a rebuke, but none came.
Her mom rolled her lips back and forth, like she was working lipstick into them, even though she hadn’t put any on since she’d gotten back from IHOP. “There’s a JC Penney at the mal
l. I thought we could get you clothes, shoes, and makeup all in one stop.”
Trish’s hand flew to her mouth for a chomp, but she stopped it in time. “I can’t go to the mall. I’m waiting on Mrs. Sibley to call me back. You know that.”
“Come on, Trish.”
Esme put her purse strap over her shoulder. “We came to Denver to shop. Those that want to shop should leave now. The others can shop later.”
“I’m not going.” Trish shook her head. “I can’t leave.”
“I’ll stay with you, then,” her mom said.
Trish jumped to her feet. “I’m not a baby, Mom. I can wait for a phone call by myself. Go. Just go.”
“But you’re upset.”
And having you here staring at me and questioning me won’t help. “I’m fine.”
“You haven’t had anything to eat.”
“I won’t starve to death in one day.”
Her mom rolled her lips again. “You can order room service for lunch. But do it like you would if your dad was here.”
How could she eat when Ben was in jail? But she sat back down. “Okay.”
“Good,” Esme said. “It sounds like we have a plan.”
Dian came over to the bed and sat by Trish. She put her arm around her and squeezed, then tipped her head against Trish’s shoulder. “Let us bring you something. Would it be okay if I bought some makeup for you?”
Trish nodded. “That would be great.”
“And a pair of Sasson jeans, maybe?”
A weak smile worked its way to the corner of Trish’s lips. “That would be great, too.”
Stag Party: A Patrick Flint Novel Page 12
