Crave (3 page)

Chapter 7

By day three of driving, I have no more tears left to cry. I have stored Jason safely in my heart. It’s time to move on. The white lines on the interstate tick by as I drive through Nebraska. I start to form a plan. Moving to Colorado mid ski season will have its challenges. The good jobs are gone, and finding a place to live will be next to impossible. But I have an idea.

Driving into Breckenridge, I stop at the first gas station I see. I breathe in the thin mountain air, which is laced with the mesmerizing smell of petroleum as I fill my tank. I grab a realty magazine and start calling. The third time gets me what I’m looking for. The manager will be in around two.

I have an hour to kill, so I take a quick tour of Breckenridge. Snow cover on the roads muffles the sound of my wheels. Looking up at the Continental Divide, the mountains look like white tents set against the blue sky. Puffy clouds that resemble cotton float, and I think of shadow boxes made in elementary school. Brightly-colored old buildings line the main street in town, and ski-rack-topped vehicles edge the streets.

I pull into a remote parking lot about a block away from the real estate agency. In the back of my car, I shuffle through a pile of clothes on hangers. Stepping out of the car, I look around to make sure nobody is watching. Goose bumps cover my legs as I drop my jeans and shimmy into an off-white wool pencil skirt. I glance around the lot again to make sure I’m still alone and pull off my tee to slide into a blue silk blouse. I slip low pumps on my feet. My hair gets finger combed and wound into a conservative French twist. I don’t have a nice coat; a ski jacket will have to do. Showtime.

The door to the office is one of those heavy ones designed to disarm. I’m not the least bit swayed. The wool of my skirt is rough under my fingers as I smooth it down. I’m determined and hope this works.

A keyboard clacks away. It stops and an older woman looks at me with kind eyes.

“I have a meeting with Mr. Jones.” My voice is clear and confident, unlike my nerves.

“Have a seat and I’ll let him know you’re here.” The woman’s lavender scent wafts toward me.

She picks up a phone, pushes a button, and says, “Miss Cassidy is here to see you.”

Hanging up with a click, she tells me to go on down the hall to his office. I take a deep breath and throw back my shoulders. Placing each foot heavily, I walk with purpose. Mr. Jones opens the door as I approach and offers a hand. I shake, squeezing a little harder than I like and walk in.

“So how may I help you, Miss Cassidy?”

“Sir, I need a job and a place to live.” Before he can sit down in judgment, I push on. “I know in resort towns cleaning people are hard to keep. They’re not always responsible and often leave you high and dry midwinter. I’m here to help you with that problem.”

Handing him a folder, I continue, leaving no room for him to speak. “Here are five references that will tell you how reliable I am. I can start tomorrow, and all I ask is that you help me find a place to live.” Whew. It’s out and he didn’t interrupt me.

He lets out a little chuckle. “That’s all? A place to live?” He waves to a chair. “Have a seat.” He pulls up the legs of his slacks and settles into a big leather chair.

I can tell he’s a little surprised by me. What I can’t tell? Is if it’s a good thing. “Thank you.” I perch myself on the edge of a plain, cushioned chair. “Yes, sir. I know how impossible it is to find a long-term rental, and I’m prepared to pay six months up front.”

“How picky are you?” He twirls a pen between his fingers.

Yes! He’s considering it. “Safety is my only requirement.” Smiling, I add, “I know how to clean.”

He sits back in his chair with his arms resting on a round belly. “Where are you coming from?”

“Vermont. I just got here today.” I fold my hands in my lap and sit a little taller.

“Mid-season? What brings you here?”

“I need a change of scenery, and now seemed like a good time.”

He chuckles again. “Miss Cassidy, this is your lucky day. See that woman out front? She owns a boarding house. She rents to females only and has strict rules. Curfew, no men, clean room subject to inspection, kitchen-cleaning duties, and most of all, no drinking or smoking. If she smells anything on your breath, you’re on the street.”

Wow, no wonder she doesn’t have renters in ski country. I suppose I can give up the party-girl persona for a place to live. “That suits me just fine, sir.”

He pulls open a drawer and leafs through some papers. “I’ll call Janet and send you her way. She is in charge of cleaning all the rentals, and you’re right. She is very short-staffed. Here’s her card. Do you have a cell phone?”

“I do.” Grabbing a pen out of my purse, I reach over and write the number on the folder I had given him. “Mr. Jones. Thank you. I really appreciate this.” I hold out my hand, and he grasps it in both of his.

“You’re welcome, Miss Cassidy. You’re a lovely young lady, and I welcome you to Breckenridge. Now go see Mrs. Matheson about that room.”

Chapter 8

No two ways about it, cleaning rentals sucks. People are just gross. Putting on my rubber gloves, I head to the bathroom. Even cleaning crews have a seniority system, and I’m at the bottom. I’ve never seen so much crap, dried pee, and hair. Why didn’t I think about this part of my great plan? Thank God for the strong smell of bleach.

I’m teamed with Clara. She’s a local and has two little kids. Her husband is a ski instructor, and I have no idea how they manage to pay their bills. She doesn’t like cleaning either and spends most of the time singing songs to get through it. She has a small radio and seems to know the words to all the tunes. When one of her favorites comes on, she’ll grab a duster and come sing to me. Usually, I’ll join in. I’ve never met a happier person. Days with her almost make this job fun.

Having finished our last unit for the day, we climb into the ugly yellow and green company car and head back to the office.

“Casey, what’s your plan for this summer? Are you going to try to stay here, or go back East?”

I turn down the radio. “I hope to stay here. As much as I love how I look in rubber gloves, I think I want a jump on a better job next year.”

“And a place that lets you have a social life?” She flips the blinker on to turn right.

“I’m kind of okay without a social life right now. It’s nice getting enough sleep.” Lately I feel great. I started running and eating well. Taking a break from drinking has been just what the doctor ordered.

She turns the car right. “Tim told me he saw you skiing the other day and says you’re really good. He thinks you should apply to be an instructor.”

“That sounds interesting. How do I find out more?” I glance out at the mountains glimmering against the deep blue sky.

“Come to dinner Friday. You can sleep over. That way you can drink wine with me. I’ll even write you a note.”

I chortle. “Very funny. I would love to come over. Those two kids of yours are the cutest things.”

“They think you’re pretty great, too. You make up good bedtime stories. They’ll be excited when I tell them.”

“What should I bring?” We’ve stopped at a red light, and she turns up the radio.

“Just yourself. No, wait.” She looks over at me. “How about some grown-up dessert?”

“Deal.” We both sing loudly with Rihanna as we head to the office.

Chapter 9

Clara and Tim live in small pre-fab house in a neighborhood full of them. It’s eight hundred square feet of ranch with three bedrooms and one bathroom. Clara’s idea of decorating is to frame pictures of her life. A decent photographer, her walls are a wonderful story. I love to tease her kids by pointing to a picture and making up a silly tale to go with it. They could play the game all night.

The gravel rumbles as I pull into her driveway. I see a red Jeep and smell trouble. I bet they’ve invited some single guy, just right for me. I let out a big sigh and prepare myself mentally. Three months without a boyfriend has been healing. The next one will have to meet all the requirements, and Jeep boy is probably not it.

But that doesn’t mean I have to look frumpy. I pop open my glove box to find an eyelash curler and mascara. I adjust my ponytail a bit higher and pull out some tendrils. A little coral pink lipstick and I’m good to go.

Five-year-old Benjamin and seven-year-old Jenny wiggle with excitement behind the glass door. I ring the doorbell anyway.

“Casey! Casey! You’re here!” They push open the door and I step in. I squat down to their level.

“Clara? Tim? Gosh you two have gotten smaller. You haven’t been eating your vegetables, have you?”

Giggling, they jump on me.

“Casey, it’s me Benjamin. You’re so silly.”

“Oh gosh, that makes sense. Whew, for a minute I thought I would have to cook up some spinach.”

Clara yells from the kitchen. “Casey! So glad you’re here. I’m afraid I started without you. Come on in and get your glass.”

The house is small but cozy. As I walk forward, there’s a couch on the right, a hall, and straight ahead is the kitchen entry. To the left is a section of wall that stops, and beyond is the small dining room.

Stepping into the kitchen, I notice a second entryway on the left that leads to the dining room. A big pot steams on the stove. As I take the glass of wine, I lean over to smell dinner. Well, and to steam the hair around my face into spiral curls. Cayenne spice hits my nose. Garlic, tomato, rice, and something lumpy, is it Cajun?

“Jambalaya. I felt the need to spice things up for us tonight.” Clara gives me a wink. “Come meet Blaine.”

I take a quick sip for courage and venture into the dining room. Oh my. There at the table is a very fine-looking man with blond hair. Ice-blue eyes look up at me. He has that perpetual goggle-face tan of a daily skier. He’s in a tight, long-sleeve tee that leaves no doubt about his hard-earned ripped body. Are those flip-flops on his feet propped up on the chair?

“Blaine, this is my friend Casey.”

“Hey. Tim tells me you should be an instructor, and I’m here to help convince you.”

Uh-huh, and maybe get a little something on the side too, beach boy? He is way too beautiful to not be looking for a little action. But okay, I’ll play for a while. I give Clara points for picking a cute one. We’ll reserve judgment on personality for a bit longer. Maybe I’m wrong, but he has the look of someone who is a little too into himself.

Benjamin grabs my hand. “Casey, come play with us. Uncle Blaine helped us set up the train.”

Uncle Blaine?
Is he Tim or Clara’s brother? I start to scrutinize him and see he does look a bit like Clara. They have the same eyes. Except she has long dark hair and isn’t the least bit tan. Well now, maybe I was wrong after all.

The moment I see the train I’m enthralled. “Oh wow, this looks fun.” It does. In Benjamin’s room, the train takes up almost the entire floor. Wooden tracks fit together like a puzzle, and there are numerous little train cars. Blaine and I plop down with the kids and slide into the fantasy world of child play.

Jenny hands me a purple train car. “You can be Lady.” She hands Blaine the caboose and begins to giggle.

Benjamin yells. “All aboard!”

We all place our train cars on the track and Jenny hooks them together. She leaves the caboose unattached and Benjamin moves the train. Blaine calls out in a high-pitched whine. “Hey, wait for me, wait for me.”

Benjamin stops the train and lets out a pretend, impatient sigh. They’ve played this game before.

“I had to tie my shoe.” Blaine sets them off into a fit of giggles, and I find I laugh too. I’ve changed my mind about him. He’s goofy and comfortable with the children.

Clara calls us for dinner, and we gather around the table to bowls of deliciousness. I notice the kid’s dishes are filled with plain rice, chicken and peas. I take a spoonful of jambalaya. The flavor teases my tongue, leaving me wanting more. I grab a big piece of bread and tear off a bit. “Blaine, are you Tim or Clara’s brother?”

“Neither. Tim and I have been friends since the first grade, and I’m the godfather for both kids. I came out here last summer to visit and never left.”

“I can see why. The skiing here is so amazing. What do you do in the summer?”

“I haven’t quite decided yet. I might work at a bike shop if I don’t have to be inside all day. What are you going to do?”

I speak around the piece of bread in my mouth. “Good question. I can probably keep my cleaning job, but I’d rather not.”

Clara lifts her glass. “Amen, sister! We have to work on that.”

I lift mine to meet hers and notice I’m only halfway through it. Tasting how warm it is, I excuse myself to go put ice in my glass.

Clara joins me in the kitchen and whispers, “So what do you think of Blaine?”

I give her a thumbs-up. What can I say? He’s funny, good with kids, and hot. Smoking hot. Except for the lack of a real job, he stacks up well on my list. I should have known Clara would pick a good one for me. The trouble is, I don’t think I’m ready yet.

When dinner is over, the kids watch a video while the adults sit around the table and talk. I listen to stories about Blaine and Tim as kids and laugh hard enough to have tears. It feels good. Looking at the clock, I realize it’s way past bedtime for Benjamin and Jenny. Seeing my glance, Clara touches Tim’s arm. “We should go put the kids to bed. Benjamin is already asleep.”

They each scoop up a child and take them to Benjamin’s room. Jenny calls out. “Casey, I left you a teddy bear to sleep with. His name is Brownie.”

Blaine leans over and I catch a whiff of beer on his breath. “I guess he’s brown.”

I whisper back. “I think you’re right.”

“So tell me the real story, Casey. What brings you to Colorado in the middle of the winter?”

Oh boy, how do I answer that? “Boy trouble. And great skiing.”

He leans back and crosses his arms while he squints his eyes at me. He’s not quite buying it. I can tell he wants to know more, but won’t push. I decide to turn the tables.

“So what’s the real reason you stayed?”

“Heartbreak.” He says nothing more, and I don’t ask for it.

Here we sit in silence. Both of us with sad stories we don’t want to talk about.

I swirl the wine in my glass. “Do you get many days off as an instructor?”

“We have one designated day and often can get out of work after lineup in the morning. Before lineup, we have an hour or so. The lifties let us on with patrol, and we can have fresh tracks every day. I try not to miss it.” He takes swig of beer.

“That sounds like a dream job to me. So how do I get it?”

“Can you ski Tuesday? I’m free and I’ll introduce you to the director. He’ll want to ski with you for a few runs. Then I’ll take you to the top secret spots I know.” There’s a twinkle in his eye and I notice he’s flirting, just a little. None of this over-the-top stuff I have come to expect from the pretty boys. Nice.

“I can. Where and when?”

“Meet me at the Silverthorne chair at nine.”

“I’ll be there. Thanks.” This could be nerve-racking. I know I was one of the better female skiers on the mountain back east, but here is a different story. This is one big pond, and I’m a small fish. Tim did say being a children’s instructor was about making sure the kids have fun, and I have that part down. I just hope my skiing is good enough.