Authors: Beck Anderson
“All right. I’m in.”
He pulls out of the driveway and turns north. Then we head into the foothills.
The road winds its way up through the sage. I look out over the city as the dusk deepens. Boise is a flat, twinkling blanket. The Owyhee Mountains are turning pink in the near distance, their tips frosted with snowfall.
“It’s so pretty.” I have been known from time to time to say really deep things, but now is not one of those times.
Andrew puts his hand on mine for a moment. “You picked a great place to live, Kelly. I like it here. It suits me more than LA, I think.”
This makes me happy. I’m not sure why it’s important, but if someone doesn’t get Boise, chances are he might not get me.
By now we’ve climbed far enough up the Boise Front that our options for destinations are narrowing.
“There aren’t a lot of restaurants up this way, you know.” I look at him suspiciously.
“Another demonstration of your lack of faith in me. Trust me.” He slows the car and pulls off on a logging road.
I stay quiet for a minute. How does he know his way around up here? Has he been doing reconnaissance? When? “I’m very impressed, Mr. Pettigrew. How are you doing this? Or are you totally lost and just a really good actor?”
He doesn’t look at me, just keeps driving. “I have friends. And I am a really good actor, but I don’t need that right now, thank you very much.”
The car comes to a stop. We’ve come in the back way on Mores Mountain. We’re sitting in front of the Nordic Lodge at the ski resort. It’s not open for the season yet. But the lights are on.
“Andrew, what did you do?”
He turns off the car. “I asked the boys to tell me about a cool place you liked. They said you liked the mountain. I did some calling around. And then I had a friend call and set this up for me.”
We’re standing at the front porch. “I smell food.”
“You’re an observant one, you are.” He takes my hand and pulls me up the steps. “It’s cold out here. Let’s go in.”
The door is open. I’ve always liked this lodge. It sits at the trailhead of the very unassuming cross-country area above Boise. It’s a small log building, but the main floor has a huge A-frame main room. The windows open to a sparkly view of forest and the valley below.
The river-rock fireplace is lit. Most of the tables are still turned on their sides and pushed to the back wall. One is out, set with a white tablecloth and candles.
“This is awesome. I’m impressed.” It’s been a long time since I’ve had a fuss made over me. I remember now that it feels good.
“You might want to reserve judgment until you try the food.” He pulls out a chair for me, another thing I’m not used to at all.
The meal makes me smile. It’s from one of our favorite restaurants downtown. Included are plenty of mashed potatoes, which Hunter and Beau eat by the bucketful when we go there. “The boys helped, didn’t they?”
“They said it was your favorite. You’ll recall that I don’t cook much.”
I feel a warm lump in my throat. I don’t want to cry. I may not have a choice. “You guys…I don’t know what to say.”
“Well, you showed me a good time in Boise when I appeared unannounced. It’s the least I could do. Plus, tomorrow I go back.”
Ugh. Reality again. “What time?”
He grimaces. “Painfully early. I guess the group in Sun Valley didn’t have the best time together, and they’re ready to get home.”
“You called it. You said you didn’t want to spend a weekend with them.”
He nods. “I knew
I
didn’t want to be with them, but seems they realized they didn’t want to be with each other either.”
I sigh. It comes out before I even realize it. “I’m bummed that you’re going back.”
He stops eating and looks straight at me. “Me too.”
We don’t talk for a while.
He breaks the silence first. “Can I take your plate?” He stands.
“I can get it. You did everything else.” I’m on my feet.
“I didn’t. I paid someone very well to handle it for me. One of the perks.”
I have both plates in hand. “So does someone know the fabulously famous Andy Pettigrew was in Boise this weekend?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. The beauty of Hollywood is that the I-have-people thing is true. I called a very accommodating production assistant I know in LA, and she made some calls, so as far as anyone knows, someone with a lot of money from somewhere put this together. Nice and vague all the way around.”
We clear the table together, and he leads the way out to the deck. It’s another cold, clear night.
“Well, I guess goodbyes are in order.” I try to sound like it’s not a big deal, but it kind of breaks my heart.
“Geez, goodbyes? That sounds so terribly final. I’m just going back to LA.”
“Yeah, but, Andrew…” I leave off. I think he knows what I mean.
“But nothing. I like you. I had a good time. Did you?”
“Well, yeah, but…”
“Honestly, will you stop doing that? We’ve decided we’re going to call each other, and we’re going to see each other again. Doesn’t that sound good?”
It sounds amazing. But I still don’t buy it. Really, at some point he’s going to recover from whatever brain injury has caused this inexplicable attraction to me. “I don’t know what to say.”
He puts his arms around me. “How about, ‘That sounds good.’ Or ‘Yes, let’s do call each other and see each other again.’ Generally that’s how people do it.”
I smile. “Let’s do.”
He rolls his eyes. “Come on, you need to give me a little credit. I’m not going to fall off the face of the earth.”
I hear a voice inside say something to the effect of
I’ll believe it when I see it
. But I don’t tell him that. Not when he holds me close in the November chill on the top of the mountain and kisses the spot where my earlobe meets my neck. At that moment, I’d like to give him a lot of credit.
I shiver, and his lips travel from my neck to my lips. His kisses are soft, then strong, and I feel myself pressing closer. Every muscle in his body seems tense. I let my hands wander. Despite the temperature dropping, his skin feels electric under my touch. I can hear my breath. It comes in sharp, deep inhalations, and I can feel how shaky I am as I exhale.
He stops. “Are you okay?”
I must admit, I may be hyperventilating, but really…“I’m beyond okay. You are driving me crazy.”
He kisses me again, his lips parting into a smile. “The feeling’s mutual, but don’t pass out on me.” He stays close, our foreheads touching, and I can feel his hot breath on me. It’s a delicious sensation.
I want him to kiss me again. I snake my hands into his coat, feel his warm back against my cold hands.
“You’re freezing!” He shudders. “We should go.”
This was not what I was thinking. Not even close. “I’m fine.”
“No, hypothermia’s not fine. I can’t freeze you to death on our first real date.”
“But—” I try to protest. He kisses me again, and now I’m shivering uncontrollably. I can’t tell if it’s the weather, to be honest. It could be pure physical exultation. But he’s made up his mind.
“We’re going. You’re an ice cube.” He kisses me one more time. Then he takes my hand and takes me home.
14: Short Goodbyes and Long Distances
T
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of us twists just in front of the headlights. There are banks of snow on both sides, and tall pines climb into the pitch black night. Peter pushes the tiny sports car through the curves, revving the engine to a high whine.
We don’t night ski. I don’t recognize this road. I can’t tell where we are, and it feels like with each curve, Peter races faster. The tires squeal and skid.
I look at him, but he looks out at the road, oblivious to me in the passenger seat. I open my mouth, and no sound comes out, but noise explodes outside the car—a deer comes up on the hood. The front windshield shatters, and everything goes black.
I sit up. I’m somewhere near the car, still in the cold night, still on the mountain road. My legs are splayed out in front of me. They won’t move.
I see the wheels of the car over the side of the road, downslope. One wheel is still turning, and smoke rises from the car.
Andrew is at my side. He picks me up, carrying me in his arms, carrying me away from the crash.
I start to cry. I yell as loud as I can. “No! Peter’s still in the car! Peter’s in the car!”
Andrew can’t hear me. He keeps walking.
I wake up, startled. I’m clutching my pillow for dear life. I sit up, listen to see if I’ve woken the kids. It’s quiet. I can’t help but look at the picture of Peter and me on my nightstand. I don’t know what to do, and my heart pounds. I lie down and cover my head with the pillow, closing my eyes as tightly as I can. I don’t know how long I stay frozen like that, but I finally fall asleep again.
The next morning, I’m up and dressed before it’s light out. After the nightmare, I slept terribly, convinced I would oversleep and Andrew would leave without me. I think part of that comes from an underlying disbelief that he actually exists.
I sit at the kitchen table, trying to focus on the newspaper, when he shuffles in. His hair’s messy and sticking up in the back. He looks tired.
“Good morning.”
He nods a little. “Morning.”
“Did you sleep okay?” I don’t know why I’m asking—it’s clear he didn’t. I’m an expert at ignoring the obvious.
“Okay, I guess. I started thinking about work, and then it was hard to get settled.”
I have a hard time imagining what he could be troubled by. “What’s worrying you?”
He’s into the cereal, pulling out a box and looking for a bowl. “Aw, nothing big. I have a ton of stuff to do to get ready for my next role. I’m worried about the way my last project is getting handled in post-production. There are a lot of hands on a movie before it’s done, and sometimes it doesn’t end up looking anything like how it felt when you shot it.”
“What do you like least about acting?”
“Doing press. It’s three or five minutes at a time with people you don’t know who ask the same questions over and over. And some of them are out for blood, or a scoop, or some sort of slip-up from you.” He pours milk into the cereal and almost overdoes it—this subject distracts him. “But it’s not a hard day’s work at all. I hate to say anything bad about it because one summer in high school I helped my uncle with his roofing business. And I can tell you I would much rather have to talk about a movie with a lot of people than strip shingles off of a Pennsylvania roof in one-hundred-percent humidity in the middle of July.” He plops down next to me and eats his cereal.
“Are the people nice?”
He’s mid-bite but answers anyway. “Mostly. I dunno—there do seem to be more egomaniacal people in the business. And shallow. Lots and lots of worries about looks and stuff you have and stuff you need to get. I guess it’s partly the subject. I mean, it’s the movies. We’re all about creating a false impression. I guess you can’t expect people to be very honest when they lie for a living.”
“Except for you.”
He’s done eating and dumps his bowl in the sink. “Of course. I remain unchanged, the same humble, kind boy I’ve always been.” He gives a sarcastic cough.
“Uh-huh.” I smile. “Saint Andrew.” I look at the clock. “We better go.” I hop up to find shoes and a coat. The boys decided to say goodbye last night. Andrew might be a world-famous movie star, but they weren’t willing to give up sleep to take him to the airport this morning.
He sighs. “Maybe everyone’ll be too tired to talk on the way back.”
“You can hope.”
He walks out of the kitchen. “I’m going to find my headphones right now so I can put them on at the first sign of an attempt to make conversation.”
We pack his stuff into the car and sneak out before Ditto realizes a car ride is happening. The boys don’t even stir.
As I drive Andrew to the terminal, I start to chatter. I guess I’m nervous about saying goodbye. “What was your favorite part of the trip?”
“I liked the part where I kissed you.” He has a sly grin.
I feel myself blush hotly. I hate the blushing, but I love what he said.
“No, really, what’d you like best about Boise?”
“No, really, I’m serious. The part I liked best was hanging out with you and the boys.”
One thing he has in common with Peter is his honesty. Peter never played coy about how he felt about me. Andrew’s apparently not a game player either. I’m thankful, because I suck at games. All kinds. “Me too.”
We pull up to the terminal.
“Okay, you need to drop me. If the plane’s here, I don’t want any of those creeps anywhere near you.”
I don’t think he’s joking. But I hope he’s exaggerating a little. I don’t like the thought of him having to work with people like that all the time. It can’t be good for a person.