How I Came to Sparkle Again (24 page)

“My mom was an English teacher,” Scooter explained, and laughed. “Look, Alan, the lift op supervisor, as you know, is a dick. He was making it his special project to find my stash—inspecting employee housing every day in hopes of busting me—”

“And that, my friend, is why we all moved to the Kennel over a decade ago,” Tom said. “But go on.”

“So then I rented Cody’s grandpa’s cabin on the mining claim. Cody from the bike shop. Do you know the place I’m talking about?”

“The infamous cabin with the frozen water bed that you have to ski a mile and a half to?”

“That’s the one. No electricity. No fireplace. Laura dumped me, so I can’t even crash at her house for an occasional night of luxury. I’ve been totally trying to body thaw that water bed, but it’s not happening. I want out.”

“Understandable. Make me an offer,” Tom said.

“Eighty bucks a month, plus I’ll help you guys build a luge track and dig dog holes for you on three of my days off this season.”

Tom nodded. “For that, my friend, yes, you may park your uncle’s travel trailer in our yard, run an extension cord to the Kennel, and use our facilities.”

“Excellent,” Scooter said. “Seriously, who are you getting a valentine for? There’s not that many women in Sparkle.”

“I’m just going to keep a blank one in my pocket for whomever I meet at the bar tonight,” Tom lied.

Scooter set down his basket and began to applaud. “Brilliant. Never would have thought of that. Brilliant.” He picked up a random card, put it in his basket, and went on his way down the aisle.

Tom continued to look at cards so stupid that they almost physically hurt him. Eventually, he picked one that was pretty plain. It had a heart on the front and on the inside said “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

He carried his groceries home. Low clouds accelerated nightfall. They looked as heavy as his mood.

At home, he unpacked his groceries and then picked up a pen and stared at the card. He scribbled on a bill to make sure the ink was flowing. Finally, he wrote, “I know in my heart you’re the one. Love, Tom.” He put the card in the envelope, wrote Lisa’s name on it, and sealed it. He carried it into his room and sat it on his stereo. He figured it would most likely become three-dollar fire starter.

He dug through his music collection for a CD to match his mood and eventually selected R.E.M.’s
Reckoning
. He turned his bedside lamp on and the overhead light off and then just stared at his ceiling, wondering if the damage he had done with his careless attitude toward women was permanent … whether Lisa would ever take him seriously.

*   *   *

For weeks, Lisa had planned to make Tom heart-shaped cookies with very nasty messages on them, but after his tender kisses, she couldn’t do it. She stared at her two dozen sugar cookies, frosted in pink, and held the tube of white frosting, waiting to write something. But no words came to her.

She paused and looked out her window. The Kennel was dark except for the dim light in Tom’s room. Then she turned her attention back toward the cookies, squeezed the tube of frosting, and on each one wrote, “Love.” Carefully, she layered them in a box with waxed paper, took a big breath, and walked out her door.

When she opened the front door of the Kennel, Bud Light made a small bark, almost like a cough. She touched the top of his head and then walked slowly down the hall. She didn’t know what she was going to say. She stood outside Tom’s door for a moment and then tapped on it twice before opening it.

Tom had rolled his head to the side to see who was there. When he saw it was Lisa, he just waited to see what she would do. He was neither warm nor cold.

She wanted to run. The tension between them was as palpable and unpleasant to her as the metallic taste of pennies.

“I know you are a good man, Tom,” she finally said. “I’m sorry for everything I ever said or did that led you to believe I didn’t.”

He gave her a small nod to let her know he accepted her apology and continued to wait.

Lisa felt an ache in her chest and wondered if it was his pain or hers.

“I would, you know, give you my kidney if you needed it,” she said quietly. And then she set down the cookies in the doorway, turned, and began to walk back down the hall. It was all she could do not to run.

“Lisa,” Tom said.

She froze.

“Lisa,” he said again.

She took a big breath and walked back to his doorway.

“Don’t go,” he said.

She paused.

He motioned for her to come to him.

She picked up the cookies and shut the door behind her. Then she walked over to his bed, put a knee down on his mattress, and crawled on top of him, resting her head on his chest.

He closed his arms around her, nuzzled her hair with his cheek, and began to rub her back.

Lisa lifted her head and kissed him. The music that seemed melancholy just minutes ago now seemed as sweet and tender as their kiss.

“Wait,” she whispered, and pulled back. She pulled Tom’s curtain open and lit his candle. Then she kissed him again.

*   *   *

Jill and Eric stumbled into the Kennel after having a couple of beers at the Gold Pan. Well, Jill had a couple. She wasn’t sure how many Eric had.

“Sh! The candle in Tom’s window means he’s entertaining!” Eric said, and turned on the TV.
“Sixteen Candles!”
He rushed to the kitchen, threw a bag of popcorn in the microwave, rushed back, and began to recite the occasional line along with the movie. “It’s possible we’ve watched this a few times,” he said.

He retrieved the popcorn, shooed the dogs off the couch, and sat down. “Come on, Jilly. Watch the movie with me. You can snuggle up right here.” He pointed to his side.

Jill laughed and sat next to him.

“I love this part!” he said, and offered her some popcorn.

When the popcorn was gone, Jill yawned. The night before had been a hard one, and she had run out of steam a long time ago.

“Lay down and rest your head in my lap,” Eric said.

She started to protest and then thought,
Why not?
So she did. And to her surprise, he stroked the hair away from her face. It was soothing, something her mom used to do when she was sick and needed comforting. When had she last been comforted like this? Right after she lost the baby. David had comforted her like this. But now that all seemed like a lie.

Eric laughed at the movie again.

Tears welled up in Jill’s eyes, so she shut them. A few tears rolled down to Eric’s fleece pants, she assumed unnoticed. She felt so many things all at once. When she looked at it from inside her body, she was grateful for physical comfort, for the way it filled a primal need in a time of so much loss. It was enough to make her love Eric in spite of his limitations. But when she looked at it from outside her body, as if she were floating above it all, she saw herself on a gross couch covered in dog hair in a trailer that smelled like marijuana smoke, being comforted by a man who likely had done the same thing with ten different women since Christmas. It was sad. So she went back to looking at it from inside her body, where the only thing that mattered was physical comfort, where she could appreciate the warmth of a friend and simply fall asleep.

chapter twenty

SNOW REPORT FOR FEBRUARY 17

Current temperature: 27F, high of 28F at 2
P.M.
, low of 24F at 4
A.M.

Snowing heavily, with winds out of the southeast at 5 mph.

94" mid-mountain, 104" at the summit. 18" new in the last 24 hours. 25" of new in the last 48.

Snow muffled everything, so the morning was silent. Jill had slept late on her day off. It was nearly ten. She peeked out her window to see almost a foot of new powder and more falling. Flakes filled the sky, at times swirling and at other times merely gliding down gracefully. A part of her wanted to stay in her warm bed all day and wait out the storm. But a bigger part of her knew she would have fun if she could shift gears and see the storm for what it was: an opportunity.

She put on all her layers and opened the door. She paused for just a second and took a breath before she walked out into the seemingly inhospitable storm. It was funny that after all this time on the mountain, she still had that moment of surrendering to a storm. Other people didn’t hesitate. She always did. Somehow it seemed unnatural to go out in a storm, much like jumping off a cliff.

She stopped at her locker in the back of the FAR and got her skis. Then she made her way to Scooter’s chair. He wore his goggles over his hat and smiled from ear to ear. “How about this storm?” he called out to her.

“Yeah!” Jill said with a big smile. “Hey, welcome to the neighborhood!”

“You like my new digs in your yard?” he asked.

“Oh, super deluxe. And Lisa said the Kennel couldn’t get any uglier. She underestimated us.”

“That she did, that she did,” he said. “We’re taking the trash factor to a whole new level. Just wait until I put a couch and a fridge outside of it this summer.”

“Sweet. That way we won’t have to get up for another beer,” she joked.

“You knows it. And I’m thinking about getting a big Rottweiler and naming it Growler or maybe Guinness. When are you going to get a dog and name it after beer?”

“Tough call,” she said as the chair came up behind her.

She felt an even deeper degree of solitude in the storm. The resort was quiet. A part of her still wanted to go to the lodge and drink cocoa along with everyone else. Something about goggles almost made it seem as though she were watching the storm from inside a car instead of actually being in it. Lisa had loaned Jill her iPod for the day, and the music now seemed almost like a sound track for the storm. It gave her energy and made her want to move.

She didn’t need to hike for good turns in this kind of snow. It was ridiculously thick right on the runs. She traversed over to the Super Bowl and dropped into it. She and Lisa always called that kind of snow heroic, because a person could do no wrong in it. Everyone skied like a hero in that kind of snow. It came up above her knees, which slowed her down some. Instead of making tight turns, she let herself simply free-fall down the mountain in wide, sweeping arcs. She didn’t fight gravity. She didn’t fight the storm anymore, either. She became a part of it. She held her arms out to the side, pointed her skis downhill, and simply surrendered. Near the bottom of the bowl, the snow deepened. She brought her arms in and cut through part of it and then burrowed through the rest. She couldn’t breathe or see but just kept going. She just skied the white room and hoped she wouldn’t run into anything. She had joked about needing a snorkel before, but today she really did. Then she surfaced and kept skiing.

She didn’t pass another soul. The storm had shrunk her world and offered her complete solitude. She skied in rhythm with the music, dancing her way down the mountain.

She approached a little lip and dropped down a steep hill. Instead of slowing down, she tucked it and flew over. Tree after tree passed in her peripheral vision as she sailed through the air. She remained airborne just above the ground for what felt like seven solid seconds, and then her skis touched down with a gentle
whoof
. She continued speeding down the mountain.

Now that Jill had surrendered to the storm, she was having the time of her life. She tried to figure out how she could apply the same principles to the storms that had raged in her life, in her body, in her marriage, but she couldn’t draw the parallels. The only vision she had was the day after the storm, when new snow covered icy patches and bare spots, granting a fresh start.

That’s when Cassie flew by her. Jill recognized Cassie’s red jacket with the orange stripe down the side. Jill thought she had been skiing fast, but Cassie dusted her effortlessly. Cassie skied off a knoll, grabbed her ski, and spun a beautiful three-sixty.
Yes!
Jill thought, and watched her land gracefully. Jill pushed herself to go even faster. She never completely caught up with Cassie but stayed on her tail.

At the lift, Cassie turned around to see who was behind her. “Oh, Jill!” she said, and gave her a little hug. “I thought you were my dad.”

Jill smiled. “That was a nice three-sixty,” she said. “Beautiful!”

“The nice thing about snow like this is that it doesn’t hurt so bad to fall on your head,” Cassie said.

Isn’t that the truth?
Jill thought.
What a tricky balance of safety and risk it is that brings out the best in us.

Mike skidded to a stop behind them. “Hey, Jill, great storm, huh?”

She nodded. “Fabulous.”

“Cassie, you’re going to give your dad a heart attack skiing like that,” Mike said to her, only half-joking.

“Do you mean just trying to keep up with her or are you talking about that incredible jump?” Jill asked.

“You’re not encouraging her, are you?” Mike asked with a smile.

Jill faked a frown and shook her head. When he glanced back toward Cassie, Jill slipped her a wink. Kate would have loved seeing her ski like that.

As the three of them rode the chair back up together, Jill wondered what forces might guide three people together in a storm. Maybe chance. Maybe something else. She didn’t know, but she felt thankful nonetheless.

*   *   *

Here is what Mike remembered from the rest of that day. He remembered watching snowflakes melt on Jill’s nose and cheeks and lips. He remembered how Cassie looked up at her the way she might look at someone who threw her a life preserver when she was too tired to swim any longer. He remembered the way Jill looked at Cassie with an expression that could only be described as love. He remembered watching Jill and Cassie race each other ahead of him, watching them laugh, admiring Jill’s figure when she tucked.