The Broken Lake (23 page)

He smiled. “No, this is plenty.” He paused. “But I may have one of those Cinnabons too.”

I hopped up before he finished the sentence. Two buns in the microwave, and forty-five seconds later I was back at the table.

“Two?” he asked.

“Yes, one for you and one for me.” I pushed his across the table. “Now eat.”

“You know,” he said taking a bite. “This stuff will kill me before it makes me well.”

My bottom lip dropped.

“It will,” he assured me. “Do you have any idea how much sugar and fat is in one of these? Not good.”

I pressed my lips together and tried to drag his plate back across the table, but he snatched it, stood up, and turned his back to me. “Nuh-uh, I want this.”

“Wes, are you trying to make me insane?”

“No, just trying to get you to relax. If you can eat junk, so can I.”

“Well, it’s not working.”

He turned around, still coveting his plate. “Well, maybe you should take a bite of yours then. A sugar rush will do you good.”

He knew too well how to press my buttons until I realized I was being silly. “Fine.” I smirked, biting into mine.

Just then, Kerry and Rich came out, looking well-rested and warm.

“Oh, yum, I want one of those too,” she said, envying my snack.

She skipped the real food and made the sugar fest her main priority. I was still picking away at mine when she brought hers to the table. Wes had moved over to the counter and was conversing with Rich about the slopes. I watched him briefly and he appeared completely unfazed by his freezing episode.

I brought my attention back to Kerry as she unwrapped the outer layer of her bun and began digging into the center.

After two bites, she looked up and broke the silence. “It’s sticking now.”

“What?” I asked, although every nerve in my body knew what she was referring to.

Looking at me with a
Duh!
expression, she answered, “The snow.”

B
y evening, the snow had accumulated at least four inches and was showing no signs of stopping. We had all lounged around the house all day, sipping hot chocolate near the fire.

As dinnertime neared, we decided on spaghetti. I thought Kerry was going to take charge of that, but she surprised us all.

“We’re not cooking.”

Everyone looked at her.

“I think the guys should cook.”

Jackson looked confused. Dawn looked like she swallowed a bug, and Rich looked just plain surprised. Then he looked around and was either offended by Dawn’s expression or inspired by Wes’ composure.

“All right,” he said, standing up. “Fellas, let’s show them how real men cook.”

Wes was the first one to reach the stove.

“But none of you are Italian,” Dawn said.

We all laughed.

Kerry looked at her. “Are you?”

“Actually, my mom is.”

“Well then, do you want to cook?”

Dawn quickly shook her head. “No way.”

“Then it’s settled. Italian on the guys tonight.”

“Man, and I’m hungry too.” Dawn slouched in her chair, cupping her hot chocolate like it was all she had left in the world.

“Have you no faith in your guy?” Kerry asked.

“In the kitchen, no. He burned a Pop-Tart in the toaster oven the last time we were in a kitchen.”

“I can hear you,” Jackson sang from the kitchen.

“No worries,” Rich said. “No burning anything tonight.”

I watched as three-men-in-a-kitchen moved around, boiling water, browning meat, seasoning the sauce, and aiming to please their skeptical gals. I tuned out most of Dawn and Kerry’s conversation. It was mesmerizing to watch Wes. He stood out from the three of them, even from the back. He was taller for one thing. All of them had nice physiques, but Wes’s body just looked harder and more mature. Like he had reached his growth spurt years ago, and I suppose he had.

It was dark by the time dinner was ready, and Kerry had dimmed the lights and brought out her parents’ wine glasses. We didn’t have sparkling cider, which was a bummer, and none of us even liked the taste of real wine, so we made our own concoction. Dawn and Kerry mixed some regular cider with some Sprite. With our plates and glasses filled, we positioned ourselves by couples around the table with our man-made meal. Flames from the fireplace added the perfect glow as we enjoyed a tasty dinner.

Toning down the romantic atmosphere, Dawn gave her review. “Tastes okay. Tomorrow, we’ll make it for dinner and see whose is better.” We all looked at her, confused. “Well, Kerry and Sophie will. I’ll watch.”

“No way,” Jackson said. “If I can do it then so can you.”

She dropped her fork and sent him a cutting glare. “All you did was boil the water.”

“
And
I put the pasta in.”

We all chuckled.

“Well then, tomorrow I’ll boil the water and put the pasta in and we’ll see whose tastes better.”

“Are we really arguing over who can boil water better?” I asked.

Kerry laughed. “Sounds like it. And that means we’ve been cooped up in this house for too long. Tomorrow we need to get out.”

Dawn looked at her like she wasn’t about to trek to the slopes again any time soon. Kerry must have decided that the Californians were in over their heads, even if it was only four inches of snow.

“We can build a snowman,” she suggested brightly.

Dawn smiled immediately. Apparently that was within her comfort zone.

“So, guys, what do you think?” Kerry asked, looking around the table for our responses.

“I’m game,” Jackson said.

I glanced at the window, and although it was pitch black out, I could hear the wind howling. I looked at Wes for his answer.

“Maybe,” he answered.

Kerry wasn’t expecting any maybe RSVPs and her frown showed it.

Wes tried to make his lack of commitment less offensive. “I have something to take care of before I get back to California on Monday.”

I paused in my chewing, trying to decipher his words. I couldn’t tell if he was wisely avoiding another scenario like this morning, or if he really had something to do.

Taking everyone’s cue that we were all curious as to what might trump building Frosty, he continued. “I’ve been working on a speech I have to give, and I could use some downtime.”

“What speech?” I asked, suddenly not caring if I had possibly outed a made-up excuse to stay inside. I was too worried that he might make another public statement in front of the media.

Wes looked at me. “Nothing, really. I’ll practice on you tomorrow.”

Dawn interrupted the odd tension. “I hate speeches. Hate them.”

“Well, you might not want to take public speaking in college, then,” Wes said.

The rest of the party nodded their heads, as if completely getting Wes’ reason for the cop-out, but I knew better. He wasn’t taking public speaking.

Everyone else went back to eating and talking across the table while my gaze stayed on Wes. Folding beneath my stare, he subtly shrugged one shoulder, letting me know that he had nothing else to give.

That was fine. We finished eating, and Wes made sure he stayed engaged in conversation with everyone else all evening. When I finally got him alone, he promised me that he was not making any more media speeches, but had a surprise for me and wanted to tell me about it tomorrow.

“Are you sure you’re not up to anything risky?” I asked.

He blinked a long, slow blink, and sounding completely innocent, answered, “Yes, I’m sure.”

We were out of Cinnabons by Sunday morning, so we had eggs, bacon, and toast again. The snow had continued through the night and everything in view from the window was covered in white. It was breathtaking, and because of how cold it looked outside, the warmth inside felt that much cozier. We all ate our breakfast together with the fire giving off extra warmth beside us.

“It looks nasty out there,” Dawn commented.

Rich, who had taken charge as our weather guru, spoke up. “Yeah, the news said this morning that it’s going to continue through Monday night. They’re predicting a total of fourteen to sixteen inches.”

“What does that mean for us?” Dawn asked.

“Well, it means we might not make it back down the mountain until Tuesday. If then.”

“But what about our flights?”

Wes spoke up, soothing her. “Don’t worry about those. I’ll get us rebooked. We’ll fly out when we can.”

She didn’t appear too relieved. “But my dad.”

“Your dad knows you’re with me,” I offered. “He won’t mind if you have to stay another day, as long as you get back safely.”

She looked at Jackson then at the rest of us. “But Jackson is supposed to be camping for the weekend. What’s his excuse? What happens when he doesn’t come back on time? His parents will know something’s up and call my house, and then my dad…” She was getting worked up now.

Jackson interrupted her. “Dawn, slow down. It’ll be fine. I’ll make up something. I’ll tell my parents we got a flat or something and have to stay another night.”

She didn’t seem convinced. She looked at him pleadingly. “If my dad finds out I’m here with you, unsupervised, he will flip.
Flip!
”

Kerry was watching like it was a matinee. It was quite a show. None of us had seen Dawn so unraveled. She was always so fun and carefree, and never worried about getting into trouble. Until now.

“He’ll never let me see you again.”

She looked at Jackson with a fearful gaze that I recognized. It was one that spoke of love, hope, fear. It made me realize I wasn’t the only one on the planet who cared about another person so much.

Jackson stood up, bent over the back of her chair, and wrapped his arms around her. Kissing her cheek, he said, “It’ll be good. It will. He won’t find out. Now come on.” He pulled her up as she rolled her eyes and let out a frustrated sigh.

She looked at Rich. “Just call that weatherman and tell him to cut it out. We have plenty of snow already.”

We all laughed quietly, and Jackson pulled her toward the bedroom in a way that I was sure would make her feel better.

“Well,” Kerry said. “I’ll clean up and then let’s get out there. Before it gets too windy.” She looked at Wes and me. “You sure you don’t want to come? My mom keeps a whole box of snowman paraphernalia.”

“I’m good,” Wes said. “You guys go ahead.”

“Suit yourself.”

She and Rich cleared the plates and began mapping out their day while cleaning up.

Wes and I offered to help, but apparently throwing away paper plates didn’t require too much assistance.

By 11:00, Wes and I had taken turns showering and putting on fresh sweatpants and long-sleeved tees. Everyone else was getting layered to go outside. Dawn came out of her room wearing what looked like ten shirts and three pair of pants. She could barely walk. I couldn’t help but laugh.

Kerry and Rich had the fewest layers, which didn’t surprise me. They were definitely more adapted to the cold. They did, however, put on snow pants and encouraged Dawn and Jackson to do the same. Always a good idea when playing in the snow. It sucks if you let your clothes get wet. All it takes is one fall and you can consider yourself a frozen goner. Snow wastes no time melting through clothing.

Wes and I actually got a kick out of watching Rich and Kerry bundle up like pros, in contrast to Jackson and Dawn fumbling around with their zippers.

“It helps if you put the gloves on last.” I chuckled.

Dawn curled her lip at me. “Why don’t you come, chicken?”

“Nope. Much rather be in here.” She looked at me then at Wes and didn’t bother arguing.

Once mummified, they headed out through the garage and into the storm.

“They’re going to freeze,” I said.

Wes laughed. “Better them than me.”

“Ya think?”

We were still sitting on the sofa and our smiles met as we both realized we were alone and suddenly wanted to capitalize on it. Wes stood up and reached out his hand.

He slowly led me up the stairs, making my heart feel all fuzzy. By the time we reached the top, I knew that we were headed to a place we hadn’t been before. It could have been the look in his eyes when he turned to me. Or it could’ve been his tense shoulders. Whatever his apprehension, I knew he was about to tell me something and the
speech
immediately came to mind.

“What are you going to do, Weston?” I asked, using his full name, afraid he was about to admit to something unexpected.

“Just give me a minute.” He nodded gently and released my hand.

“Wes?”

“Just a minute.”

“Just tell me what you’re up to? Why are we up here? What are you keeping from me?”

He ignored my questions and started digging through his suitcase pockets. The whistle of the wind outside made me glance at the window. It was a white haze with snowflakes blowing wildly in every direction.

Suddenly, I feared everything out there, everything I saw. Everything I believed Wes was planning to do once we got home. For once, I wished we could stay here forever. Locked in this chalet. In Virginia. Never leaving. Never going back into the storm. Never returning home to whatever he was about to do.

I started shaking my head, feeling as though the stress we had left back home had now caught up to us. It had plowed through the snow and blew into the house, standing with us, reminding me of the unknown future.

I didn’t like not knowing something, and there was no doubt that Wes had been keeping something to himself until now. Whatever it was he was about to tell me, he had chosen to wait until we were in Virginia. In a snowstorm. Trapped. Where I couldn’t do anything about it.

“Wes, please tell me what’s going on? Did something happen?”

Still ignoring me, he stood up and turned to face me. He was holding a box. A colorful box. Somehow, this box appeared festive, but Wes’ expression told me otherwise. He was serious.

With hesitation, he walked over to me. The closer he got, the clearer the pattern on the box became. Snowmen, with hats and scarves, all over it. Confused, I arched my brows.

“Come here. Sit with me,” he said.