The next morning at the Ski & Snowboard Center, Casey was one of the few folks around when the lifts opened, no one waiting to get on them at this early hour. He carried his board over to the gondola, stood on the boarding platform and looked up the mountain, up at those towers and cables stretching toward the top.
He acted like this was just another day on the slopes when he went over to where the empty gondola cars were lined up, exchanging Hellos with the attendant.
“Best part of the day,” the man said, sliding back the door on the front car. “First run’ll be all yours.”
Casey gave an appreciative nod and ducked inside, the only passenger.
He took a seat and the door slid shut. He kept his head bowed, eyes fixed on the floor, waited for the car to lurch into its climb. When it did, he didn’t look up.
Didn’t look out while the car rose up the long line of towers, didn’t see the jutting rocks or avalanche scars or winding empty ski trails. Kept his head down, clutching his board, trying not to think about that gorge he was probably passing over, the cut in the cliff the car barely could squeeze through, the iced-up brooks below.
The harder he tried to keep his mind blank, the more the visions kept flashing, a show that seemed to go on forever. He thought back to grade school, Saint Stefano, was remembering Sister Milicent telling the class about the comforting use of Hail-Marys when suddenly there was a shake and a bump and the ride was over.
Casey let out a breath. Got up and waited for the door to slide open and was happy to carry his board outside.
Two minutes later, pleased that he hadn’t resorted to prayer, he stood at the top of the slope that Ronnie had taken him down yesterday. He made a quick survey of the untracked snow – couple of inches had fallen during the night – tugged on his gloves and hop-started his board down through the moguls.
Right away he could sense he had a better feel for the snow, was starting to get in sync with his Capita DBX board. He sped up and sailed off one of the moguls, a little wobbly on the landing, kept going and sailed off another, this time nailing the move. He carved a series of smooth turns down to the trail that the race course was laid out on.
He stopped and looked the course over, could see he had it all to himself.
A quick little hop and he was off through the gates, taking the first one a little low, finding the right line on the second, starting to feel a little bit now like he could be a racer.
He missed a gate halfway down, didn’t let it throw him, caught his tip on another gate and got spun around, managed to keep going, finished the course out of breath but still on his feet.
He pulled up sharply, big spray of snow, and looked back up the mountain. Knew there was still a lot of work to be done, but could feel it coming together, this snow switchover thing. Felt like he’d brought himself up at least a notch from yesterday’s outing.
He pointed his board back toward the gondola, headed for the loading platform and another run. Was halfway there when something made him glance over at the Ski Patrol quarters. He kept going for another twenty yards or so, and then glanced again at the log-cabin building.
Something was working at him, pulling at him. Finally he gave in to whatever it was and pointed his board that way.
Inside the building’s main room, with its topographical maps on the log walls and the smell of overbrewed coffee, one of the patrolmen was putting some first aid things into his fanny pack. He looked up when Casey walked in.
“Hi, what can I do for you?”
“Hi, I’m Casey Janz, Nat’s son.”
The man gave a little grin. “I’d be careful who I told that to. What’s up.”
Casey looked around the room, spotted what he needed. “You mind if I borrow those snowshoes there?”
# # #
And now here he was taking them off, leaving them in the snow by the side of the trail, getting ready to kick steps to make his way up that last hardpack stretch to the summit like his father had shown him.
He started up with his board on his back, concentrating on his steps, trying to keep his breathing even. Ten minutes and a lot of breaths later he was there, came over the top and shielded his eyes from the cruel and biting wind. Ice pellets stung his face as he looked out at the spectacular view, mountains in every direction.
He unslung his board and, trying to keep his mind from getting worked up, buckled his foot into one of the bindings. Then, pushing carefully with his free foot, he edged toward where he knew the Steeps to be.
Made himself look over the side. The nearly sheer side. Jesus. The landscape down there – the rock-strewn, terrifying, beautiful landscape with its perpetual snow and vertical ice – seemed to shift and blur as he stared at it. He stayed riveted at the edge, one foot on his board, staring straight down the Steeps.
“Don’t even think about it,” a voice behind him said.
He startled and turned around. There, with her feet planted on the icy hardpack, cradling her Chihuahua, was the old woman from the bus.
“You’re not even close to ready,” she said.
He didn’t have to be told that. Started to ask when he would be.
“You might never be,” she said, reading his mind.
Casey squinted at her. The woman held Casey’s eyes. Then she lowered hers and smiled toward the Steeps. “But if you do get there,” she said, “it’ll be some kind of ride.”
Casey glanced back over the edge. Down that monster drop. For whatever reason, things down there weren’t quite so out of focus. He turned back to the woman – but the woman was gone. In her place was a whirling cone of snow.
He stood watching the whirling cone. And then, still moving with care, he backed away from the edge. Reached down through the blowing ice crystals and unbuckled his binding.
# # #
Back on the trail going down from the summit, snowboard again slung on his back, he’d just hit the timber line, snowshoeing down into the pines, when he saw something moving below him, caught glimpses of it through the trees.
A person.
Someone snowshoeing up the trail toward him.
Someone in a Ski Patrol parka.
“Casey?”
He knew the voice. Ronnie’s voice.
“What are you doing here?” he called.
“That’s a good question,” she called back. “I followed your tracks.”
“I mean…”
“I know what you mean. And I mean why should I bother.”
“Why did you then? I mean bother?”
“Because when I heard you’d taken those snowshoes, I was afraid you’d do something stupid.”
They stood there in the deep snow, wind starting to pick up in the trees above them, staring at each other.
“Well I haven’t,” Casey said. “Not yet.”
They kept staring. Then Ronnie said, “You think I’d have schlepped up here if I didn’t care about you? I never spoke to Quiller.”
That got a twitch of a smile from Casey. “Schlepped?” he said. Where’d she pick that up?
“Don’t make fun of me, Casey. I’m being serious.”
He couldn’t help letting the smile go wider. Started closing the distance between them.
“It’s not funny, Casey.”
When he wouldn’t stop smiling, grinning now, she scooped up a chunk of snow and threw it at him. He ducked and moved in before she could throw another, and pinned her arms with a bear hug.
She couldn’t do anything now but scowl. When a shower of snow blew down from the trees, she closed her eyes against it. Before she could open them again, Casey leaned in and kissed her. She struggled but he kept her in the bear hug. Kissed her again.
Ronnie knew a helpless situation when she saw it. And besides, it was her idea to schlep up here. And so she kissed him back.
