Chapter 2
When Eyes Meet
Paisley
It smells like wood. That’s the first thing that crosses my mind when I open the door to Ruth’s B it creaks. This here is the floor with the guestrooms, and through this door,” we came to a dark wooden door with a brass handle at the end of the hall, “you’ll come to where we live.
” Ruth hands me a key before turning her own in the lock.
We step into a corridor decorated with bright-colored pictures.
She points to a log ladder at the end of the hall.
“Up there is where your room will be for the next little while if you’re up for a work exchange?
I don’t like to rent in the family quarters but I can use the help.
High season, like I said. It’s yours as long as you need it.
You can help me with the food and the guestrooms. When something opens up downstairs, we can switch to a rental if you want. Whatever you want to do.”
My heart is pounding even though we’re only talking about a room. But, for me, it feels like a milestone. Another step I’m taking into my life, the one that I want, the one that I’m creating.
“Thank you,” I say again, yet I feel as if it’s not enough. “I’d love to help out with the guests. At the moment… I’d really like that.”
Ruth smiles. “Of course, sweetheart. And stop thanking me all the time. Here in Aspen, we help one another. Get used to it.”
I’d rather not. Getting used to something means becoming careless. And carelessness can lead to horrible things.
Horrible, horrible, horrible.
I shake my head to chase off the images. I smile at Ruth instead. “And would you happen to know where I might be able to find a more permanent job?”
Ruth runs her fingers through her graying hair. “Let me think. A few après-ski bars downtown and on the slopes are looking for help. Maybe you’ll get lucky at Woody’s, too. That’s our local supermarket. And, hmm, hold on a sec…” She tilts her head. “You’re a figure skater. In shape, right?”
I nod.
“Then you can give the southern slope a try. The young up-and-comers need an endurance coach. Well, no idea if they still do, but you can give it a shot.”
“Thank…”
Ruth lifts her hand to interrupt. “Don’t you even finish.
” Instead of letting her hand sink back down, however, she keeps it there.
The amused look in her eyes disappears and turns sad.
Her fingers caress the soft skin next to my right eye and wipe the strands of hair out of my face—a soft, comforting gesture, but I flinch as if she’d hit me.
“You’re safe here,” she says softly. “In Aspen you’re safe.”
I hardly took a moment to inspect my new temporary room. All I noticed was a dream of rustic wood furniture, string lights, and a whole mess of decorations before I jumped into the shower and hurried back out the door.
Ruth’s map of the slopes in hand, I step out of the little bus that took me right to Snowmass Mountain. I study the colorful image with all its descriptions until I find the little symbol of the Aspen Ski you’ll be right there.”
“Perfect. Oh, God, I’ve never been in such a thing. Can it crash?”
The guy opens the door for me and takes my money. He shrugs. “Sure. But I’ve never seen it happen.”
“Reassuring,” I mumble, one leg already inside. “And generally speaking? I mean, statistically? How safe is…”
The door shuts. Great.
As soon as the gondola begins to move, I begin to feel queasy.
I wouldn’t say I suffer from a fear of heights, but…
the thing creaks. And creaking things a couple of hundred feet in the air are suspicious.
The same reason I’ve always considered people getting onto a Ferris wheel with big smiles on their faces to be masochists.
I clutch the cold bench and try not to think about whether my body would ever be found in the mass of snow before my limbs would be covered by frostbite. But, paradoxically, the higher the gondola climbs, the more my heartbeat slows.
It’s the view that causes my fear to stop. Aspen’s mountains are just so beautiful. They don’t leave any room for negative feelings.
Without really being aware of it, I press my hand to the cool windowpane and observe the horizon. Maybe it’s up there, in the snow-covered summits, where I’ll lose my head and find my soul.
The sky above me, the earth below me, and in the middle: peace.
Stepping out at the second station, I promptly sink up to my shins in snow. Within seconds my jeans are soaked, and I decide to get myself a pair of snowpants as soon as possible. Maybe off eBay.
At present, I’m completely at a loss. In the distance I can hear children laughing and words being shouted, but I can’t see anyone. All I see is a mass of snow and, far below, the rooftops of Aspen’s houses.
“Okay,” I murmur and look at the blackboard, which has a picture like the one on my map; this one here is clearer and larger. “You’ll manage, Paisley. Let’s have a look.”
It takes a few minutes, but then I slowly manage to find my way through the crazy labyrinth of colors, symbols, and lines.
My jeans are happy to have me trudge through the heavy snow for only five minutes until I finally—finally!—reach the right slope.
Before me people are bustling about in thick snowsuits—what I wouldn’t give for one of those!
—the kids making their first moves on their skis and snowboards.
Before stepping onto the packed snow of the slope and approaching the closest teenager, I slowly shake the white wetness from my jeans and boots.
He’s got a snowboard under his arm and is about to disappear in the other direction.
“Hey!” I raise my hand and wave, like I’m some kind of missing person who’s just been found.
He doesn’t hear me. I gasp and call out once more.
“Hey! Over here! Yeah, I’m the one who just yelled!
” I’m breathing quickly by the time I finally reach him.
Beneath his helmet I can see the tips of brown hair.
It looks like he’s got that Justin Bieber cut that’s been out of style for years now.
“You know your way around here?”
Underneath the bright sky I can see that he’s blushing. His cheeks and forehead are dotted with big pimples; he must have just entered puberty. “Yo,” he mutters, without looking at me. His bindings seem to be far more interesting than I am.
“Right. Can you bring me to whoever’s in charge around here?”
He nods, turns, and tramps off without saying another word. I wade after him, carefully avoiding two kids who otherwise would have taken off my legs.
“Him,” the boy says. But before I can make out who he means, he’s gone.
With a sigh, I gaze out across the slope. Colorful snowsuits galore. All alike. Everyone is yelling over one another, laughing, children screeching with joy. It’s impossible to recognize anyone here, especially if I don’t even know who I’m looking for and…
“What are you doing here?”
I blink. The guy who’s suddenly in front of me, I know him. I’d recognize those eyes anywhere.
It’s Knox, the snowboarder.