Chapter 15
The mountain was slammed with skiers and snowboarders zipping around like bees over wildflowers.
Long lines to the lift snaked the distance of a football field, past the pro shop and snack stand.
The bunny slope stretched out in front of me, ostensibly gentle, but to my untrained eyes, it looked more like the end of the world.
I tugged at the mismatched ski jacket and snow pants that I’d rented.
Every time a kid whizzed past me on tiny skis, my confidence took another hit.
“You’re doing fine,” Charles said, his voice smooth and reassuring.
Standing beside me at the top of the small hill, he looked effortlessly perfect, of course, in his sleek black ski jacket and expensive goggles perched on his head. He might as well have walked out of a catalog. Meanwhile, I looked like a walking thrift store.
I scowled at him. “Fine? I haven’t even moved yet. When do my legs stop shaking? Is it time for a break now?”
He grinned. “You’re already better than half the people who crash before they even start.”
“Very funny,” I muttered, gripping the poles like they were lifelines. I guess, to a degree, they were.
Charles moved closer, his gloved hand resting lightly on mine. “Relax. You’re overthinking it. Bend your knees, lean forward a little, and let gravity do the work.”
I glanced at him, skeptical. “Let gravity do the work? Sounds like a fast track to a face-plant. Why did I agree to this again?”
“Trust me,” he said, his tone dropping into something softer, more coaxing. “I’ve got you.”
And I found that I believed him. He wouldn’t let me crash if he could help it.
“And you agreed because I said that I’d warm you up afterward.” He waggled his eyebrows.
With a deep breath, I pushed off, my skis sliding forward in a wobbly line. For a few glorious seconds, I was moving—until a kid about eight years old sliced by me, causing me to lose my balance and topple sideways into the snow. Charles was there in an instant, laughing as he helped me up.
“Okay, see? You’ve had your first fall. The scary part is out of the way. Now you’re ready to go again.”
“Again?”
“Come on,” he said, dusting the snow off my shoulders. “Four-year-olds can do this. You’re at least as brave as a four-year-old, right?”
I glared at him. “You think getting me angry will work?”
“Yes,” he said, grinning. “Absolutely.”
Maybe he was right.
I couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up inside me. “This is mortifying.”
“Nah,” he said, picking up one of my discarded poles. “You’re adorable.”
My cheeks burned, and not from the cold.
So, once we had my skis pointed the right direction again, I gave it another try. I leaned forward and pushed off gently.
“Remember,” he called from behind me. Probably because it was safer back there. “Pizza to slow down. French fry to go faster.”
It felt infantile, but it worked. As I very slowly sailed down the small slope, I kept my toes mostly pointed inward, getting used to the feeling of a controlled descent.
“There,” he said. “You’re doing it. Piece of cake, right?”
“Don’t throw any more foods at me!” I shouted back. “I’m concentrating!”
With my eyes firmly trained on the end of my skis and my full attention dedicated to keeping my balance, I felt like I was starting to get the hang of it.
Until I saw the cluster of people at the bottom of the hill getting ever closer, and the bright orange plastic fencing that marked the dead end. Panic set in.
“Hey!” I shouted at Charles. “Hey! How do I stop these things?”
“Pizza!” he shouted back.
“I am pizza. I’m doing pizza!”
I pointed my toes inward but I kept sliding. Just as I was about to take the emergency escape route and simply fall over, Charles grabbed me from behind and brought us to an abrupt halt. Not a moment too soon, as a corral of unsuspecting children almost became my crash barrels.
“See?” he said, coming to stand in front of me with a silly grin overwhelming his face. “You did it. Fun, right?”
We weren’t quite at fun yet, but I was starting to get a taste for it.
“Again,” I told him.
So once more, we trekked up to the top of the bunny slope with the children.
I felt like a giant standing up there, the munchkins scooting around me at knee height like they were born on skis while I clumsily waddled about.
At the daunting peak, I took a moment to adjust my goggles and gloves again.
Nothing quite fit right and none of it was exactly comfortable.
“Come on! Let’s go already!”
The rude exclamation came from a freckled child in a bright blue snowsuit with a red fringe mohawk helmet.
“Excuse me?” I answered back, glancing at Charles to laugh, a bit perplexed.
“You’re hogging the powder,” the little snot whined. “Move it or lose it!”
I scoffed, aghast at this kid. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know this hill belonged to His Majesty.”
“Aren’t you a little old for the bunny slope?” he shot back in a nasal voice.
“Incredible,” I said to Charles. “There’s a toddler giving me the business.”
“Smell you later, old farts!” The kid blew a raspberry at us and slipped down the slope backwards while throwing up two peace signs.
“Congratulations,” Charles laughed, shaking his head. “You just met your first ski bully.”
I pulled my goggles down over my eyes and planted my poles. “I’m going to end that kid.”
With a renewed motivation to not be shown up by a first-grader, I pushed off down the slope, albeit at an extremely responsible speed. This time, my knees were more confident. My balance was sure. I opened my hips and pointed my toes straight ahead.
Yeah, French-fry mode.
I began to pick up speed. Maybe a little too much.
But I hadn’t fallen yet and my size meant the other kids were staying out of my lane, so I had a clear path.
It gave me perhaps an undeserved confidence.
So, like I’d seen on TV , I bent my knees a little and leaned forward.
Tucked my poles under my arms, and zipped right past the twerp in the bright blue suit.
Only I’d forgotten about stopping in my triumph, and suddenly was faced with another bail-out situation until I again felt the deft, steady hand of Charles at my back, tugging on the hood of my jacket to slow me to a gentle halt.
“We’ve really got to work on your braking maneuver,” he quipped.
“Yeah, but did you see how I smoked that kid?”
Charles smirked, picking an errant snowflake from my cheek. “I did. You showed him.”
“Damn right!”
After a few more turns down the bunny slope, I was feeling pretty good about myself and let Charles convince me I was ready to take it up a notch.
Only I forgot that meant a ride on the ski lift.
An apparatus I’d avoided my whole life, because the idea of dangling a few dozen feet over a mountain by little more than a steel cable was not my idea of dependable transportation.
“How do I do this?” I asked nervously as we waited in line for our turn.
I watched each group in front of us be scooped off their feet by the jerky, swinging chair that did not inspire a great deal of confidence.
“Just let it pick you up,” he said. “Nothing to it.”
“It won’t, like, knock me over?”
“Don’t let it knock you over.”
“Great. That’s helpful.”
As we inched closer to the front of the line, a queasy feeling rumbled in my gut.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe I’m not ready for the real thing yet.”
Then Charles took my hand in his and squeezed. I looked up, meeting his eyes.
“I’ve got you,” he said. “Trust me.”
The conviction in his voice sort of bowled me over. He was so sincere, so encouraging. I felt lighter. Whatever kind of Jedi mind trick he pulled on me, he needed to bottle that stuff. It was potent.
Before I knew it, I was off my feet and the ground was quickly getting farther away.
“Whoa!” I said, latching on to his arm for dear life as the lift carried us upward.
“See? Easy.”
“Uh-huh.”
Charles chuckled softly into my hair. “I love it up here. It’s the best view in town.”
He had that part right. As we were carried above the trees, the whole mountain range spread out before us, surrounded by bright blue sky and snowy lanes of swerving skiers.
“I suppose your mom taught you how to ski,” I said.
“My grandfather, actually. By the time I was old enough to get up on skis, she’d already given it up.”
“What were they like, your grandparents?”
A warm smile of reminiscence grew across his face.
“The best. The kind of people that made everyone they met feel like family. They believed in community and helping people.” His expression turned wistful as he stared out at the scenery.
“I don’t know. I think somewhere along the way we lost that.
Nothing feels like it did when they were around. ”
“You really miss them.”
“I do. Grandad was my best friend growing up.”
I loosened my death grip on his arm, which he then placed over my shoulder to hug me closer. It was a sweet, innocent gesture that still somehow felt intimate. Until the lift suddenly jerked to a halt. The chair swayed back and forth, dangling from the cable overhead.
“It’s not supposed to do that, is it?” I said, looking up at Charles with panic bubbling in my chest.
His brow furrowed. “Give it a second.”
A second turned into several, while we both peered toward the platform that was still several hundred yards up the mountain.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Charles assured me, obviously sensing my growing unease.
A gust of wind rattled the chair and a metal groan echoed above our heads.
“Well, that can’t be good,” I said, trying to cover the creeping alarm rising in my gut. “Is this a bad time to say I’m sort of mortally terrified of heights? Well, less heights than falling to my gruesome death.”
“Oh,” he said. “So, this was basically your nightmare idea of a second date?”
“Yeah, pretty much. But you were so excited, I put on a brave face.”