Chapter 4 #2
When he turned, Shane, oblivious, was scowling down at his phone.
“There’s no service,” Zach said.
“Yeah. Checking just in case. Little worried about Jon.”
Zach frowned. In all Bram’s obsessive recital of the weekend’s plans, his reminders to Zach of who was who and who was most important, he had never mentioned a “Jon.”
“Is Jon the guide?”
“Nah. Buddy of mine. Great skier—a pro!” Shane’s chin tipped up slightly as he added, “I’m producing his next movie.”
“Oh,” Zach said, then seeing Shane expected more, added, “that’s really cool.”
“Right?” Shane said, grinning.
If it was anyone else, an uninvited guest might be a problem.
But someone Shane and his dad brought along?
Bram invoked Arlo Oliver and his media fortune the way Zach’s science teacher did Einstein, or the pastor did Jesus.
It would be all right. Even good; a favor Bram could be magnanimous about, a mark in the ledger of things Arlo owed him.
Noticing the beads of condensation on the meltpot, Zach filled a saucepan from the kitchen with warm water and poured it into the sink. The ice cracked. He refilled the saucepan for rinse water, then began to scrub.
Shane padded over to the kitchen.
“I’m impressed your dad landed a reservation for Pan, especially on a long weekend.
It’s legit impossible! I heard locals have it on lock ’cause the way they run it, they give preference to whoever booked that date the year before.
They don’t even care if you try and offer them more. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
“It was my mom’s reservation,” Zach said, rinsing a plate. “She had it since before I was born.”
“Oh.” Shane’s eyes slid away from the boy. “That’s different then.”
Zach shrugged. It didn’t seem different.
“Gotta say, I cannot imagine Bram up here. He’s more of a”—Shane squinted at the ceiling, searching for the right word—“a country-club guy, you know?”
Zach knew.
“My dad’s the same,” Shane lowered his voice confidingly.
“I know this was supposed to be some father-son thing, but he bailed. My dad’s all talk—his idea of roughing it is the Four Seasons.
Whatever, he’s too old for this anyway. But Pan’s legendary, so of course I still wanted to come, and Jon, too.
Even though neither of us is interested in your dad’s whole”—Shane searched for a word, his hand gesturing in a lazy circle—“thing.”
Arlo Oliver wasn’t coming.
The air squeezed from Zach’s lungs. He tasted bitter panic as his imagination tumbled over the endless branching possibilities of his father’s reaction to this news.
At seeing Zach’s face fall, the way he swiped his palm over an eye, Shane said, “Jesus, kid. You okay?”
“Yeah, just—my dad? He’ll be—disappointed. That yours isn’t here.”
Shane’s expression relaxed into understanding. “Don’t worry, kiddo. My dad’s planning to re-up his investment. Obviously that’s what Bram’s after with this whole male bonding, father-son, return-to-nature nonsense anyway, right? So don’t stress.”
“Oh.” Zach looked up at Shane with fervent gratefulness. “Okay! That’s—thanks.”
Shane sucked at his teeth and winced. “I’m not exactly supposed to tell anyone that. He still needs to look over the new offering docs and all. So keep it to yourself, okay bud?”
Zach smoothed his expression and made a grunting noise he hoped sounded like agreement.
He’d tell his father at the earliest possible opportunity.
“I heard about your mom, by the way.” Shane said. “I’m sorry.”
Zach pretended to care intensely about cleaning the plate in his hand. It was white with little gray scratches he thought must be from forks and knives scraping it, scarring it, bearing down too hard and indelibly marking it.
“Thanks,” Zach mumbled.
He waited for Shane to prod and poke at the tender places, for morbid curiosity to curl his tongue into the hows and whys most people found irresistible. But Shane only unwrapped and chewed on an energy bar as he watched Zach slot dishes into the drying rack.
A thankfulness flared in Zach’s chest at the unintrusive sympathy. He smiled at Shane, and silently offered him a dish towel. Shane held up his hands as if in surrender. “Nah, man. I’m useless with that kind of thing.”
His mother’s voice rang through his head. People pretend to be stupid as an excuse to be lazy.
Languidly comfortable in his own skin, not in the least bothered he wasn’t helping, Shane’s shine dulled.
He probably never had to do things for himself, or for others. Shane had probably never been pressed thin under a watchful, critical eye. And he probably didn’t ask more questions about Zach’s mother because he didn’t actually care.
“Someone really left a mess here, huh?” Shane said. “Promise it wasn’t me. We were up here crack of dawn, but we ate on the trail so we could get some runs in.”
“My dad’s assistant was supposed to come up and clean or whatever. But she didn’t.”
“Wait—like your dad’s secretary? Ginny?”
“Yeah.”
Shane pinched the bridge of his nose as if seized by a sudden headache. “He specifically said she wasn’t coming.”
“Well. Um.” Zach’s mind searched for a way to explain away Bram’s lie. Had Zach fractured some strategy of his father’s in a way Bram might find unforgivable?
“What I mean is, Ginny was supposed to come yesterday, to set up. And then, you know, leave?” Zach unconsciously pulled the fine hairs at his nape. “But she obviously didn’t. So my dad went down the trail to try to call her. In case she got confused. And is coming today instead.”
“Right.” Shane said. “So you don’t know if—”
The sound of the door swinging open interrupted him. The new arrival silhouetted there took off his helmet to reveal long blond dreadlocks, eyes ringed white and cheeks red with a goggle-shaped sunburn.
“Jon! Thought you were ass up in a snowbank, dude, what the hell?”
“Yeah, sorry, man, all good. All”—Jon looked at Zach, then back to Shane—“handled. Just tried a different line is all. Thought we’d end up in the same spot. Should’ve known you’d be too fast for me.”
“Next time turn on your radio, man.”
“Was it off? Stupid. But—check it out!” Jon jutted his chin toward the window opposite the peak, eyes alight. “Wasn’t forecast, but sure smells like snow to me.”
Together, the three peered out at a faraway thread of dark gray clouds, and an electric current of possibility passed through them.
“That would be perfect,” Shane said. “That would be exactly what we need.”