Chapter 5
When Bram reappeared, Zach was drying the last dish.
Jon and Shane lounged in the hut’s living area, loudly rehashing their morning’s skiing.
The fire was roaring, the kitchen clean, the hearth swept, Zach’s backpack moved upstairs to the bunkroom, and the appetizers, champagne, beer, wine, and whiskey his father had pulled up in the sled were neatly lined up in a corner of the kitchen, ready to be plated or poured.
Everything in order. Every task as complete as he could get it. Though Zach could never be sure how his father would see things.
Bram entered with a gust of cold air. He took in the new arrivals, a twitch to his lip at seeing Jon instead of the much-anticipated Arlo Oliver.
Zach tried to blink away the familiar sense that his father’s skin had slipped to show the edge of his Underself, show its eyes, numerous as a spider’s, shining dark and bubbling out of Bram’s pores, pop-pop-pop.
“Well, well, well, Bruce Wayne finally made it, huh?” Shane said. “What’s up, Bram?”
Maybe Shane did sense Bram’s shadowy, well-hidden alter ego. Though more likely Shane was only referencing his father’s blue-eyed, dark-haired handsomeness, looks that drove people to stupidity and envy.
Bram gave a two-fingered salute. “Batman, reporting for duty. Great to see you, Shane! And who’s this?”
“This is my buddy Jon Hensley. Amazing skier.”
“The Dude, reporting for duty,” Jon said, imitating Bram’s salute in a way that was just mocking enough to make the muscle at the hinge of Bram’s jaw clench. Jon added with a shrug, “Or El Duderino if you’re not into the whole brevity thing,” mystifying Zach and making Shane snort with laughter.
Bram nodded beatifically. “The Dude abides.”
The words further baffled Zach, but earned an appreciative eyebrow raise from Shane, a grin from Jon. His father had clearly passed some kind of test. “Bram Fisher. Nice to meet you, Jon.”
“Nice to meet you too, man, thanks for having me along.” Jon rose briefly to shake Bram’s extended hand, then stretched out on the couch and returned to vaping.
Smile locked tight now, in a cold sweep of his eyes Bram took in Jon’s bleached-blond dreadlocks, his goatee, the knit hat sitting high on his head, his sunburn.
A flicker of flinching irritation at the worn long underwear Jon lounged in, at his puffy slippers, made of sleeping-bag material pockmarked where rogue embers from numerous campfires must have melted away spots of nylon.
Zach read the invisible lash of his father’s assessment: dirty, stoner, loser.
Bram cleared his throat, gaze traveling back to Shane. “So, is your dad running late?”
Shane’s smile coiled in a way that made Zach think he was used to people scratching and scrounging after Arlo; had recognized and was enjoying the suppressed blaze of Bram’s disappointment.
“Something came up.” Shane lifted a shoulder, casually shrugging away all Bram’s hopes. “He’d be no fun anyway. Old man never was exactly an athlete, no matter how much he likes bragging about his glory days.” Shane’s smile narrowed into something vindictive. “And I hear Ginny stood you up, too.”
Fearful his father would contradict his lie, Zach, words disjointed by his nervousness, said, “I told him—I said—she was supposed to come set up yesterday? But didn’t. And then she was supposed to leave today. But she didn’t show at all.”
Seeing Zach’s nervous foot-to-foot motion, the wringing of his hands, Bram frowned and only said, “Right, yeah. I went down trail to get reception. Texted with her to see if she’d screwed up the date. But she’s not coming.”
“Well, that is what you told me. That she wouldn’t be here,” Shane said.
Bram’s face shifted to appear convincingly mystified.
“Like the kid said, she was supposed to make the place nice, and be gone by now.” The tension left Zach, seeing that his father now understood the root of the lie was that Bram had lied to Shane first. “But when we got here, it was obvious she hadn’t showed at all.
Hell, I thought she might’ve gotten herself lost. But she just said—” Bram interrupted himself with the wave of a hand, whisking Ginny’s excuses away as nothing, meaningless.
“You know what? Never mind. Doesn’t matter.
Typical Ginny. Gorgeous, but flighty as hell.
But”—Bram clapped his hands together, tone shifting to that of a put-upon coach making the best of players who had failed him—“who needs her? Looks great here now, right? Got it warmed up quick.” Bram squinted.
“Sorry, but this is bugging me. Have we met before, Jon? You look so familiar! I can’t quite place it. ”
Zach waited for his father’s line to work its usual magic, felt it pry open a space for Jon to talk about himself, to fill however he wanted.
Jon shrugged this off, but his wide grin belied his put-on modesty. Shane answered for him. “Yeah, man, I bet you recognize him! He’s in ski movies. He’s a big deal.”
“Wait,” Bram said, his expression every bit that of someone working to recall something distant but potent. “Jon, Jon—I remember now! There was one film, great music…”
Zach retreated into the kitchen. He knew his father didn’t watch ski movies.
Knew Bram had only the most general sense of what such movies were like.
From the safety of the kitchen’s shadows Zach’s stare flicked from man to man.
He hated this part, the way people gravitated to Bram as if he were the sun, warm but blinding.
It was the way his mother described Bram, too, every time Zach asked her to tell the story of how she and his father had met.
When he was little, that story had been a balm, proof that everything was all right, would be all right, because of how it began.
She’d seen her whole future in a flash the very first time she saw Bram at a party. Handsome, more handsome than any man she’d seen. His dark hair. Those blue eyes.
“It was a perfect, whirlwind romance. He seemed so together, not like the guys my age. Confident. He loved that I worked with Mountain Rescue. And unlike most people in town, he didn’t look down on me because I’d dropped out of college for a bit to live here, just to take a break and try being a ski bum.
He didn’t judge my odd jobs, said housesitting, modeling, Mountain Rescue, doing whatever I could scrape together, made me a ‘free spirit.’ And when he found out my parents had died when I was eighteen, that Felicity and I had been on our own since then?
Well, that’s when he said he understood I was different from other girls.
His family, they’re not like him. His father was…
well. Cruel. Physically cruel, I mean. And the whole family was very strict and religious, and they were estranged, you know?
Then of course he’d lost his little boy, and Serena.
So he knew what it was not to have much family in your life.
To lose people. It was us against the whole world.
And that felt—it all felt—right. I never did go back to college.
We got married six months after we met. He was thirty-seven.
I thought I was so grown up. Seems silly now.
I’m still not as old as he was when we met.
But it was—it felt—special. Being loved so intensely. ”
But more and more often over the years, after telling the story her eyes would slide away and she’d end it with a new moral, saying something like, “Your father’s very charming. He’s like a horoscope. Vague, flattering, and tells you exactly what you want to hear.”
“…and the movie had this sequence where you did this massive, massive jump!” Bram said.
“You’re probably thinking of Mountain High,” Jon grinned. “It was a big hit.”
Bram snapped his fingers and pointed at Jon, face alight. “That was it! Great show, Jon, really great.” Bram slapped a hand on Shane’s shoulder. “Thanks for bringing this guy, man. Wait until Dave gets here. He’s got a teenager. They’re going to lose it over this. A celebrity!”
Zach imagined iridescent, spike-tipped legs extending from the Underself’s spine. Watched them hinge at the joints as they spun soft silk around Jon and Shane.
“I’m producing Jon’s next movie,” Shane offered.
A serious nod from Bram. “ ’Course you are. You’re a savvy investor. Smart move.”
Shane nodded back at Bram, earlier signs of irritation swept away. Jon was sitting up now, beaming into Bram’s light as he demurred, “I wouldn’t say I’m a celebrity.”
“You’re too modest, man. I can’t wait to see what you two do with this movie. Fantastic.”
As Bram turned away from Shane and Jon, Zach grabbed a towel and wiped the counter, trying to look busy as his father approached.
“You guys hungry?” Bram called out, cheerful tone at odds with his gritted teeth, the tautness of his face. “I’ve got a few things to snack on before the guide gets here with the rest of the group. Beer, wine, whiskey, whatever, too, if you’re interested.”
“I could eat. And you got any IPA?” Shane asked.
“Sure.”
Bram pointed from Zach to the cheese on the counter, and Zach sprung over to start preparing food.
“I’ll take a beer, too,” Jon said.
“ ’Course.”
Bram rattled through the alcohol; brought two beers to the living room. “Want some ice?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Smart choice.” Bram sidled to the door, opened it, and snapped a large icicle from the sill above. He wagged it toward the younger men before sweeping the icicle up to point at a sign above the door:
What if Everyone Did That?
Respect Other Visitors
Protect Your Drinking Water
Use the Outhouse and Don’t Urinate Out the Windows
Bram tap-tap-tapped the icicle on the word “urinate.” “Best avoid the ice. Because who knows what’s in it.”
“Oh, no, man,” Jon wheezed, chuckling with Shane. “Oh, no.”
Bram tossed the icicle outside, and shook his head as he closed the door. “You gotta think that sign only encourages guys to use the windows, you know?”
“Men,” one of the other mothers had muttered, disgusted over the polluted ice tracing from the bunk windows down the back of the hut the year before. At the memory, Zach felt the same bite of shame the word had triggered, the same simultaneous rise of indignation.
Because it was too gross. He would never.
Zach peeled the fancy labels and shrink wrap from the cheese and set the wedges on a cutting board, jumping slightly when from close behind him, Bram’s voice came sharp and cold, “Isn’t there something nicer to put this stuff on?”
There might be. Zach might have missed something. But he only shook his head no.
Bram prowled through the kitchen for serving dishes that would better meet his expectations, his mirth vaporized, unnecessary now that his back was to the others.
He put a bowl on the counter. “Crackers in here.” Bram eyed his son carefully cutting the salami. “Give me that knife. You’ll never finish going that slow.”
Zach filled the bowl with crackers and stepped away, fingernail preying on his wounded thumb as he tried to think of something else to show he was contributing.
With relief he remembered the water filter.
He brought it downstairs from his pack, filled it, then hung its bags on the wall hooks he remembered his mother using to let gravity pull dirty water through the filter.
It was the first time he’d set it up by himself, and his pride at managing the heavy awkwardness of the device distracted him until Bram said, “You’re only doing drinking water now? How long will this thing take?”
“Oh—only a minute. Or two. It’s quick.”
“Fine.” Bram jutted his chin in the direction of the living room. “Bring the food out.”
Zach set the plates in front of the men.
It was a relief to be the one serving them.
Bram fetching them drinks, cutting and plating meat and cheese, was destabilizing.
His mother had been the one to do all that, always in motion, smoothing their house to a perfection that was never sufficiently perfect.
All that was Ximena’s job now. The nanny before Ximena quit after two weeks. But those had been two good weeks, Bram focused elsewhere, Zach and Bonnie nodding along that he was right, so right, that she wasn’t good enough, that she was lazy, entitled, disrespectful.
Ximena told Zach and Bonnie about her own children, waiting for her in a far-off place. She never argued with Bram, only nodded and said, “Yes, Mr. Fisher, I’m sorry, won’t happen again.”
Ximena had so much to lose.
Zach set the food down in front of Shane and Jon, Shane penciling something on a piece of paper as Jon leaned close to look. “See, if we film the jump like this—”
Jon nodded. “Yeah, man, that would be sick!”
Seeing an opening in the way the younger men were occupied, Zach returned to the kitchen and motioned to Bram with an eager hand, a finger light against his lips for silence.