How I Came to Sparkle Again (27 page)

Clear skies, winds out of the southwest at 30 mph with gusts of up to 40 mph.

109" mid-mountain, 119" at the summit. 0" new in the last 24 hours. 0" of new in the last 48.

Yesterday, Eric had led Jill to a shack behind the maintenance garage. Behind the shack was a water tank on skids, complete with a hose, presumably for fighting forest fires.

“I discovered this little gem in late October and I’ve had this dream ever since. You may be aware that tomorrow is Saint Patrick’s Day. That tank now contains lime Kool-Aid. You and I are taking that baby up to Yellow Brick Road, turning on the pressure motor, and you’re going to paint it green. I need someone to spray while I drive. Hans was going to do it, but he’s passed out and I can’t wake him. Lisa and Tom would not only be prime suspects, but would buckle under pressure when people start asking questions tomorrow. No one will suspect you.”

“Because I’m no fun?” she asked.

He laughed. “No. Because you’re a good girl. If this mountain was Gilligan’s Island, you’d be Mary Ann. It will be good for you to be just a little naughty.”

Jill smiled and didn’t say no.

Now, after midnight, she found herself in Eric’s old rain gear, a little drunk, sitting on top of the tank as if it were a horse, spraying the freshly groomed snow behind Eric’s cat, and laughing hysterically. When the tank finally ran out of juice, she waved to Eric. He stopped so she could get back into the warmth of the snowcat, where he blasted the heat for her. She continued to laugh, and he joined her. Then he handed her another beer.

“You are a bad influence on me!” Jill laughed.

“Yeah? How does it feel?” he asked.

“So good,” she said.

“If you let me, I could make you feel even better.”

Jill laughed. In weak moments, she occasionally considered that. Eric was sweet. Just the other night, they had watched
The Breakfast Club
on some movie channel together. He had made her dinner and massaged her shoulders during the movie. They were friends—friends with chemistry. And as long as she was clear about what he was and what he wasn’t, she could enjoy him for what he was. He was warm and gracious. But he wasn’t boyfriend material. It was Mike she really had feelings for, of course, but Mike wasn’t available. Eric kind of was. But thinking about Mike made Jill feel a little guilty just for being there with Eric, laughing, drinking, and having fun. Technically, it wasn’t a betrayal, so why did it feel like one?

“Look at our work,” he said. They turned around and looked at the green run behind them. In the dark, they couldn’t see much. “We rule!”

“This is the naughtiest thing I’ve ever done,” Jill said proudly.

“I could change that for you,” Eric replied suggestively. “You’d have even more fun than this.…”

Jill’s inner conflict roiled. Was it stupid to wait for Mike when who knew when, if ever, he might want that kind of relationship with her? Suddenly, it did seem stupid. Meanwhile, here was Eric with his sexy voice, who was fun and light, and who helped her lighten up and have more fun. It felt good to lighten up and have more fun. What would really be so wrong with capitalizing on all that he offered? Even drunk, she had enough sense to know that if it was a good idea tonight, it would be a good idea tomorrow, so she simply said, “Noted.”

Eric headed back down to the maintenance garage. He got out to open Jill’s door and help her down. Being a little drunk, she lost her balance, and he caught her. She started laughing again.

“Are you good?” he asked, and she laughed harder. He didn’t let go, so Jill found herself in his embrace. “Good night, girl,” he said, and gave her a little peck on the lips. “Go take a bath and soak the green out of your hands. Oh, and will you take these?” He handed Jill a bag of their beer bottles. “We’re not supposed to drink and drive the mountain’s three-hundred-and-twenty-five-thousand-dollar equipment. Go figure.”

Jill took the bag.

“Hey…” He reached out his arm for another hug, so Jill gave him one. “I luv ya, Jilly,” he said.

“Back at ya, babe,” she replied.

Luv. Friend love. Happiness and warmth love. Not “
I’ll give you a kidney if you need it
” love. Just luv.
Nothing wrong with luv,
she thought.

She threw the bag of beer bottles over her shoulder and walked back to the Kennel, clinking and laughing until she reached the point where she could see Mike and Cassie’s house down the street. She sat on the curb across the street from the Kennel and looked back and forth from it to Mike and Cassie’s house.

On the outside, the Kennel was a dump and Mike and Cassie’s house was nice. On the inside, the Kennel was full of marijuana smoke and Mike and Cassie’s house was full of grief.

The Kennel offered her the opportunity to live like Peter Pan and never grow up, to paint ski runs green, to play drinking games while watching
The Bachelor,
even to have sex with no obligations. And in Mike and Cassie’s house, well, on the one hand, there appeared to be the opportunity to have a family, but it was likely just a dream. In her mind, she kept hearing Mike’s voice say,
It’s probably wrong
, and then listing all the reasons why it was impractical to consider the possibility of a different kind of relationship. She wondered if there would ever be enough room for her to be anything more than a babysitter. She could see herself wasting years of her life waiting and hoping for it like a carrot dangling in front of her. The house was so full of Kate. Their broken hearts were so full of Kate. There was no room for her there. She had absolutely been stupid for ever dreaming about it.

She stood, picked up the bag of bottles, and headed back into the place where there was room for her. But as she walked through the door, she wondered where she was headed and what exactly she was becoming.

*   *   *

As Mike pulled the laundry out of the dryer, he was thinking about how good it felt being with Cassie and Jill at the luge and on the day they had skied together. It felt so good to finally be happy again. It had felt good to hug Jill, too. And it all felt like moving forward. More and more, he realized that moving forward was the only path to happiness.

He carried the laundry basket up the stairs, and dumped it out on his bed. He pulled the towels out first and folded them, and then he folded all the clothes. This time, though, he put the pile of Kate’s things away. As he was doing it, he realized it was time. He went out to the garage and brought in three large plastic storage bins, and slowly, carefully, he took Kate’s things out of the closet that he thought Cassie might like one day. He reminisced for a long moment about the last time he’d seen Kate wearing each item: a wedding, her class reunion, a hot summer day, Cassie’s school programs. He folded each one carefully and placed it in the bin. He couldn’t figure out what Cassie might and might not want one day, so he ended up keeping all the things that had hung in the closet. He opened one of her drawers, pulled out pants and shirts, ran his hand over each one, remembered running his hand over her knee when she wore those pants, remembered running his hand over her shoulder when she wore that T-shirt. He put them in another bin.

Then he went downstairs and got a paper grocery bag. He put her socks and her underwear in it and her beat-up running shoes. No one else would want those things.

He carried the bag outside back behind the garage to the garbage can. He opened the lid. He lowered the bag into the can but could not make himself let go of the handles, so he lifted it back out. He couldn’t pretend his wife’s things were garbage. He wasn’t ready to think about them sitting in the stinky can for days and then going to a landfill. He stood there for a long time, unsure of what to do with things that had no purpose, the things he should release. Eventually, he walked into the garage and put the bag high on a shelf next to some boxes full of other useless things he couldn’t part with.

He took an empty cardboard box upstairs and filled it with her shoes. He wasn’t sure what to do with those, either. On top, he put her purses that were a little worse for wear—her favorites. He sealed it with packing tape, and he put the lids on the bins.

And then he sat on the end of his bed, looking at her half of the closet empty, and he cried.

*   *   *

Mrs. Campbell stuck a green shamrock on the new kid’s shirt as he stood awkwardly in front of the class. “This is Mauricio,” she said. “I know it’s Saint Patrick’s Day, but do not pinch him because he wouldn’t understand. Can you imagine being pinched by everyone on your first day of school in a foreign country? That would be cruel. Make sure no one from other classes bothers him either. Help him out.”

Then she sat him right next to Cassie. Maybe by chance or maybe on purpose, Cassie wasn’t sure. He didn’t speak English, and this alone was reason for her to like him. With Mauricio, they wouldn’t have to dance around the subject of her mother. They didn’t have to discuss her at all. Cassie could tell he felt uncomfortable and probably missed his home, wherever it was, and that he was feeling his own kind of loss.

Since he didn’t speak English, he was lost in class. She tried to model different tasks for him and help him however she could. Mrs. Campbell gave him an English-Spanish dictionary, and Cassie looked up words with him. When it was time to go somewhere, she poked him in the arm and gestured for him to follow her. Before long, he was stuck to her like glue.

She still jumped rope by herself at morning recess, but she noticed him sitting alone on a bench in the corner of the playground. At lunch recess, she took a basketball instead of a jump rope and got him to shoot baskets with her. He was awful. He mimed that he would rather play soccer.

At lunch, instead of worrying about being the last in line, she walked him through the line and showed him where to pick up all the things he needed. Together, they found a place to sit and eat, and she liked him enough not to leave him in the horrible, crowded, and largely uncivilized cafeteria by himself. Instead of going to the library for sanctuary, she stayed by Mauricio’s side.

When he looked down to get the last bites of overcooked peas on his spoon, Cassie noticed a pendant on a chain around his neck. It was the Virgin Mary in a heart on a crucifix. Her new friend had a picture of the Madonna in a heart. A mother inside of a heart. Her mother had sent him to her. Mauricio looked up and smiled. Cassie looked at his pendant, pointed to her own neck, and nodded to tell him she liked it. He put his hands together in prayer and nodded back.

*   *   *

In addition to being St. Patrick’s Day, it was Auger night, so the usual gang was at the Gold Pan. Tom still had the Auger, so he bought the patrollers who were there a round of flaming tequila shots. He proudly threw his down so fast that when he put the glass back on the bar, a tiny blue flame still burned.

“So, Jason,” Tom shouted. “I understand you did something ridiculously stupid this pay period and have had the honor of writing about it in the Peter Book! Please do enjoy drinking the schwag off the serving tray before reading your latest excerpt for us!”

Instead of bringing the tray to his face and slurping the booze that had spilled, he sucked it up with a straw and then began to read: “My wife, Julie, and I were on our way to take a little trip across the border to Whistler. The Canadian border patrol, thinking I looked like someone who would have a backpack full of weed, asked to inspect it. As it turns out, I still had a bomb in there from the last time I did avalanche control work, and so naturally he thought I was a terrorist. Fortunately, I had my ski patrol ID in there, too, and so, four hours later, the guy simply took the bomb from me and let me drive on instead of sending me to jail.”

The gathering shouted, jeered, and laughed at him, and then people settled down a bit and drank their green beers.

Lisa and Tom sat next to each other, trying not to be obvious, trying not to act differently from the way they had ever acted before. A couple of pretty young women walked by and flirtatiously said hi to Tom. He said hi back but under the table put his hand on Lisa’s knee.

“Let’s sneak out of here,” he whispered to her.

“You first,” she whispered back. “I’m going to pretend that I’m going to the restroom.”

“Is that really necessary? Can’t we just go?” he asked.

“If we leave together, people will talk,” she said.

He didn’t want it to hurt his feelings, but it did, and suddenly he didn’t want to sneak out anymore. “Never mind,” he said. “I think I’ll have another beer.”

Lisa watched him deflate, and she sat there for a moment, irritated, trying to choose her next words carefully.

Just then, Jason came over to the table. “Hey, here, have the rest of mine. Julie and I are getting out of here.” He put down a little cocktail napkin in front of Tom and put his beer on it. Tom saw writing and picked up the beer so he could see if it had someone’s name and number on it, but instead, in Jason’s handwriting, it read, “You’re being a dick. Don’t screw it up. Either propose or sneak out the way she wants to.” Tom slipped the napkin into his lap before Lisa could notice.

“Thanks,” he called to them as they walked away. He took a drink and then, without looking at her, held his beer in front of his lips and whispered to Lisa, “I’m sorry. I know going public would cheapen this for you. Hiding it cheapens it for me. It’s the greatest thing that ever happened to me and you’re ashamed of it. But whatever. Let’s just go. Any way you want to.”

Lisa hung her head. “I’m sorry. I wish I had just walked out the door with you when you asked. We’re friends and neighbors. No one would have thought anything about it. I don’t know why I had to turn it into such a big deal. It wasn’t worth hurting you over. It changed the energy between us, and I wished it hadn’t because once milk begins to curdle, it rarely goes back to being milk.” She put her arm around his middle and gave him a squeeze from behind.