Rebound (14 page)

B
etween a quick shower and emails I couldn’t ignore from Brooks on potential screenwriters for Blackwood Entertainment’s first feature, followed by a call from Grey trying to convince me to let him drive the Bugatti while I’m out of town, it’s seven before I head downstairs for our traditional retreat kick-off dinner.

I hear Jasmine Star, our camaraderie specialist, before I see her.

“We’re going to be working a lot on our vibrational frequencies this week, lovelies!” she says in a singsong lilt. “Each one of you is a sacred entity, made up of millions of molecules that are connected energetically. What is your energy, Marvelous Mia? And yours, Perfect Paolo? What about you, Caring Cookie?”

As I round the corner, she points a ringed finger at me, and her hazel eyes light up. “What is
yours,
my darling Adam?”

I move right to her. “Hi, Jazz.”

She frames my face and looks at me. “Hello, sweetheart.”

“Younger every year, Jazzy,” I say, smiling. She’s one of those older women who—to use her term—has very youthful vibrational energy. Her face is plump and wrinkled, but she still manages to seem girlish and playful.

The smell of incense and natural soap floats up from her jeweled top. Jasmine zeroed in on my eye-contact thing within five minutes of when I met her a few years ago. She keeps trying. But I have the same trick I use on Alison. Jazz wears about seventy-two million necklaces. Beads and feathers and, I swear, bones, hang around her neck.

“You wonderful flirt,” she says affectionately, then she smacks her lips against mine—something she does to everyone. “Get an apron on. We’ve already gotten started!”

Alison’s standing behind an expansive kitchen island, between Philippe and Mia. She’s wearing an apron with the words
Mmm, good!
across the front, and I couldn’t agree more. Her hair is up and there’s a dusting of flour on her chin and along her neck. In front of her, I see a number of bowls and spoons, measuring cups, and glasses of wine.

She looks amazing—I’ve been waiting for this moment for over a week—but seeing her in the kitchen makes me smile. She looks nowhere near as comfortable as she does in scuba gear or with a horse lead in her hands.

“Where do you want me?” I’m speaking to Jazz, but Ali looks down at her hands, and I see her blush. Philippe—who’s in a
Hot Cook
apron—gives her an elbow nudge.

“Well, dinner’s almost done,” Jasmine says. Rhett and Mia stand over a huge pot, having a small argument about how much salt to add to the boiling water. Rhett looks up, catching my eye. There’s still a trace of the worry I saw on his face earlier at the bar, but he seems to be relaxing. Paolo, Sadie, and Pippa are chopping salad ingredients,
and Cookie, in an
Eat Meat
apron, is finishing up setting the table. “Why don’t you open some wine?”

“Sure,” I say, and get us set up with white and red on both sides of the table.

I keep looking at Ali. I’m glad she seems to be having fun with the team, but I’m starting to realize that finding some time alone with her these next few days might not be easy to pull off. But I need that. I need to touch her. I need to talk to her. I need to explain to her that we can see each other. We’ll talk to her father. I’ll do it with her, if she wants. But Graham has to come around.

The food is set out on the table, family style, but Jasmine stops us before we take our seats and makes us stand around the table, holding hands.

She does this every year so I’m ready, and I’ve put myself right next to Ali.

It feels like a victory, just getting to hold her hand. And when I glance at her, her face softened by the candlelight, I see something warm in her blue eyes. Heat blazes through me, and I entertain a quick fantasy of making a break for my room and locking the door for the next few days.

“Now, everyone close your eyes,” Jazz says. “It’s safer for most of us to be honest this way.” That feels like it’s meant for me, but everyone follows along. “Good. Now I want us to take a moment and check in with our intentions for the next few days,” she continues. “Say them out loud in your thoughts. Think of sending those thoughts to the people around you. Energy loves energy. Do it now. Send forth your energetic wishes.”

I want to make you quiver. I want you naked and clinging to me and saying my name.

I glance at Rhett and hope I sent my energetic wish in the right direction.

“Good. Okay, everyone open your eyes, but please don’t sit down
yet.” Jazz picks up a glass jar in front of her. Everyone’s hands come down, but I linger, holding as long as I can to Ali’s.

“Usually, we don’t get started until morning,” Jazz says, “but I thought we’d do something different this year. I’m going to put you in trust partner pairs right now, and we’re going to jump right in with an exercise. Sound good?”

Everyone looks terrified except Rhett, who nods excitedly. “Awesome, yes!” he says. “Let’s rock it.”

“Very good.” Jasmine smiles, and reaches into the glass jar, removing two strips of paper. “Our first pair is Rhett,” she says, opening one strip. “And Pippa,” she adds, opening the other. “You two will be trust partners for the duration of the retreat. That means you’ll be working closely together, even during group events. You’re a team. Start thinking about that. Please take a seat next to each other, but don’t speak to one another. I’ll explain why in a moment.”

Interesting. The silence thing is new.

Pippa and Rhett sit down and Jazz moves on, selecting the next trust teams.

Sadie and Paolo high-five when they get each other, which makes the extreme stillness that follows the announcement of the Cookie/Philippe team even more pronounced.

Then Mia gets Jazz, which is surprising, but we have an odd number. I feel a little bad for her, but mostly I’m fucking flying because Ali and I are together.

“Trust partner,” I say, pulling her chair out for her.

“Ah, ah,” Jazz says. “Remember, no talking—and that’s because we’re going to do our very first trust exercise right now.” She sits to a jingle of bells and beads. “It’s very simple, actually. You will be speaking for each other for the rest of the night. So, you may whisper anything you wish to say to your trust partner, and that person will be conveying your thoughts on your behalf. It’s an exercise that
will show you the power of speech. Words are gifts, and gifts must be chosen with care. You are representing the interests of someone other than yourselves. It’s going to be fabulous, lovelies. Trust is just waiting for you to—”

Jasmine stops speaking as Paolo leans over to Sadie and whispers.

“Paolo is starving,” Sadie says. “He wants to know if he can eat while you explain the rest of the exercise.”

Jasmine smiles. She leans over and pushes Mia’s curls out of the way, whispering.

Mia’s lips twist a little as she listens. “Jasmine says, go ahead and eat.”

The exercise is entertaining for a while.

Sadie whispers to Paolo, then Paolo says, “Sadie wants to know if she’ll get any time at the spa because she’s a huge diva that way.”

Sadie whispers again, and Paolo delivers another message from her: “She just told me I’m an even bigger diva.”

Then Philippe speaks for Cookie: “Cookie thinks you’re both imbeciles.”

It goes on like this, controlled chaos, as we dig into ravioli and salad.

Ali hasn’t whispered anything in my ear yet, and I haven’t said anything to her. I’m more than satisfied, for now, just to sit next to her and enjoy my marketing team’s antics. I’ll be spending a lot of time with her over the coming days—exactly what I wanted.

When the conversation’s at a dull roar and the rules about who’s speaking for who have relaxed a little, I lean toward Alison. Her winter smell surrounds me, a clean elegant scent that takes me back to Halloween night, and it’s all I can do not to brush my lips against the soft skin in front of her ear.

“You look incredible, Ali,” I say. There’s been a lot of whispering at this table tonight, so no one notices us. We’re invisible, right here
in front of everyone. No one even sees the small shiver Ali gives at the sound of my voice, or the way she leans closer to me. “I can’t take my eyes off you. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

I settle back into my chair. Sparkling blue eyes regard me for a moment before she leans by my ear. “Is that just for me, trust partner, or would you like me to share that with the group?”

I don’t bother whispering this time. “Tell anyone you want,” I say to her as the conversation swirls around us. “It’s happening, Ali.
We
are. Trust me.”

T
he air is crisp and carries that fresh mountain smell, like linen and pine, as our team tramps across a snow-packed hillside. It’s too early—just past dawn—for the two full-scale snowball fights that have already broken out among the others, though Philippe’s wild pitch, which knocked Cookie’s ear muffs right off her head, almost makes it worth it.

I’m bleary, wooden-limbed, and it feels like there’s not enough coffee in the world to prepare me for the day ahead. I couldn’t sleep all night, thinking about Adam whispering to me at the table, his breath warm in my ear, just the nearness of him turning my body warm and liquid.

I can’t stop thinking about you,
he said. And even though I deflected that, I can’t stop thinking about him, either. I can’t stop thinking about his brilliance and ambition, his gorgeous tapered fingers
wrapped around a wine glass, his appraising gray eyes taking everything in, the faint shadowing of lines at the corner of his lids that speak of days out in the sun, in the bracing salt air.

His face gives so much, I think, as I watch him chat easily with Philippe beside me. His body even more so. But then there’s that shadow, too, that wall I can never breach, the place where deep inside he’s locked away pieces of himself, locked away his own history.

On that front, my father’s campaign to drive me insane has reached new heights. Eight texts before I went to bed last night. I tried to placate him, to tell him that Adam and I had been paired for the weekend, that I’d have plenty of opportunity to find out what he wanted to know. But he just kept firing at me.

The group reaches a plateau where Jasmine Star stands in front of a broad wooden platform about shoulder height. Next to it rises an elaborate climbing wall with the caps of rough-hewn logs jutting from it and lengths of bungee cord shuffling together in the wind. On the ground, a Day-Glo fuchsia line brightens the white terrain.

Jasmine claps her hands excitedly at our approach. She’s bundled in a patterned alpaca coat that looks like she fashioned it from one of the lodge blankets.

“Good morning, lovelies!” she calls. “And here’s my magnificent partner!” she cries, homing right in on Mia, who seems even more clumsy and slow this morning than I feel. “Look at all that hair! You’re like a Botticelli!”

“It’s just really hard for me to find a hat to go over it,” Mia says.

“Well, it would be a shame to cover it,” Jasmine exclaims then dashes a few steps toward us to give Mia a morning kiss—on the lips. “Minty!” she exclaims.

Mia angles a “just shoot me” look at Paolo, who laughs and gamely leans in for his kiss from Jasmine.

Then it’s a flurry of kisses and pats in sometimes questionable places. Her hands are cool against my skin as she pulls my face
toward hers. I can see every pore, see the manic delight in her hazel eyes, and the spray of capillaries on her ruddy cheeks. “Good morning, you beautiful creature of light,” she says to me. “Who are you going to trust today?”

Even the word sends a dart of panic into my solar plexus. “Um, my team? I’m . . . I’m going to learn to trust my team.”

She shakes her head. “No, my special darling. You’re going to learn to trust
yourself
! Isn’t it marvelous?”

It’s not a question, really, though she still punctuates it with another kombucha-scented kiss on the lips. “Today, you’re going to learn to trust each other, yes. But you’re learning to trust
yourselves,
most of all. Trust that you can push yourself harder than you believe. Trust that when you fall—” she nods at the raised platform—“you’re truly worth catching!”

My cell phone buzzes in my pocket, and I lift it out and clear off the condensation on the screen with my gloved finger.

             
Dad:
 Any progress?

Part of me wants to ignore him, to smash the phone under the heel of my boot and forget all about Adam’s past, about my “mission.” But I know he’ll persist, and giving him an answer now is the best way to keep from having to deal with a text every hour on the hour.

             
Ali:
 
  
Just getting started. But I told you, I’ve got it. Will fill you in tonight.

Now leave me alone, please, I want to add, but I don’t. Here’s hoping I’ve bought myself a few hours of peace, at least.

I thumb the switch to silent and thrust the phone back in my pocket.

“Everything all right?” Adam asks, kicking up little clouds of snow as he closes the space behind us.

I nod. “Yep, just had to let my dad know I got in okay.”

“Too bad he’s not here,” Adam says with a hard-to-read grin. “He could use some trust exercises himself.”

I hear my dad say,
“Trust me, Ali. We have to keep this between us. It’ll break your mother’s heart, and for no reason. I don’t want to destroy our family. You have to understand that. Things like this . . . they mean nothing.”

Trust me.

Family is everything.

“I’m glad you took my advice,” my dad says, and with a flourish, he hands me a small box. It’s Christmas. Catherine, my parents, and I sit in the cozy family room, warm cinnamon-sprinkled hot chocolate in our hands, tinny holiday music playing over the expensive speakers. My parents give each other cordial smiles, and I open the box. Two earrings—large A’s for Alison—studded with diamonds. “Just for you,” he tells me. “Because you mean so much to me. You
all
do.”

Now, I run a finger over one of the earrings, feel the softly pebbled texture of the diamonds, now cold in the November Wyoming air.

“All right,” Jasmine exclaims, bouncing on the toes of her boots like a little kid. “Our first exercise is called ‘Walk the Line!’ Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

She pairs us with our team-building buddies and ushers us over to the end of the fuchsia line in the show.

“All right, she says. “Stand side by side, facing me. Cookie, you put your left foot on the line. Philippe, put your right foot on it, right up against Cookie’s. Get cozy!

“
Don’t
get cozy,” Cookie snaps, but I can see from the mischievous sparkle in Philippe’s eye that she doesn’t intimidate him.

“Now the trick, my sweetest pets, is to simply walk the line—from here to the end.”

Cookie starts to stride forward, but Jasmine reaches out and tugs her roughly back by the collar, almost lifting Cookie right off her feet.

If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I’d never have believed it. The pixie Arnold Schwarzenegger is everything Sadie and Pippa promised.

“Now, now, my hasty one, let me finish.”

Cookie sighs and rolls her eyes but returns to stand near Philippe, her ankle aligned with his.

“The trick is for the two of you to walk the line
together,
to keep connected, your feet in contact with each other at all times. But you’re not allowed to touch one another otherwise. And you’re not allowed to speak. You must go deep within your partner’s energy and intuit his or her movements, fall into a rhythm that speaks to both of your hearts. You see?”

From the mystified faces around the clearing it’s obvious we’re all lost, but Cookie and Philippe gamely try again. And again. Jasmine stops them every time they fall out of sync, which is often.

“Cookie, my darling, you have to
give
something to our dear Philippe. Slow down. Allow yourself to consider his rhythm. You can’t bully your way through something like this.”

Mia and Sadie giggle at Cookie’s frustration, and at someone having the guts to call her a bully to her face. Finally, they’re able to walk the entire length of the fuchsia line, and Philippe celebrates by wrapping Cookie in a bear hug and rocking her back and forth until she finally, reluctantly, puts her arms around him.

“Oh, how honored I am to have seen that!” Jasmine cries. “Truly, so special to see your souls at work together.”

She lines the rest of us up and coaches us through the activity. It takes Rhett and Sadie about twenty tries to align their grossly mismatched strides—like watching a bear and a hummingbird attempt a salsa. While barely touching.

Everyone else bumbles through the activity with greater or lesser
success. Then it’s my turn with Adam. We line up, the sides of our feet touching in the center of the fuchsia line. I feel the warmth and solidity of him, and even without looking, I can feel that his eyes are on me.

We start to move, and with no conversation, no touching, and no trouble at all, our strides fall in together. Our feet stay pressed together as we move, a single fluid unit, across the line.

The others cheer us on, but Jasmine stands frozen, her hands pressed to her lips like she’s witnessing a legitimate miracle.

“Oh, my, that was the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen! You two are perfectly in sync. I predict great things from your partnership.”

All of which brings my father, Adam’s secrets, my obligations, crashing right back down again.

Next, Jasmine tells us we’re going to do an old-fashioned trust exercise.

“You’ll climb up to the platform there, and all of these beautiful souls around you will gather to give you a safe place to land. But you’ll line up with your buddies, all right? I want you to get in a row before the platform. Hold hands, and really latch onto each other. Imagine that there’s a steel rod running between you that’s unbreakable. And know that you’re responsible for the safety of another living being. That we’re all trusting each other with our hearts and our lives. Understand?”

This all feels a little dramatic for what’s essentially a five-foot drop. But when she asks for volunteers, I find my arm is the first to shoot up. I have to know what it’s like. To fall into the arms of people I barely know. To open myself up to their strength. To trust.

My whole body trembles with excitement—and with cold—as I climb up the log ladder to the platform.

“Oh, my dear, kudos to your bravery!” Jasmine says, and the others applaud for me.

Mia comes to stand near Jasmine. She looks up at me, her wild cloud of dark hair whipping around in the wind. “We’ve got you,” she says and smiles. Then she and Jasmine clasp hands.

Next to them Rhett and Sadie. Then Paolo and Pippa. Then Cookie and Philippe. All clasp hands, making a kind of human rope bridge for me, with Adam standing at the end.

“You’ve got this, Quick,” Adam says, making me want to believe.

I turn, smiling, even though no one can see me.

Then I stretch my arms out over my head and let myself fall.