The Mountain Between Us (27 page)

The weathered gray wood of the little house blended into the darker gray of the rock against which it sat. If Olivia had passed it on a hike, she would have thought it was a relic of old mining days. But when D. J. stopped the truck in front of it, the door burst open and four children ran out, followed by a man and woman. The woman smiled shyly and waved while the man looked grim.

“Santa's here! Santa's here!” the children shouted, dancing around the truck.

“Ho! Ho! Ho!” D. J. boomed in a credible imitation of the Christmas saint. “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas!” Olivia called, smiling past her nervousness and climbing out to help D. J. carry in the bags of gifts and boxes of food.

The front room of the house was small, made smaller still by eight people crowded into it. A tall fir, still smelling of snow and woods, was planted in a bucket of sand in the corner opposite the wood stove, and D. J. headed to it, a black plastic trash bag full of presents slung over his back in a fair imitation of Santa's pack. “Who wants to help me give out the presents?”

“I do! I do!” The tallest child, a boy of eight or nine, jumped up and down and waved his hand.

D. J. beckoned him over. “Christopher, you can help me give out the gifts to your brother and sisters.”

Wide-eyed, Christopher nodded.

D. J., Olivia, and the boy handed out two bags full of wrapped presents—dolls and Legos, a harmonica and a hand-held video game, new shoes and jeans and shirts. Olivia pressed a box containing a sweater into the mother's hand and the woman began to cry. The father looked stunned at a pair of new work boots.

But the children captured most of Olivia's attention. The oldest girl danced around the room hugging a pink quilted parka trimmed with fake fur, and the youngest clutched her doll to her chest and gaped at them. D. J. knelt beside her. “Do you like your dolly, Nina?” he asked.

She nodded, then, still holding the doll, threw her arms around his neck. “I love you, Santa,” she said.

“I love you, too,” he said, and patted her back. When he stood, Olivia thought she caught the glint of tears in his eyes, and she had to blink hard to clear her own vision.

They left with a chorus of “Merry Christmas!” and “Good night, Santa!”

Neither of them spoke until D. J. had turned the truck around and made his way down the steep driveway to the road, which itself was only a snow-covered dirt track. “That was intense,” he said.

“You were wonderful with those children,” Olivia said.

“I like kids.” He chuckled. “Did you see how big their eyes got when I called them by name? They thought I really was Santa.”

“I never knew you liked children so much.”

“I like Lucas.” He hunched forward, peering at the road.

“I mean little children.”

“Well, sure. Kids are great.” He glanced at her. “I wish I'd known you and Lucas when he was a baby.”

How would her life have been different if she'd known D. J. then? What if he had been her husband, or one of the boyfriends who'd followed the breakup of her marriage, instead of the losers who had come and gone, always leaving her and Lucas alone?

The chains on the tires crunched loudly on the packed snow, but even with chains, she felt the back tires spin in several places. D. J. hunched over the steering wheel, knuckles white. “How far is the next family?” she asked.

“They're up near Black Mountain, just off the highway. I plowed up that way this morning to make sure we could get through.”

The house was even farther up a narrow, winding drive, almost to the tree line, crouched against a boulder taller than the roof. Two children lived here, solemn twins who stared at Santa and his bounty with slack mouths, until their mother persuaded them to come closer. She took photos of the boys perched, one on each of Santa's knees. Settled there, the children didn't want to leave, and opened their games and clothing and toys seated there, with Santa exclaiming over each gift with a tenderness that made Olivia's heart feel too full to speak.

They parted with many cries of “Merry Christmas” and headed back toward town in full dark, the headlights of the truck illuminating a world of black and white—white road and white mountain, studded with black trees against a blacker sky, sparkling with more stars than she had ever seen. She had thought it would be awkward, spending so much time alone with D. J., but seeing him with the children had eased the stiffness between them. She felt more at peace than she had in months, grateful to be here, in this place and in this moment, with him. He didn't feel the need for idle conversation the way some people did. He was content to focus on the driving and leave her in peace to think. “It's so beautiful up here,” she said.

“I like to come up here before the sun's up to plow,” he said. “It's hard to believe this is even the same world as Connecticut or Iraq.” He shifted the truck into a lower gear and the engine growled. “I wish I had my plow truck now. Even with the chains, the back of this truck wants to fishtail around going downhill.”

“But you plowed up here this morning, right?” She clutched the dash as the truck slid sideways once more.

“Yeah, but the wind has drifted the snow in places.” He straightened the truck again and they crept downhill. “It should be better once we reach the highway,” he said.

She nodded, too nervous to speak. She stared out the windshield, willing the highway to appear. But all she saw was white snow and black trees.

“We're almost there.” D. J. nodded toward the road ahead of them. “The intersection with the highway is up ahead.”

“Great.” The highway would be wider and smoother, with pavement instead of dirt underneath, and it wasn't as steep. They'd be safer once they reached the highway.

“I'm not going to risk riding the brakes through the turn,” he said. “There's no one up here, so we'll just coast out into the lanes, then straighten out.”

“All right.” The plan made sense to her. She braced herself, nervous, despite the fact that she knew there was no traffic up here this time of night. They were almost at the barricades where the road was closed due to the avalanches. And who would be out on Christmas Eve?

No person was out, but a trio of bull elk, crowns of antlers shining white in the moonlight, chose that moment to cross the road in front of them. D. J. stomped on the brakes, cursing, and the truck fishtailed wildly. The elk bounded into the woods and the truck careened down the steep, narrow road, coming to rest skewed sideways in the ditch at the bottom of the slope, headlights shining up into the trees.

D. J. shut off the engine. Olivia gripped the dash and braced her feet against the door to keep from sliding down against it. She stared into the darkness, the tick of the cooling engine and her own labored breathing the only sounds. She started when the headlights switched off, plunging them into blackness. Already icy fingers of cold crept into the cab. “What are we going to do?” she asked, trying to keep her voice from wavering.

“I can walk into town for help.”

“Don't leave me.” She stretched out her hand and clutched his arm. “I'll go with you.”

“You aren't dressed to walk far. It must be twenty below out there.”

“I'm not dressed to sit here waiting for you either.” She unbuckled her seat belt and dragged herself across the seat toward him. “How far is it to town?”

“Seven or eight miles.”

“You'll freeze.”

“No, I won't. I can walk eight miles.”

“In your regular clothes, maybe, but in a Santa suit? You don't even have a coat. That velvet isn't going to keep you warm for long.”

“I've got an old work coat behind the seat. I'll be all right.”

“Don't leave me. Please.” To hell with pride. The thought of sitting here alone, not knowing what was happening to him, terrified her.

He pounded the steering wheel with frustration. “Let me think,” he said.

She hugged her arms across her chest and tried not to shiver. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and she could see more now—the shadows of trees on the paleness of snow, and the tracks of animals in the whiteness.

“There's a cabin not too far up the road here. A summer place, empty this time of year, but we can break in if we have to.”

“How far?”

“Less than a mile.” He leaned over the back of the seat and pulled out a bundle of army green. “Put this on.” He shoved the cold fabric toward her.

She thought about protesting, but why waste time with arguing? And her jacket wasn't doing a very good job of keeping her warm. She'd worn tights under her skirt, but what she wouldn't have given for a pair of insulated snow pants.

She opened the door and slid out, sinking to her knees in snow. It overflowed the tops of her boots and trickled to her ankles. Grunting in frustration, she kicked her way out of the drift and met D. J. at the truck's back bumper. He was rummaging through a toolbox and pulled out a hammer, wrench, and screwdriver. “In case I have to take the cabin door off its hinges,” he said.

“There's probably a key,” Olivia said. “People always hide a key.”

They walked up the road side by side, in the tracks the truck had made coming down. If not for the bitter cold, Olivia might have enjoyed the walk. The moon and stars bathed their path in silvery light, and the only sounds were the crunch of their boots on the snow and the huff of their breathing.

But the cold stole any chance of enjoyment after too many minutes. She could no longer feel her feet or her face. “How much farther?” she asked, puffing along behind D. J.

“We still have a ways to go. Are you going to be all right?”

“Of course.” She didn't have a choice. She had a son and a life to get back to. Not being all right wasn't an option.

Since when had a mile been so far? She supposed the fact that they were climbing in the dark, through snow, made the distance seem so much farther. Gritting her teeth, she plowed on. One foot in front of the other. She wouldn't give up and she wouldn't complain. She forced herself to think of warm things—a cozy wood fire, a bed piled high with quilts, a bowl of steaming soup.

D. J. scanned the side of the road with a flashlight until he found the row of reflectors on a tree that marked the entrance to the drive leading to the cabin. He stopped and handed Olivia the light. “Shine this ahead of me. I'll walk in front and break trail.” “All right.”

He patted her shoulder. “You okay?”

“Sure.” Every part of her ached from the cold, and she hadn't been able to feel her feet for some time. What if her toes were frozen? Would doctors have to amputate, so that she'd never be able to wear high heels again? What a stupid thing to worry about right now, but she had no control over her random thoughts. D. J. was probably just as cold or colder. After all, he'd given her his coat. They'd be warm soon, she told herself.

She'd imagined a short walk up a snow-covered driveway, but as soon as they stepped off the road, she sank in snow halfway up her thighs. The ground beneath the snow was steep and uneven. D. J. plowed ahead, trying to stomp down the snow and make a path, but she kept slipping and falling.

“Maybe I could carry you,” he said, as he helped her up again.

“Dammit, I can walk!” She struggled to her feet once more, tears freezing on her face.

“Don't cry.” He brushed at the tears. “We're almost there. Don't be afraid.”

“I'm not crying because I'm afraid!” She glared at him.

“Then why are you crying?”

“Because I've been so stupid!” Her voice rose on the last word, a wail in the still night.

D. J. frowned at her. “You're not stupid.”

“I am. I've wasted so much time. When you went away I said I hated you. But I was lying to myself.” The words came in a rush, half speaking, half sobs. She clutched at his arm. “I never stopped loving you, but I was too proud to show it.”

He pulled her close, into his warm embrace. “I know,” he said softly. “And I never stopped loving you. That's why I was willing to wait.”

She closed her eyes and rested her head against his chest. She wanted to stay here like this all night, but, of course, that was impossible. She looked up at him. “D. J., there's something I have to tell you.”

“Shhh.” He put a finger to her lips. “It can wait.” He took her hand and pulled her forward. “We need to keep moving. Let's find a place to get inside and get warm.”

 

Cold. So cold. Jameso's jaw hurt from clenching it against the chattering that shook him. Sharp pain stabbed at his fingers in his thick gloves, and he could no longer feel his toes. Frost hung heavy in his beard and wind-blown snow dusted the shoulders of his coat. He felt heavy and so tired, but he forced himself to keep moving: slide one ski forward, reach out to plant his pole, slide the other ski forward, plant the second pole.

His headlamp sent a thin beam of blue-white light in front of him, showing a world as white as a blank sheet of paper. Fields, walls, and mountains of snow stretched in every direction in disorienting, vertigo-inducing whiteness. Had he reached the top of the pass yet? Had he descended to the other side? The whiteness had stolen his sense of direction, his feeling for up and down. All he could do was keep going. Keep moving.

“At least when we did this before we had sense enough to do it in the daylight.”

He started at the familiar, booming voice, and turned to see a figure skiing alongside him. Like Jameso, the man wore a heavy parka, dusted with snow, and had a knit cap pulled low over his ears and a scarf wrapped around his face. But that voice . . .