No matter what, it meant he’d survived.
I slid on the parka, lifted the collar, smelled it again, and dove my hands in its pockets. In the other pocket was something pencil-shaped. I pulled out the white bone tool he’d used to draw our picture.
“You all right?” Gage stood in the open doorway.
“When did you find it?” I said.
“Night before last.” He leaned against the doorjamb, silhouetted by the bright light outside. He was taller, yet how he held himself was totally Súmáí. As he stepped to me, I let myself see the hurt in his face, and I forced myself not to step back. He reached out, took a lock of my cut hair, and rubbed it between his fingers. I pressed my forehead to his chest, and he hugged me.
We’d made out plenty of times in our year together, but we’d never really hugged. Now, the way he held me was so like Súmáí, it sent a tear straightlining down my cheek.
We pulled apart, looked at one another, and laughed, a little embarrassed. I pulled off his hat, slipped his hair behind his ear, and ran my finger over its tip.
Me + my ski-patrol family = 8, but Súmáí + Gage + me = ∞.
Inside felt confined, so I led Gage onto the deck. I leaned on the rail and he leaned beside me, our arms touching. I traced my scar necklace as I peered to my right, down the valley to Emerald West, where Mom and Dad had said their vows. Beyond, to the barely discernible highway where she’d died. To the spot nearby, where Súmáí’s people had wintered for eons and his brother had been killed. I scanned Platinum and Gold Bowls and saw Mom reading to a different me on a blanket, Mom as a bear on the edge of Always. I held the bone tool Súmáí had used to draw us, pictured our drawing in the Silver Bowl drainage, and felt the line where my arm that had broken against the spruce met Gage’s. Everything seemed to lift and swirl on the air around me—my past, my present, my future, and places there weren’t words or equations for. Yet.
“Someday,” I said, and sent my promise into that crowded air.
Glossary of Ute Names
Súmáí—to remember
Chief Úwápaa—rainwater
Túwámúpǘch—nighthawk
Mú’ú’nap—windmaker
Panákwas—lightning
Acknowledgments
There are many people to thank in the making of this book. Oliver Compton for explaining Calculus, and Steve Gordon for checking my Spanish. I worship World Science University (http://www.worldscienceu.com) for their fascinating and accessible courses on math and science. Huge thanks to Goldin Wall and his family at the Ute Mountain Ute Reservation for their critical help with, and perspective on, Ute culture and history. Thanks also to the Native American Cultural Center at Colorado State University.
My Beaver Creek Ski and Snowboard School bosses, Mike Blakslee and Pete Petrovski: I have such gratitude for your kindness and grace when I had time constraints, and for allowing me the space to pull this whole book together. Nicole Magistro of The Bookworm of Edwards, you always remind me that a writer cannot exist only in her tunnel of imagination. Credit to my trusty readers Sue Staats, Liza Alrick, and Rick Attig. Praise to Brian Farrey-Latz and Sandy Sullivan for excellent editing of the highest standard. Secret Agent Bri: not sure what I’d do without you. As always, thanks to Ross and Sydney—my first readers, sounding boards, bullshit filters, and fellow geeks.
About the Author
Heather Sappenfield’s first novel, The View From Who I Was, was published in 2015. Her short stories have won numerous awards and finalist positions, most notably the Danahy Fiction Prize and the Flannery O’Connor Award. She has also received a Pushcart Nomination.
Heather lives in Vail, Colorado, with her husband and daughter. In her spare time, she loves to ski, trail run, bike, or watch her daughter play soccer. Visit her online at www.heathersappenfield.com.
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