“Fair enough,” Rod said. He wandered away.
I finished my breakfast, got my gear together and hit the slopes alone. I stayed out all morning. When I finally quit for lunch, Rod was pulling up in front of the chalet. I planted my skis and poles in the snow and hurried over to his truck.
“Grandma!”
Rod had the front passenger door open and was helping her out. She was on crutches, and her face was pale.
“Are you okay, Grandma?”
“Just fine, dear,” she said. Her smile was pinched, and there were two little lines cutting into the skin above the bridge of her nose. I knew what that meant.
“You have a headache, don’t you, Grandma?”
“Maybe a little. Help me, will you, Rennie?”
I slung the strap of her purse over my shoulder while she positioned her crutches. I steadied her on her feet and stayed close to her as she navigated the path that led to the front door. There was no elevator in the chalet, which meant she had to hobble up the stairs as best she could on her crutches. She made slow progress and apologized for that.
“I’ll get better on these things. I have to. The doctor says I’m going to be on them for six weeks at least. After that, he says I’ll have to do physio.”
When we got to her room, I tried to steer her to the bed. She refused to go.
“I am not intending to spend my vacation in bed.” She made her way instead to a big armchair near the window. “I just need to rest and let this headache pass. Rennie, be a sweetie, will you, and see if you can scare me up a cup of tea. No milk. A slice of lemon would be perfect.”
As if she needed to tell me. I’d been making tea for Grandma since I was five years old. Whenever she’d come to visit, she and Mom had drunk pots of the stuff while they sat at the kitchen table and caught up on each other’s lives—and mine. I ran downstairs.
The dining room was deserted. I went to the kitchen door and peeked through the small round window in it. Annie was inside, a white cap on her head like the ones doctors wear when they go into surgery. She was wearing huge rubber gloves that looked like the gauntlets knights in olden times used to wear, except that these were bright yellow and were made of rubber or plastic or something. She was also wearing a huge apron that wrapped almost twice around her slim body and hung almost to her ankles. She turned when I nudged open the door.
“Rennie!” She smiled before glancing around nervously. “You shouldn’t be in here. Gaston will freak if he finds a civilian in his kitchen.”
“Civilian?” She had to be kidding.
“That’s what Gaston calls non-staff. He runs the kitchen like it’s an army and he’s the general. Or like he’s a dictator and we’re his minions.”
“That doesn’t scare me.” How could it? I lived with the Major. “My grandma just got back from the hospital. She wants a cup of tea.”
Annie peeled off her gloves and went to a small cupboard. When she opened it, I saw that it held a wide assortment of teas.
“What kind does she like?”
“Do you have Earl Grey?”
She held up a packet, waved it triumphantly and flashed me another smile. She bustled around to find a small teapot, a cup and saucer, some sugar and milk.
“She doesn’t take milk. She takes lemon,” I said.
“No problem.” She put back the milk, traversed the kitchen to a huge refrigerator and produced a lemon. She cut a few thin slices and arranged them on a saucer. She filled the teapot with boiling water and set everything on a tray for me. She added a small plate of cookies. “Gaston bakes them fresh every day.” She stole a glance at me while she folded a paper napkin into a swan shape and set it beside the teacup. “I saw you last night, Rennie.”
Aw, geez. It was like she’d thrown the switch to start my furnace. My face began to feel hot. Then hotter. If there was one thing I could change about myself—besides what happened to my mother—it would be the way I turn red in the face around certain people. Girl people. It was only ever with girls. With guys—with the Major, for example—I had no problem. But girls? Hello, Tomato Face.
“You don’t like Derek, do you?” Annie asked.
“I don’t like being treated like a kid.”
“I don’t blame you. I know he acts like a know-it-all sometimes. But he’s a nice guy once you get to know him.”
Judging from last night, she was getting to know him really well.
We didn’t get the chance to discuss Derek’s good points because the door to the kitchen swung open, and Rod was standing there.
“Here she is,” he announced to the man who was with him, a somber-faced, dark-skinned man wearing an overcoat over a business suit. He had polished city shoes on his feet instead of boots.
“Uncle Raj.” There was no joy in Annie’s voice. If anything, she seemed stunned by his presence. “You didn’t tell me you were coming for a visit.”
“Alas, I did not have time.” Raj turned to Rod. “I see that my niece is working, but I wonder if you would allow me to steal her away for a few minutes. There is some important family news that I must convey to her.”
“No problem. Come on, Rennie. Let’s give Annie and her uncle some privacy.”
Rod held the door for me so that I could get through with the tray Annie had prepared for Grandma. He headed back to do whatever the owner of a ski resort did all day. I stayed by the door just long enough to hear Raj tell Annie that her gran was very sick and that her dying wish was to see her darling granddaughter again before she died.
I wondered how Annie was handling the news and how close she was to her gran. If someone told me my grandma was dying, I’d be a mess. I’d probably go out and break stuff. I didn’t think Annie would do anything so dumb, but she was probably sad. I wanted to stick around and talk to her after her uncle left. But I had Grandma’s tea, and it wasn’t going to stay hot forever.
Grandma was sitting where I’d left her. Her eyes were closed, but they opened when I came into the room, and she managed a weak little smile.
“Ah,” she said. “Is that Earl Grey I smell? I knew I could count on you, Rennie.”
I pulled over a small table and set down the tray. I poured her tea, added a slice of lemon and handed it to her. She blew on it and took a tentative sip.
“Oh, that’s wonderful. And cookies! Have one, dear.” She held out the plate, and I took one. It was delicious, and not just because I was so hungry that a burger at Mickey Dee’s would have tasted like a slice of heaven right about then. “I’m just going to sit here and drink my tea and wait for my headache to dissipate. I swear I wouldn’t even have it if it hadn’t been for that obnoxious man who drove back with us.”
“He’s Annie’s uncle.”
Grandma frowned. “Annie?”
“A girl who works in the kitchen.”
“Indeed?” Grandma looked me over the way a cop eyeballs a group of kids lurking in the shadows even if they aren’t doing anything wrong. “Well,” she said, “I hope she has better social skills than her uncle does. That man went on and on about some business venture of his. He had the nerve to question me about my investments! Can you imagine? A complete stranger. I’m pretty sure he wanted me to invest in his business. If you ask me, he sounded rather desperate.” She shuddered. “I hope I don’t run into him again.”
“You probably won’t,” I said. “He came to take Annie home. Her grandma is sick and wants to see her.”
“You seem to know quite a lot about this Annie.” Grandma sipped her tea thoughtfully.
My stomach growled like a tiger two days overdue for dinner.
“I have to get something to eat, Grandma.” Even if I grabbed the plate of cookies from her and wolfed down the rest of them, I would still be hungry. I needed something substantial. And at this time of day, the only place open around here was the snack bar. “I’ll be back in a little while, Grandma. Okay?”
“You run along,” Grandma said. “Have some fun. Don’t worry about me. I nee
d to get some rest. But we’ll have supper together. I promise.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to go home, Grandma?”
“I’m positive. I brought you here for a good time, and, I must say, you seem to be having one. I wouldn’t think of leaving now. Come and give me a kiss before you go.”
I did. I’m not a huggy-kissy kind of person. But with Grandma—and Grand-mère—no problem, and I don’t care what anyone thinks.
* * *
I got a hot dog and some fries at the snack bar. The sky was the kind of clear blue that was so deep and so, well, blue that you couldn’t help but wonder at it. It made me feel good to look at it and to feel the sun on my face even though I was surrounded by mountains of snow. All of a sudden I was glad to be here and eager to get back onto the slopes. I wasn’t the only one with the same feelings and the same idea. There was a lineup at the lifts, and I ended up sharing my ride with a twelve-year-old whose parents took him skiing every winter. The kid talked with a funny accent and went to some school in Boston whose name I was supposed to recognize but didn’t. I knew from the way he looked at me when he told me the name that it was a big deal and I was supposed to be impressed. It was like Annie telling me she’d been accepted to Harvard, except that when Annie said it, she hadn’t been boasting. But this kid? Yeah, he was definitely going for the gusto. So I looked at him like he was a bug, like if you get too annoying, I’ll squash you. The kid hadn’t hit his major growth spurt yet. I had. He shut up.
Skiing with someone was great. I wished that Grandma hadn’t broken her ankle and that Annie wasn’t going with Derek. Yeah, I knew she was older than me. I got that. But she was fun to be around, and she didn’t treat me like I was a pain in the ass the way Derek did.
But skiing alone also had its good points. A guy could think when he was out there by himself. He could get away from everything that was driving him crazy. He didn’t have to listen to anyone telling him, That’s not the way you do it, you’re not trying, Rennie, you have the brains, I know they’re in there somewhere, but you have to apply yourself, osti!
I didn’t head back to the chalet until my stomach was growling again like a grizzly just out of hibernation. I checked in with Grandma, who was wide awake and had more color in her face.
“I just need a quick shower,” I told her.
I stripped down in my own room and stayed longer than I should have in the shower because the jet of hot water came out with five times as much force as the water back home, where a shower was more like a drizzle of warm spit. I was getting dressed when I heard the voices outside. One of them was Annie’s, which was why I went to the window to take a look. Annie was down there, all right. So was her uncle. They were arguing. Call me an eavesdropper, but I cracked my window so I could listen in.
“I am forbidding it,” Raj was saying. Apparently, he didn’t care who heard him. “It is enough! You should have come home when your father died. I don’t know why I let your grandmother talk me out of it. A girl your age, you belong with your family and certainly not washing dishes in this…this—”
“It’s a resort, Uncle Raj.” Annie’s voice was calm. If anything, she sounded like she was enjoying his temper tantrum. See? Another reason to like her.
“You are coming home. Now.”
She laughed. “I’m supposed to be in the kitchen working now.”
“Your grandmother would be so ashamed.”
“No, she wouldn’t. Gran is happy for me. She told me I’d make a great doctor. She wants me to stay here and go to school, Uncle Raj. And you know it.”
“You can go to school in India.”
Annie shook her head. “I have to get back to work, Uncle Raj. I’m glad to see you, but I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing. I’m not going back with you. Gran will understand. She wants this for me. I know she does.”
With that she spun around and disappeared into the kitchen,
I started to close the window but paused when I heard Raj’s voice again.
“No, not yet,” he said. I snuck another look. He was speaking into a cell phone. “But she will. One way or another, I’ll make sure she will.” Then silence. When I looked again, he was gone.
“Rennie, are you ready?” Grandma called from the other room.
I pulled on a T-shirt, shoved my feet into my sneakers and went to fetch Grandma.
EIGHT
So there I was, up in the Sierra Nevadas instead of in school, with my grandmother instead of the Major, and with virtually no supervision now that Grandma was confined to crutches and spending her days either at the window in her room or down in the lounge, being fussed over regularly by old Rod. I could do whatever I wanted. Sweet, right?
Pretty much.
I skied all day. I tried every run. I loved that I felt the burn in my quads and my glutes at the end of the day. I went as far as I could without straying out-of-bounds, and then I stood there wondering what it would be like to be over there in the forbidden zone, where anything could happen. Derek did it all the time. He traveled the backcountry, and he guided people through it. He’d never lost anyone to an avalanche, although, according to Annie, he’d rescued a couple of people over the years. I wondered what Derek felt like when he was out there.
When I finished skiing for the day, I stood under the hottest shower I could stand for as long as I could stand it, and I felt better than I had felt in a long time. Being alone, no one nagging at me, no one telling me what to do all the time, getting out there instead of being chained to a desk or swabbing the barracks, as the Major liked to say. Just me and the slopes and the sun on my face and all the time in the world. At least, it seemed that way at the time. Even Grandma noticed.
“Perhaps I should break an ankle more often, dear. It seems to agree with you,” she said when I met her in the lounge so that we could go into the dining room together. “I haven’t seen you look so relaxed in a long time, Rennie. Are you having a good time?”
“I am.” It was kind of a surprise how great I felt. “I really am, Grandma.”
We took a table near the window so we could look out at the snow that had started to fall only an hour earlier. The flakes were so large and lacy, and the night so calm, that the snow seemed to drift in slow motion to the ground. It gathered on the pine and fir trees outside, turning the chalet property into what my mom would have called a Christmas-card scene. I ordered a Coke, Grandma ordered a glass of wine, and we studied the menu.
Grandma closed hers first. Even though I was starving—I seemed to be starving all the time up here—I couldn’t decide between the chicken and the steak, both of which came with frites. I didn’t know if Gaston made them himself or if some sous chef did, but they were the best frites I’ve ever had.
“Oh no,” Grandma said suddenly. She grabbed her menu, opened it again and started reading it out loud to me.
“Ah, Mrs. Cole,” a familiar voice said. It was Annie’s uncle Raj. “It is so good to see a friendly face among all these strangers.” He beamed at Grandma.
“Oh, it’s you, Mr. Choudhry.” Grandma’s smile was tight, as if it hurt her to even attempt it.
“And this must be the grandson you told me about.” He turned to me and flashed his pearly white teeth.
“This is Rennie,” Grandma said. “Rennie, this is Mr. Choudhry.”
We shook hands. Grandma looked down at her menu. But Raj made no move to go away. He hovered by the table.
“Seeing people together like this, it makes me miss my family. I am not often away from them,” he said. “You are very fortunate to have such a fine grandson, Mrs. Cole. You are very fortunate to be able to dine with him, whereas here I am having to dine alone while my late brother-in-law’s daughter washes dishes in the kitchen. My dear brother-in-law would be horrified to know that she was doing such a thing.” He looked around wistfully before smiling at Grandma again.
A waitress appeared.
“Oh,” she said to Mr. Choudhry. “Are you all together?
I’ll fetch another menu.”
Grandma opened her mouth to protest, but for some reason—maybe she felt sorry for Raj—she merely said, “And another place setting. Would you care to join us, Mr. Choudhry?”
“So kind of you,” Raj said. “So generous. Yes, thank you. Thank you.”
He sat and eagerly studied the menu the waitress handed him.
Raj turned out to be a big talker. He talked about his wife back home and his two daughters, both married to good husbands at great expense to himself. He talked about the sadness that had driven his father to an early grave. Raj was one of three brothers, but he was the only one who was still alive. His other brothers had died a long time ago. Raj had been raising one brother’s only son. He was also responsible for his wife’s niece Annie.
“I hear you came to take her home,” Grandma said. It was the first chance she’d had to get in a word.
Yes, yes, that was certainly his plan, Raj said. But girls these days, especially North American girls, well, they were simply impossible. He loved his brother-in-law, he told us. But the way he had raised his daughter? It was wrong. So wrong. And now here she was, doing menial labor like a servant and refusing to go back home to see her grandmother one last time. “Why is it that you Americans raise your children to be so selfish?” he asked.
“Well, as a Canadian, I’m sure I don’t know,” Grandma said. She got prickly about her citizenship.
“So you are as mystified as I am,” Raj said. “Young people here are so selfish. They place their duty to their families below their own desires and those of their friends. That is not the way I was raised. I was raised to respect my elders. I knew that my parents knew best. Did they not raise me? Did they not, above anyone else, have my best interests at heart? Do parents not know their children’s characters better than they do themselves? Do they not know what their children need in order to succeed?”
He went on and on, like a toy with a fresh battery and no Off switch. Even I was glad when Rod stopped by to say hello and Grandma asked him to “join us, please, Rod.” The please sounded desperate to me. Maybe Rod noticed. Maybe that’s why he didn’t hesitate to pull up a chair and sit down on Grandma’s free side.
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