Field-Tripped

by Nicole Archer

  It’s like scaling a glacier to get to the top of the run. Proton should have made that the competition.

  Each sled seats four. Sabrina and Avery ride in the middle of ours. I’m steering the ship and Skip’s in the back.

  The rest of our crew is responsible for the push off. Not that we need one on this killer ice. What we really need is brakes. Also, we used a pound of snowboard wax on the bottom. That was before we saw the run.

  I pull on the rope and test the wings on the side. The left doesn’t move.

  “Uh, oh,” Sabrina says. “The glue must have frozen.”

  Avery shakes her head. “If I die, will one of you take care of my kid?”

  Fischer volunteers. “I’ll do it. I love your kid.”

  “Someone other than Sam?”

  He actually looks hurt.

  There’s a minor scuffle on the other team, and Duffy moves to the back, letting Charlie drive. She slides her goggles over her hat and throws the end of her red scarf over one shoulder. She looks like Snoopy about to fight the Red Baron.

  I swallow a chuckle.

  Chin lifted and mouth straight, she gives me a curt nod then hunches over her sled’s reins.

  A rush of adrenaline pumps through me and renders me stupid. I’m still gawking at her when Malcolm waves the flag at the bottom of the hill.

  Suddenly, we’re dashing down the run like a jet ready for takeoff.

  Sabrina’s arms circle my waist so tightly I can barely breathe. The sharp wind dries out my eyes and mouth, which is currently in a wide-open Jack-o’-lantern grin.

  “They’re gaining on us, dude,” Skip cries.

  That’s absolutely ludicrous since we’re moving at a clip of at least fifty miles an hour. We’re on a freaking luge.

  “What do you want me to do?” I shout back.

  “The wings have got to go.” He rips one off and tosses it in Orion’s path.

  They veer into us to avoid it. I rock to the side, desperately trying to avoid a collision.

  A woman screams. Or was that Skip? “Watch out!”

  I didn’t even see what we hit. Later they told me it was a fallen tree trunk buried under the snow.

  The impact tears the bottom out of our sled and my teammates are left in a puff of pink feathers and glitter.

  Meanwhile, I fly over the bump, still clinging to the chicken head, and zoom down the mountain, headed straight for Burt and Art.

  Just before I wipe them out, I let go and do a stunt roll.

  Charlie whizzes past me, sans bobsled, spread-eagle on her stomach, her puffy jacket and snow pants providing zero traction.

  Wildly out of control and laughing like a lunatic, she keeps going and going and going, past the finish line, all the way to the middle of the frozen lake and then stops with a tiny grunt.

  Her dogs fly past us, the three-legged one moving the fastest, and I’m right behind them, the icy snow under my feet shattering like glass.

  The Saint Bernard reaches her first. He grabs her scarf in his mouth and tries to drag her off the ice to safety.

  What he’s really doing is strangling her.

  Every curse word I’ve ever known flies out of my mouth. Swearing is the only thing I can do at this point, to keep her dog from killing her.

  Ten feet from her, my feet slide out from under me and I crash down on my bad knee. I fall so hard it rattles my teeth, and I almost black out.

  Wincing in pain and gripping my knee, I crawl to her dog and try to tear the scarf from his jowls.

  He thinks it’s a game and keeps tugging.

  Legs kicking and flailing, Charlie tears at her neck, her eyes bugged out and face turning blue.

  “Goddammit, let go!” I grab the dog’s tail and yank so hard he yelps and drops the scarf.

  She gasps and wheezes and chokes, tears streaming down her face.

  Still cringing in pain, I slide over to her, unravel her scarf and start performing CPR.

  Her tongue darts up and swirls around mine.

  I jerk back and smile. “You’re alive!”

  She smacks my chest and shoves me. “Get off me, you big lug.”

  “You could have died, if it weren’t for me.”

  Her smile melts. She doesn’t thank me. In fact, she almost looks disappointed.

  She calls for her killer mutt. “Come here, L.L.”

  The dog crawls over to her, his expression full of guilt.

  She kisses his head. “It’s okay. I’m fine. I know you were just trying to help.” From her pocket, she pulls out a strip of bacon and gives it to him.

  He’s all licks and wagging tails after that.

  Where’s my bacon? My knee throbs to the same beat as my pulse.

  “Hey, Bearded Clam,” Burt yells from shore. “My goddaughter okay?”

  I don’t answer him. Instead, I shoot a vicious glare at her. “Goddaughter?”

  Her brows knit together. “You didn’t know that?”

  Rapid-fire breaths shoot out of my nostrils. “No wonder!”

  “He was at the funeral.” Her voice is scratchy and strained.

  A wave of nausea rolls over me. The only thing I remember from that horrible day is Charlie’s blank face and her hand holding mine so tightly my fingers went numb.

  It all makes sense now. That’s why the old bastard has been giving me grief. “Does he know about us?”

  “I don’t think he remembers.”

  “Yeah, I bet. So this whole thing’s just a big joke? Just a rich man’s idea of revenge? Is that why I’m here?”

  “No!” She seems to mull it over for a minute. “I don’t think so. He wouldn’t do that. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know who you are.”

  I try to stand, but my injured knee buckles, and I land back on my ass.

  “Did you hurt yourself? Is that your bad knee? Think you can walk? Hold on. Let me help you.” She stumbles to her feet and holds out her hands.

  Refusing to look weak and helpless, I don’t take them.

  “Elliott.”

  “I’m good.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  I ignore her and bend my knee. It’s on fire.

  “You stubborn ass!”

  All right, that’s it. I’ve had it. “Me? Me! I’m the stubborn ass? You’ve got some nerve, lady.”

  She smirks. “Lady?”

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Me in pain. You probably planned this whole thing.” I pop my jaw and mumble. “Sadist.”

  “What did you say?” Her words come out in little stabs.

  “You heard me. It brings you pleasure, hurting me, doesn’t it? Bet you loved telling me about your little boyfriend after I fucked you in the closet.” I scoff again. “Do you get off on this? Does he know? Is he in on the game? Is everyone out to mind fuck me?”

  A crowd of our coworkers gather at the lake’s edge. Great, now we have an audience.

  “He is not my boyfriend! I don’t want him! What does it matter? It’s over! You left!”

  She’s not referencing my departure from the closet. She’s talking about ten years ago.

  I lower my voice. “I didn’t leave you. I took some time to think.”

  Her gaze smacks me hard. “You didn’t tell me where you went or when you’d be back. You just left.”

  Then I see it, the almost imperceptible tremble of her bottom lip, the tiny clue that she’s hurting too. This isn’t fun for her. It’s causing her as much agony as it is me.

  As if we’re standing in the eye of a hurricane, everything stills. And in that moment, it occurs to me—I’ve never seen her break down. Not even at the funeral. Not when I walked out the door. Not when her boyfriend dumped her in high school, and I took his place at the prom. Not when the jealous girls in her class shunned her for being a tomboy. She probably doesn’t even know how to cry.

  I struggle to my feet and stand in front of her, studying the hidden fragility behind those gold flecks. “I didn’t leave you, Charlie,” I say soft
ly.

  She turns her back to me and lowers her head.

  The desperate need to comfort her claws at me. I tug her pigtail gently. “Charlie. Look at me.”

  She doesn’t move.

  “I didn’t leave you.” What I did was much, much worse.

  “You idiots gonna stand out there all day?” Burt hollers. “You realize you’re on a lake? I’m not fishing your asses out of the ice, if you fall through.”

  I wave him off. Another slice of silence passes between us. “Look, we can’t change the past. But maybe we can…”

  She wipes her eyes and faces me. “What?”

  “Maybe we can, I don’t know, just be…”

  “Be what?”

  “That’s it. Just be.” I can’t even believe I made such a Zen statement, particularly since my mind is nowhere near Zenlandia at the moment. “Let’s not look back or forward. Let’s just stay right here.”

  She sniffles. “On the lake?”

  “I’m speaking metaphorically, asshole.”

  A grin cracks, and it’s like the sun has broken through the clouds. “I know, dickhead. I’m just trying to bring a little levity to the situation.”

  We stand there for a minute longer, reflecting each other’s sad smiles.

  “Here, lean on me.” She offers her bum shoulder.

  I shake my head and sigh. “Aren’t you ever going to get tired of this? The invincible act?” I tip her chin up. “Hmm? What’s it going to take for you to finally admit you’re the one who needs help?”

  As usual, she evades the question, and we hobble across the ice. When we reach the dock, I help her up and she helps me up.

  Then she puts her hands on her hips and squints one hilarious evil eye. “I won, you know.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “You didn’t, but I’m sure your godfather will award you the point regardless. Wait until Skip finds out you’re related to him.”

  Her arm holds me back. “Please, don’t tell him.”

  “Not cool.”

  She rolls her lip under her teeth as if contemplating the next words carefully. “I’m not ready. For you to leave. Not yet.”

  Me, neither. But I’m not willing to admit that out loud. Just like all the other things I’m not going to confess.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Eli Loses A Mom

  Survival Tip: Children need reassuring and comforting, especially if they are lost or in pain.

  Eli’s Mixtape: Jack Johnson, “Love Song #16”

  LATER THAT AFTERNOON, the power comes back on in the lodge. Charlie disappears along with everyone else, presumably to take a nap.

  Taking advantage of her absence, I kick back and read a book in the living room while Burt, Art, and Sam watch the Broncos play.

  Malcolm shuffles out in a smoking jacket and leopard print boxer briefs. There a tissue stuffed up each nostril. He puffs out a coy cough. “I’ve got the consumption.” He waves a tissue in front of his face like a handkerchief and coughs again. “I’m afraid I can’t be your slave today.”

  Burt studies his employee. “You been taking acting lessons?”

  Malcolm rolls his eyes. “Fine. I have a date with a ski bum named Phil. And if you don’t let me go, I’ll die right here.”

  Art snorts. “Where’s Avery’s kid?”

  “The intern has him.”

  Preeti walks out holding Austin’s hand. “It’s fine. I’ll watch him while his mom sleeps.”

  “You best be back to make breakfast. I’m not paying you an outrageous salary, with benefits and health club membership, so you can find the love of your life.”

  Malcolm waves a finger. “Let’s not go there. This is more like a booty call.”

  “Get out of here before I change my mind.”

  At some point, everything goes fuzzy, and I fall asleep. An hour later, I wake up to the sound of Avery’s voice.

  “Has anyone seen Austin?”

  I open one eye. Preeti’s conked out on the other side of the sofa.

  I sit up and scratch my head. “He was here just a second ago.”

  “Who?”

  “Your kid. Preeti was playing with him. He can’t be far.”

  Avery’s nostrils flare slightly. She is not happy. For the next twenty minutes, she tears through the lodge, waking up everyone.

  When she doesn’t find him, her panic-mode turns on full blast. “He’s nowhere. He’s gone.” She yanks on her coat. I do the same. So does Sam, Skip, and the rest of our team. Preeti tries to go with us.

  “No!” Avery snaps. “You stay here. In case he comes back.”

  Burt and Art take off on the snowmobiles to case the area. Half of us search the perimeter of the house—the hot tub, the barn, and the garage.

  The rest of us follow Avery to the lake, stumbling and tripping on the snow, still slick with ice.

  We circle the rim, examining the ice for cracks where he might have fallen in.

  “He’s not here, Ave,” Sam says in a soothing voice. “The only footprints here are from adults.”

  That causes Avery to explode. “Then where is he?”

  Sam grips her shoulders. “Honey, you’re hyperventilating. Take a breath, please.”

  She finally breaks down. “If I lose him, I’ll die. He’s all I have.”

  Sam pulls her in for a hug.

  “We’ll find him, Ave,” I tell her. “He can’t be far. He’s probably hiding.” I run back to the house and check every nook and cranny where a kid could possibly hide.

  I bolt upstairs and pass by Charlie’s room. Her door is cracked, and the dogs are at the foot of the bed. I can’t see them, but I hear their whispers.

  Relief washes over me. She found him.

  Her red boots stick out from the end of the bed. While she whispers to Austin, her toes click together.

  I eavesdrop for a moment.

  “I don’t have a daddy either,” she says.

  “Why not? Did a monster eat him?” he asks. “That’s what happened to mine.”

  “A monster ate your dad?”

  “Yeah, a purple one.”

  “That’s scary. Is that why you’re hiding?”

  “No, I’m playing hide and seek.”

  “Your mommy is very worried,” she says.

  “Why?”

  “She thinks something bad happened.”

  “Like a monster ate me?”

  “Exactly. So you’ve got to come out of there, before she calls the police.”

  “I don’t wanna.”

  I crouch down and lift the covers. “Hey, little man. What are you doing under there?” I can’t see him.

  Charlie points to a tear in the box spring cover. That’s why we didn’t see him before. He’s concealed under the black fabric.

  “I’m hiding,” he whispers.

  “But how will Santa find you when he comes to leave the presents?” I ask.

  That does the trick. The fabric rips, and the toddler tumbles out on top of Charlie. “Ow! That hurt. Uh-oh. Elliott? We’re stuck.”

  I lift the mattress, and they crawl out. “How’d you find him?”

  “The dogs kept messing around under my bed,” she says.

  “Pretty good hiding place, little man.” I lift him over my shoulders, and the kid grabs my hair like reins. “Boy, your mom’s going to be super happy to see you.”

  “Giddyap!” Austin cries.

  I neigh like a horse.

  Charlie flashes me a sparkly smile that warms my center.

  “What?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “You’re awfully cute, stallion.”

  “You hear that, dude?”

  “Boys aren’t cute,” Austin says.

  “Darn right. Let’s go find your mom.” I whinny and gallop down the stairs.

  The reunion is like something out of a Lifetime movie. Avery, blotchy faced and half-crazed, sobs and squeezes her kid. “I’m so happy to see you.” Then she spanks
his butt hard.

  Austin wails.

  “You are in big trouble, little boy.” She raises her hand again.

  Sam grabs her by the wrist. “Okay, he got the point.”

  “I’m going to kill him. Swear to God.”

  Sam chuckles and hauls her up. “How about we take a family dip in the hot tub and relax for a bit?”

  Avery drenches Sam’s shirt with tears.

  She’s not the only one crying. Preeti is also flipping out. She’s in Skip’s arms, and he’s practically cooing in her ear.

  “It’s not your fault,” he tells her. “He’s just being a kid. She’s not mad at you.”

  “Yes, I am!” Avery shouts.

  Sam steers her out of the room. “Okay, get your swimsuit on.”

  I feel the Sullivan burn on the back of my neck. I glance over my shoulder and eye the culprit up and down. “Are you checking out my ass?”

  “Maybe,” Charlie says, then slinks away like an angry kitty, swishing her tail.

  I want to chase after her. But I don’t. I’ve chased after her for far too long.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Eli Goes Hunting

  Survival Tip: To attract a rescue party, start a fire and place it in a triangle.

  Eli’s Mixtape: The Black Keys, “The Girl Is On My Mind”

  PROTON DROPS us off in Breckenridge the next evening for a scavenger hunt. This time, Art splits us into guys and girls teams. Which means I’m working with that tool, Alan, along with the other guys on Orion’s team.

  The town, with its old street lanterns, holiday lights, and quaint buildings, looks like a Hollywood set for a Christmas movie.

  Clydesdales clomp down the street, dragging red sleighs behind them. Vendors sell hot chocolate and roasted cinnamon nuts in sidewalk huts.

  It’s adorable. And for a moment, I think about what it would be like to live here. I could teach snowboard lessons during the winter and be a backpacking guide in the summer.

  Then Jerry Reno’s honking laughter wipes out my daydream, and I turn back to the insidious task of searching for dumb stuff.

  The list Art’s given us is on par with something a church group would do. Find a postcard of the ski area. Buy a bag of roasted chestnuts.