The Lifeguard

by Mary Morris

  Though Emily did not believe the story Paul told of the wolf, she did believe about the Indian woman. She had woken during a snowstorm and thought she heard crying. Once she was certain the woman was not far from where she stood, perhaps right outside her window. Emily thought she heard tapping on the glass. She wanted to reach out and touch her.

  ———

  Paul was getting ready to go to work as she pulled in. She could see him in the light of the kitchen, stirring the pot of soup she’d left on the stove. Often she missed him if she stopped to run errands or pick up some food. But tonight he was there. He kissed her on the nose. “You’re cold,” he said.

  Emily almost never saw Paul doing the things that women see their husbands doing. Coming wet out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist. Shaving or fixing the leaky faucet. These things he did after he’d woken from his day’s sleep before she got home. Mostly what she saw him doing, if she saw him doing anything at all, was sleeping. Once at a zoo they’d visited the habitat of nocturnal animals—bats, raccoons, owls. Emily had been amazed by their activity in the dark. “Just like you,” she’d teased.

  She gave him a hug. His salt and pepper hair was combed and he was freshly shaved. He smelled of talc and cologne. “You smell good. You need cologne to make snow?” Her voice was not quite a tease.

  “You never know who you might run into.” He teased her back.

  In the corner she saw a pile of his things. “What’s that?” she asked. There was an old red sweater he’d worn around the house for years. A pair of comfortable boots.

  “Spring cleaning,” he said. “Tossing out the old. Bringing in the new.”

  “It’s still winter.”

  He cupped his hand around her face. “I never get to see your freckles,” he said.

  “I didn’t think you liked my freckles.”

  He kissed her again. “Why would you say that?” Though he was only in his mid-thirties, she noticed that he was getting that weathered, aging look that comes with life on the mountain.

  She looked at the red sweater, the old boots, things he had once been so comfortable in. “You loved that sweater,” she said.

  “The elbow’s torn,” he said, pulling on his snow boots. What Paul wanted, Emily knew, was everything perfect. It was what made him love the mountain. Its unspoiled face at night when he was finished with it. He hesitated to leave even his own tracks. He wanted the house just so as well. The way he cooked, the way he cared for his things.

  But Emily wasn’t perfect. She never knew where to file papers. She let things pile up. She held on to sweaters, socks because she felt cozy in them, never mind the rips and tears. Emily looked at herself in the mirror. Creases were forming in the corners of her eyes as well. She could grab at the soft parts of her flesh. Paul hardly ever saw her in this light. Like the mountain, he saw her in the dark.

  She stared at his back. Suddenly she didn’t want him to leave. “Why don’t you phone in sick. Stay home tonight with me?” she asked, serious now.

  He cocked his head. “I have to work. You know I can’t do that.”

  “Oh, you could, if you really wanted to.” She wondered how long he’d stay in this business. She thought of the children they were planning to have. Would they start skiing at an early age? She and Paul had been trying for a while. She thought they were having trouble because they made love in the morning and then she had to get up and go to work. She’d been told that to make a baby you have to make love at night and then go to sleep.

  He put on his parka and gloves, about to head out into the dark. “Look for me,” he said, pointing outside. “I’ll be up there.”

  Later that night she looked for the beams of the snowmobile as it made its way up the mountain. Like a prehistoric beast, a dragon, spewing fire as it went. But tonight the mountain was dark. She kept thinking she’d see the light, the snow devils, the whorl. But she saw nothing at all.

  Emily drove to base lodge to have lunch with Julie. On weekends Julie managed the pro shop. This had been her first job when she moved up to Magic with René. Emily had found him handsome, but dull and at the same time self-important. A terrible combination. After that Julie had gotten involved with a bodybuilder who had a huge neck. Emily questioned Julie’s taste in men. But as Julie said, “pickings were slim.”

  Julie was behind the counter. Though they saw one another every day at school, it seemed to Emily that in this harsher light Julie looked tired. But still she had those trim hips and legs, not an ounce of flab on her, and her beautiful golden brown hair. Her body was a climber’s body, and Emily always felt, when she admitted this to herself, that she envied Julie her looks. Not that she approved of this envy. It was just something she couldn’t quite help. Emily was smaller, wider, and her brown eyes and hair which people had always called chocolate suddenly seemed ordinary. Julie ate a cheeseburger which dripped from the side of her mouth and a plate of French fries at the Swiss Chalet. Emily had a chef’s salad, but wished she were eating red meat and fries. “I’m thinking,” Emily said, “of asking Paul to go somewhere else. We’ve been here too long.”

  Julie put her sandwich down. “Emily, this winter has been hard on you? What is it?”

  “Paul says he saw a wolf on the mountain,” Emily said softly.

  “Oh, Paul says lots of things.” Julie laughed.

  “I just think we should go elsewhere.”

  “Where? Paul’s got the best job in the business. Where would he go? Vail? Tahoe? He likes it here.”

  Emily leaned forward, anger rising in her voice. “What about me? I’m not that happy. He’s talked about going into resort management. He could start to think about it now.”

  “I wish I had a recording. This happens to you every year. You know Paul won’t change now.” Julie shook her head. “Anyway, it’s just the season that’s getting you down.”

  Julie reached for her coffee. It was white, Emily thought, as snow.

  ———

  Emily watched Paul sleeping. He was so peaceful, curled, a slight smile on his lips, hugging the pillow like a little boy. It was rare that she was home during the day and it was odd to watch the sleeper sleeping. She wondered what she was missing by not being able to sleep beside him. Her mother had slept next to her father every night for the ten years of their marriage. After he died, she said she’d never slept quite right again. There was too much room, she said, and she was always cold.

  Paul seemed happy when he slept, the way she thought children must. She did not sleep like that. She tossed and turned, the bedding twisting around her. In the morning she had to untangle herself. When Paul slept alone, he could just slip out of bed. It was as if no one had been there at all.

  It was snowing and as the day wore on, the snow grew heavier, coming in large, white clumps. It wasn’t even like real snow. It did not stop and Emily sat by the window, reading, but not really reading. She watched Paul and she watched the mountain. She stopped to do a few chores, a load of wash, some dishes, but mostly she watched. A foot or more must have fallen. By late afternoon Emily couldn’t see the mountain. It had blended in to all the other whiteness. It was as if it weren’t there. This made her feel more relaxed.

  When he woke, she’d talk to him. She’d say, “It’s snowed all day. Do you have to go to the mountain?” Why would he have to go if so much snow had fallen? But she knew the answer. Man-made snow was better than the kind that fell from the sky. Natural snow blew away. It fell off the mountain, leaving rocks exposed, jagged objects sticking out. By morning it would be gone. But you could make the man-made snow any way you wanted. You could make a light powder or heavy packing. You could make popcorn or a soft blanket to line the trails where people tended to slide off. The ground was never smooth. It was the snowmaker’s job to cover whatever lay beneath. Everything rough had to be concealed. Sometimes she thought about all the people who worked at night. Why did they call it the graveyard shift? Because that was when the men went to work in the graveya
rds. Or it was the time when the spirits—and the demons—rose. She wondered about other people who got up at dusk and went out in the cold winds of winter—the night watchmen, the editors who put newspapers to bed, the bakers whose day started before dawn, the continuous processing plant workers. What did families do whose husbands or mothers worked the graveyard shift? Did they see one another much? Did they care?

  The snow kept falling and when Paul began to stir, Emily walked over to the bed, sitting down beside him. How could he go to work with all that snow on the mountain? Could he even get to work? Now he turned, stretching like a cat. He reached his arms over his head, then across for her. “How long have you been here?” his voice groggy.

  “All day,” she replied. “I’ve been watching you sleep.”

  “All day?” he asked. “What do you mean?”

  She shrugged. “It’s been snowing since I got back from lunch.” She curled against his chest. “More than a foot has fallen.” He patted her head and kissed her.

  “Don’t go,” she whispered. “Stay with me.”

  He pulled away. “Emily, we’ve been over this a thousand times. This is what I do. You knew that when you married me. Maybe you could get a job at night.”

  “As a cocktail waitress?” Emily asked.

  Paul shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “You could go into management.”

  “I could, but I’m happy outside at night. On the mountain.”

  “Happier than here with me.”

  He sighed. “It’s like this in winter. You always forget.” He got out of bed and put on a pot of coffee. He put some soup on the stove as well and took out a loaf of bread for his supper.

  “If you didn’t go this once,” she asked, following him, “would it make that big a difference? Would it be such a problem just this one time?”

  “Someone could get hurt,” he said.

  “Yes,” she replied, “someone could.”

  When she was not working, Emily drove. She drove into town to buy things she didn’t need for meals she wouldn’t cook. She drove around the mountain. She paused at vistas, studied views. Everything was so white and the whiteness hurt her eyes.

  One day she drove to the gym where Julie was working out. She went up to her friend who was sweating at the stationary bike and said, “I’m sorry to bother you, but I have to talk.” Julie paused in front of Emily in her workout suit of turquoise Spandex, her honey-colored hair tumbling down her shoulders. Julie said she’d get dressed and meet her at Mulligan’s in half an hour.

  They sat beside the fire and ordered Irish coffees. “You must think I’m crazy,” Emily said. She didn’t know where to begin. “I have to ask you something, but please don’t tell anyone. Do you promise?” Julie promised. “I need to know,” she said. “I need to know where Paul is going on the nights when he says he’s working.”

  Julie opened her eyes wide. “Emily, he doesn’t go anywhere.” She reached across to hold Emily’s hand. “He’s on the mountain or he’s at the office. He’s crazy about you. You’re all he ever talks about.”

  “When do you talk to him?”

  “Whenever I run into him,” Julie sputtered. “Sometimes I see him coming to work on the weekends. It’s always Emily this, Emily that.”

  Emily nodded, watching Julie as she spoke. “Is he seeing another woman?” Emily asked. “I’m sorry to ask you this, but we’ve been friends for a long time and I’ve got to know.”

  “You’re alone too much,” Julie said. “I know how that can be. I’ve been alone a bit too much myself lately. Why don’t we go out? Go to a movie next week?”

  Emily agreed, wondering what was the matter with her.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I do need to get out more.”

  ———

  That night it snowed again. A thick blanket fell in the blue light of the moon. Emily had a dream that woke her. The patter of feet dancing through the house. Snowballs hitting the windows. Children beckoning her to follow them into the woods where no trails went. She chased after them, her legs going deeper and deeper into the snow, following red mittens waving until they disappeared over a ridge.

  When she woke, she looked outside. It was pure white, the kind of white that frightened her, with no sign of snow devils or the light of the snowmobile. She put on her parka and her boots and got into the car and drove. Her car skidded as she made her way down the hill and she almost went into the ditch. But she pulled out and kept driving. She drove until she came to the road that led up the mountain. She could barely see it through the snow. It was so thick, coming down in big flakes. Could Paul really be up there now? Freezing? Making his way down? When she found him, she’d tell him that she could not go on.

  As she wended her way up the mountain road, she saw lights, a brightly lit building by the side of the road. It was the Lift, the tavern at base lodge that stayed open until very late. Paul’s pickup was parked in front. Emily pulled up and got out. She stood in the doorway of the warm bar, lit with Christmas lights. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the light.

  The snowmakers—Paul and his crew—sat at a round table, nursing beers. Froth was on their mustaches and they were laughing about something on the overhead TV. Julie was sitting with them in a green ski suit, though the mountain had been closed for hours. Julie saw her and waved, but Emily just stood there. “Emily,” Julie called. “Come join us.” She got up to greet her, but Emily turned and walked out into the cold. She heard the sound of feet shuffling. She knew Paul was coming after her. She could hear him calling, racing behind her, but she ran.

  There was a trail behind the tavern, heading up to base lodge, and she turned and ran up it. Then she began dodging on to other trails, moving deeper and deeper into the woods. Paul’s voice called to her, but soon it drifted away. It was dark on the trail and she hoped no one could see her footprints. At first she ran, but then she stopped. It was so quiet and the air smelled so fresh. She walked into the woods and she saw how nice it was to be alone on the mountain in the dark. She liked the dark suddenly. The sound of only the wind through the trees. She could see why Paul liked it here. She meandered through the woods, her arms brushing against pines that made snow cascade on her head.

  For a long time she walked and then she saw the light of the Lift tavern. She had made a circle. When she got back to the tavern, it was closed and all the trucks were gone. Her toes and fingers were cold, but she didn’t mind. She got into her car and headed home. As she drove up the driveway she saw that Paul’s pickup was already there. He sat with his feet on the dining room table as she walked in. “What was that?” he demanded. “What’s the matter with you?” His face was red and she knew he’d been outside for a long time. “I’ve been looking for you half the night.”

  “You’re seeing Julie,” she shouted, “aren’t you? You’re seeing my friend.”

  Paul shook his head. “We were on a break. She’s dating one of the guys from the crew.”

  “Don’t you think I’d know if she was dating one of the guys? Don’t you think she’d tell me?”

  He looked shocked. “Emily, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know what’s on your mind.”

  “You’re never here.” Tears welled in her eyes. “You’re never home.”

  “I work at night. I come home in the morning. Ask the boys. They’ll tell you.”

  “I’m asking you,” she shouted. She was shivering now. Her whole body shaking. “It’s freezing in here,” she said. She rubbed her arms. “I can’t get warm.” He pulled her close to the fire and helped her take off her things.

  The next day more snow fell and Emily lay in bed, trembling. Paul decided to stay home. He brought her soup and tea. His crew would take care of the mountain. He stayed at her side, but he gazed out the window. Rising at times, he went to the window and tapped, like a moth in a jar. She watched as his eyes scanned the mountain for imperfections, flaws, a mistake he might be able to spot from afar. An a
ccident about to happen.

  That night the snow stopped and there was a thaw. A meteorological phenomenon that rarely happened in January. There might be a false spring in February, but not January. The temperature rose to forty, fifty. Paul grew nervous, pacing. He wanted the mountain monitored carefully. He told Emily as she lay feverish that it was as if he could hear it ache, break apart. But he didn’t go to work that day or the next. He stayed at her side.

  Her fever was high and she was aware of him, hovering beside her, touching her head, then going to the window, just as she had done when she watched him sleep, then returning to her side. He brought her trays with hot drinks. Then she’d hear his voice on the phone. They should lay powder, he told someone. Lots of it. They should look for cracks in the thick deposits along the ridges. They should pack the trails, but not the sides.

  But on Monday there was an avalanche. A small one, but still tons of snow had toppled off the southern face. No one was killed, but a member of the ski patrol had a leg crushed as he stood with an entire ski class—twenty teenagers just a few feet away.

  Paul was shaken. “Emily,” he said, “I don’t want to leave you, but there’s been an accident, not a serious one, but an accident. I’m going to the mountain. Will you be all right? Can you be here without me?” He touched her forehead. Her fever had broken. She nodded. She would be all right. She felt bad about the accident. She felt bad about everything. Somehow everything seemed to be her fault. “I’m sorry,” she said, nestling her face against his hand. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  Paul kissed her on the brow. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he whispered into her ear. “You’re alone too much. You need to get out more. We need more time together. I’ll call you later.”

  She wrapped her arms around him. “You’re right,” she said. “We need more time together. And I should get out more.”

  “Things will be better,” he told her. “I promise. Here,” he said, “I made you some coffee.”