Snowstorm Confessions

by Rachel Lee

  “Crap,” he said.

  She looked up from her soup. “What?”

  “I know I had a concussion. What I’m wondering is if my brain is working right. How can I know?”

  “Well, the usual questions are about what day it is and who is president, and what’s the last news story you read.”

  A half laugh slipped out of him. “That won’t tell me if all the gears are meshing properly.”

  She surprised him with a rare smile. “No, I guess it won’t. Is there something you can think of to do from that bed that would test it?”

  “Actually, yes,” he said. “I just had a stroke of brilliance.”

  She pursed her lips but the amusement remained in her eyes. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. After I’ve had another bowl of this soup, could you bring me my laptop? I could start writing my report. You can tell me if I’m making sense.”

  “How would I know?”

  “You know the English language. That’s a good start. And most of it would be common sense.”

  She tilted her head. “Never once when we were married did you ask me to look at your work.”

  “I know. I thought it would bore you.”

  She frowned faintly. “Really? I thought you just didn’t like to talk about it.”

  “It’s my hobbyhorse. I can talk endlessly about it. You can probably do the same about nursing.”

  “But I never did.”

  It was an admission, he realized. They were both facing what might have been a major failing between them. They hadn’t cemented the bonds between them with day-to-day stuff.

  Before he could say something he probably shouldn’t, he returned to eating. He really didn’t trust his brain right now. He just hoped he’d feel better about it after he started working again.

  In the meantime, analyzing his dead marriage might only lead him down a rabbit hole. How could he be sure about anything?

  After dinner, Bri brought him his laptop. The battery was low, so she plugged it in for him. “Typing is going to be a pain,” she remarked.

  “Typos I can live with. Not knowing if my reasoning still works, I can’t.”

  She astonished him then, laying her hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently. “You’re going to be fine, Luke. Really. Mild concussions aren’t good, but from what Trent said, you should be okay.”

  “I wish I believed that. Maybe my whole problem is spending too much time vegging. I’ve been doped up on pain meds with too much time to think, and not enough to focus on.”

  He saw her bite her lip.

  “I’m not blaming you,” he said swiftly. “But I am running out of steam for talking. Sorry.”

  “It’s all right.” She patted his shoulder and retreated to her chair and book. “Let me know when you want me to look. Or if you need help.”

  The way the inside of his mouth felt right now, he could have chosen not to speak again forever, but he knew it would pass. It was getting better, too, just like the rest of him.

  He called up the notes he’d been keeping on the local site and began an outline of his proposed recommendations. At least he could remember those with reasonable clarity, especially after reviewing his notes.

  He looked up. “Well, at least I can understand my notes.”

  She smiled almost wryly. “Is that unusual?”

  “It could have been, after that head knock.” Then he went to work, feeling his spirits lift for the first time since the accident.

  His ability to work hadn’t been stolen.

  * * *

  Bri, who could still remember the sounds of him working in his home office, thought his typing sounded painfully laborious compared to what it had been, but that could easily be blamed on the cast on his arm, and maybe the aftereffects of his pain pill. She glanced at her watch, surprised that he hadn’t asked for another one. He was well past due.

  But as she looked his way, she recognized the expression of determination on his face. Everything else had faded from his awareness as he focused on his work. This was an important, good step. She bit back a warning not to wear himself out, realizing it was pointless because he wasn’t apt to listen to her. He would do as much as he could, and that was that.

  She returned her attention to the novel she’d spent all week trying to finish, until she heard his typing stop. Raising her head, she saw him frowning.

  “Luke?”

  “I think I’m going to need something for pain again. Using my fingers...”

  She didn’t need him to finish. All those tendons in his arm had been working hard, and there was probably still a lot of internal swelling. “I’ll get you one.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  “I’m sure, but there’s no point in suffering if you don’t have to.”

  “Read first,” he said, waving at his computer.

  She crossed to him and pulled the table close so she could read. Beneath the company’s name and a bunch of boxes all filled out with numbers and names that were meaningless to her, she looked at the paragraph below.

  “Does it make sense?” he asked.

  “Actually, yes. You’re asking them to move a couple of slopes because of the geologic conditions.”

  “Ah...” He sighed audibly, closed his eyes and let his head fall back on the pillow. “My brain still works.”

  “Clearly. Want that pill now?”

  “Let me wait and see.” His gray eyes snapped open.

  “Okay.” She retreated to the safe distance of her chair, because looking into those eyes at too close a distance filled her with yearnings that should have died a long time ago. “Why do you want them to move the slopes? What’s wrong with the geology?”

  “The designers were working from maps and apparently they weren’t very good ones. While it looks pretty on paper, I want to minimize the amount of blasting we’d have to do.”

  “I think everyone would appreciate that.”

  “I’m sure. We’ll inevitably have to do some to prepare parts of the slope, but less is better.”

  “Why do they send you out with a plan if they don’t know it will work? And aren’t you a builder?” She knew he had a degree in geology, but mostly when he spoke of his work, he spoke of the construction.

  “They’re designers, but it’s my job to flesh it out in a way that works for minimal expense. I’m also a site inspector because of my geology training. Usually it encompasses minor matters, but this time, working with these mountains...” He shrugged and fell silent.

  She wondered if his mouth was hurting too much. She hesitated, then asked one last question. “Will they like what you want to do?”

  “Always a question. But I think the plan I intend to lay out will make for more interesting slopes.”

  “Ah.”

  “Plus, these mountains are geologically active. Don’t want to destabilize them.”

  “Could blasting do that?”

  “Who knows how many surface faults might be disturbed? Less is best.”

  Her curiosity had grown to a high pitch, and she wondered why they had never talked about things like this before. Had she appeared uninterested? It was possible, she supposed. She hadn’t thought him interested in her nursing. Then, of course, their time together had been dominated by other things, like actually being together, like the desire that had burned so brightly every single minute. They’d probably spent more time making love than chatting.

  She almost mentioned how little they had talked about their jobs, then decided to let sleeping dogs lie. Bringing up the past wouldn’t change a thing, but it might lead to anger or hurt, or even an argument about whether he had cheated on her.

  It surprised her, though, that three years after their divorce he still wanted her to believe he hadn’t had an affair with Barbara. Why should he care at this point, unless it was a matter of honor with him?

  If it was a matter of honor, though, that might mean... She yanked her thoughts back from that precipice. Thinking about whether he w
as simply too honorable to have cheated on her would leave her a mess all over again. The anguish of their split was not a feeling she wanted to relive. Ever.

  It was odd, though, to look at him in that bed, mostly immobilized, utterly at her mercy. In her mind’s eye, when she thought of him, she always pictured him in motion. He had rarely been still for long, and he’d always made her life exciting when he was at home. Quiet evenings in front of the fire or TV had been rare. He’d always wanted to go somewhere, do something, whether it was a museum, a play or a hike in the woods. So full of vitality and energy.

  Which, she supposed, made his current condition sad, although oddly not one less bit sexy. He must be waging a constant internal struggle to endure his current incapacity, and he was doing a pretty good job of it. She wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d become cranky.

  A few minutes later he lifted his arms and began typing slowly again. Working must feel good. She understood. She was already getting out of sync because they’d given her family-leave time. Luke didn’t demand that much attention. He couldn’t be left on his own yet, but she was far from being as busy as she was used to.

  She almost sighed, but she knew from experience he never ignored her sighs. This was certainly one she didn’t want to have to explain.

  “I’m going to fix dinner,” she announced, rising.

  “I’d offer to help, but...” His expression was at once rueful and humorous.

  “I think this might be easier on my own. You need anything?”

  “A cup of coffee, if that wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

  “You willing to try it hot?”

  She could see him poking around the inside of his mouth with his tongue. “That sounds really good.”

  “No problem. And tonight we might try a little chewing.”

  “Now, that sounds even better.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “Thanks.”

  She smiled back, perhaps too brightly, and went to make a chicken stew. She figured the chicken would soften up enough in the process that it wouldn’t give him too much trouble. Plus, at this point, she wanted to see him put away some vegetables.

  When she brought him his coffee fifteen minutes later, he asked for his cell phone. She had to root around in the bag of personal belongings the hospital had gathered up, but at last she was able to hand it to him.

  He punched one button and a moment later she heard him say, “Hey, Greg, it’s Luke. I’m working on the new proposal for the resort. I’m fine. I finished the survey before I got hurt, so I have my notes to work from. Listen, we have a bit of a problem with the geology....”

  She slipped away and went back to dicing chicken breasts. Even with his appetite she figured she’d have enough stew for a couple of days at least. No point, she’d always thought, in making a stew for one, or for one meal. When she did it for herself, she froze up a lot of single-serving portions. She doubted she’d have to freeze any of this. It would probably get eaten along with the leftover potato soup in next to no time.

  She was standing at the sink washing her chef’s knife when she saw a shadow pass. The afternoon had grown dark with clouds, making it hard to see past the reflections from the kitchen. Curious, she grabbed her jacket and stepped out back to discover who was there. Probably a neighborhood kid.

  It proved to be Jack, however. She found him around the corner headed for the street.

  “Jack?”

  He froze. Then, slowly, he turned. “Hi,” he said.

  “Did you need something? Why didn’t you just knock.”

  He hesitated, looking down at the ground. “Sorry. I didn’t want to bother you. You’re kinda busy and all.”

  “It wouldn’t have been a bother. Is there a problem?”

  “I was just checking to make sure the screening I put over the attic vent was okay. I might need to fix it so you don’t get more raccoons. Or squirrels.”

  “Oh. I thought I heard something up there nearly two weeks ago, but I haven’t heard it since.”

  He nodded and slowly raised his head. “The screen’s peeled back a bit. I’ll come tomorrow and fix it. They can do a lot of damage.”

  “I don’t want them up there defecating, that’s for sure. The disease potential is terrible.” She smiled. “Thanks for taking such good care of me.”

  “You’re a nice lady.” Then he turned and hurried away, leaving her wondering why he made her feel as if she had interrupted something.

  She was walking back to the kitchen when she remembered Luke’s suspicions. She paused, thought about it, then dismissed it. Jack had worked for her on and off for the last two years. There was no reason to think ill of him.

  Other than that he’d roused Luke’s suspicions. Other than that he’d been prowling her yard without knocking to tell her he was there.

  Chapter 5

  On Saturday afternoon, the “Tim and Ted Show” appeared on her front porch. Tim was quite blunt.

  “You haven’t called for help. By now you must need a break. Go out shopping, get a coffee, meet a friend. We’ll take care of the big guy.”

  Luke appeared a bit startled, but the two EMTs had him laughing by the time they’d loaded him into his wheelchair and pushed him toward the bathroom, promising they were going to make him squeaky-clean.

  “Even the hair, man,” Tim said. “That dry shampoo stinks.”

  “Actually it sticks,” Ted chimed in. “Ve haf our vays.”

  Bri took the opportunity to change out the bed the easy way, and throw sheets and blankets and Luke’s clothing into the washer. Laughter still came from the bathroom, so she grabbed her jacket and headed out, determined to bring back a feast to thank Tim and Ted.

  It felt so good to be out and to know that Tim and Ted wouldn’t leave before she got back. She could dawdle if she felt like it, spend some time doing whatever she felt like. She drew deep breaths of chilly air as she walked, then realized she smelled coming snow.

  Really? Again? Was spring ever going to arrive? Sighing, she turned back and got her car. First to the grocery. She needed to restock her pantry and fridge, and most definitely get more coffee. Luke was putting it away as though there was no tomorrow, probably to fight the grogginess from the pain meds. Her knee twinged a few times, letting her know that whether she was right about snow, a change was coming.

  She had a sudden, absurd image of herself hobbling on a cane at ninety telling young whippersnappers that her knee was a more reliable predictor than the weather service. Hah!

  At the store she browsed the deli section. Nothing like the cities had, but it gave her some good choices. Three men to feed, so she picked up two rotisserie chickens. She added cold cuts, figuring that Luke could probably handle them, especially if she served them on thin, soft bread. By the time she finished, her cart was groaning with food and even ice cream. Luke gave her an excuse to indulge, a thought that brought another smile to her face.

  The bakery was next, and Melinda topped her off with cinnamon rolls and fresh but soft bread, and she even caved and bought a baguette with Melinda’s famous crust. Luke could dip it, but she wanted some crunchy garlic bread.

  When she stepped out of the bakery, it became obvious her knee had been right. The temperature had dropped noticeably, the sky had turned leaden gray and snowflakes were flying. So much for stopping for coffee. If she wanted a latte, she’d have to make her own.

  Back at the house, Tim and Ted came racing to help her with the groceries. Inside she found Luke sitting up in his wheelchair.

  “Squeaky-clean,” he announced.

  “I can see that.” Unable to resist for some reason, she reached out and ruffled his still-damp hair. “Looking good.”

  “Smelling better,” he retorted. “Except for the cast. That thing is beginning to reek.”

  “They’ll probably put a better one on on Monday,” Tim said. “The new ones are great. They can even put holes in it so your leg can breathe.”

  “That would be nice. I hope they can wash it f
irst. I didn’t realize how bad I was getting.”

  “Hey,” Bri said with mock indignation, “I’ve been bathing you. Where you would let me, anyway.”

  That sent Tim and Ted off into more laughter. Then they proved they weren’t useless in a kitchen. They helped put everything away, then assisted her in her “feast.”

  They were also duly appreciative. Soon TV tables were set up, Luke’s table had been adjusted so he could use it in the wheelchair, and they filled her living room to the brim. Chicken, steamed broccoli, bread and some gravy from a packet seemed to please everyone.

  Luke, as always, especially enjoyed the bread and gravy. He needed some help cutting the chicken and broccoli into small pieces, but mostly he managed well enough by himself.

  “You’re making quite some progress,” she told Luke as he used his broken arm efficiently.

  “Typing seems to be building it up,” he agreed.

  But not everything was joking. Tim and Ted had questions about the ski resort. Luke answered amicably but Bri wondered how much of it was pure sales pitch. Bringing a business this big to the mountains west of town would also bring changes, changes most of them probably couldn’t imagine right now.

  “There’ll be jobs of all kinds,” Luke answered Tim’s question. “We’ll need everything from ski instructors to ski patrols, to people to deal with avalanche threats. Then there are the jobs within the resorts themselves.”

  “Maids,” Bri commented. “Janitors. Bartenders. Waiters. Not exactly top-of-the-line in income.”

  “Better than they’d make in town,” Luke retorted. “We have standards we want our staff to meet. They’ll be taking care of a lot of high-maintenance customers. We’ll bring in some experienced people, and for a month we’ll have a full training staff, but then mostly local people will take over. And we don’t pay minimum wage. Ever.”

  “Not even for waiters,” she said skeptically.

  “Not even. We’re talking about a four-or five-star type of service and so on.”

  “It sounds too good to be true.”

  “Check out some of our other projects. I promise, people who work at the resort will make more than people holding similar jobs in town.”