It was eleven p.m. and the line at the coat check was backed up, the club going strong with no sign of slowing. After hanging up what was possibly the world’s largest and weightiest raccoon coat, the possession of an equally large male Texan wearing a Stetson, I came up for air to find myself staring into the pair of mismatched eyes I’d stared into on more than one occasion in the preceding week.
‘Hello, Dr Larsen. Almost didn’t recognize you out of the emergency room.’
‘I might say the same for you,’ he countered. His sand-colored hair was dusted with melting white and he swept the errant strands from his forehead before fixing his wire frames upon his nose. He seemed almost embarrassed to see me. Maybe it was because there was a young blond standing beside him, her skin only slightly less wrinkled than a baby’s bottom, her figure so thin I wondered if they’d met at the hospital’s eating-disorder clinic. Or maybe he was embarrassed to see me standing in servitude behind the half-opened door of the cloakroom. He managed a toothy smile and handed over a couple of down-filled jackets. They were still wet with snow. I shook them off and handed him a ticket.
‘My daughter,’ he said unconvincingly, giving the blond a nod before disappearing into the crowd.
It was nearing one o’clock and people were already queuing up to retrieve their coats. I was working as quickly as possible, deftly palming the larger paper tips into my pants pockets so as not to deter anyone’s generosity by exhibiting fifties and hundreds in the tip jar. The raccoon coat had just been hefted over to the Texan and was rewarded with a twenty when Dr Larsen presented himself again. The blond was standing off to the side looking bored. He handed me his claim check and I retrieved their two coats. He smiled at me and pushed two singles into the tip jar. Guess they don’t pay doctors much in Aspen.
‘You’re leaving early,’ I teased. ‘You know there’s still another hour before the lights come on.’
‘I live in Basalt. It’s a long drive in the snow. You think a doctor can afford to live in Aspen? She isn’t really my daughter,’ he added, nodding in the direction of the anorexic blond. She was engaged in conversation with a far more age-appropriate guy who had approached her while her ‘father’ was getting her coat. ‘She’s the daughter of a friend from New York and I promised to show her around. She’s not staying with me.’
I had no idea why he shared that with me. It sounded like he was trying to justify being with the blond. I mean, he’s a good doctor and he’d been very good to me, but his personal business was none of mine. Even if I had felt a momentary glow upon his earlier appearance at my coat check.
‘That, Doctor, is more information than I require,’ I said.
His eyes brushed me with undue familiarity before asking straight out of left field, ‘Are you working tomorrow?’
‘I never work Sundays. Works out better with this shift.’
‘Can I buy you lunch?’ he asked.
I swear I did a double take. For one, I don’t do lunch. If you go out to lunch it means you’re not skiing. Going out to lunch is something to be avoided at all costs. Besides, in my mind lunch is for wimps. Lunch is mini Snickers on the gondola. For two, in case he didn’t notice, it was snowing like nuclear winter outside which meant tomorrow would be a radical powder day. Making the odds less than zero to none that anyone would find me sitting in a restaurant at the noon hour.
‘Only if it’s on a mountain.’ My words were meant to make it clear that I would be skiing. Instead he took it as an invitation. Without intending to, I had actually given him an option. Which he jumped right on top of.
‘Done,’ he said. ‘Where are we skiing?’
Oh my God. What had happened here? The last week had been stressful enough without having to tour guide someone I barely knew on my day off. Plus I had no idea how he skied. I had my own routine and it didn’t allow for anything but steep and deep. I was going to explain to him that ‘we weren’t skiing’, but then upon giving it further thought, he had been pretty righteous toward me at the hospital. He had practically saved my life twice and kicked Neverman out of my room when he was bullying me, so I kind of owed him. But it felt like a date and the last thing – really the last thing – on my mind was having anything to do with a man in a romantic manner or otherwise. The loss of Warren was still so fresh.
‘I ski Snowmass on Sundays. But I start early. I like to be at Base Village by eight,’ I said, hoping to shake him off with the early wake-up. ‘I’m sure you’d rather get some sleep.’
There was a glimmer of hesitation in his eyes as he did the math. It was one a.m. which meant he wouldn’t be home in Basalt eighteen miles down the road until around two, considering all the snow on the roads. Then he’d have to be up by six thirty to make Snowmass by eight, which translated to only four and a half hours’ sleep. Then again, I’d forgotten I was dealing with a doctor. Sleep deprivation was in the job description.
‘See you in seven hours,’ he said. Interrupting her conversation with the young dude, he took the young blond by the elbow and left.
FOURTEEN
It was just past two in the morning when I pulled off the highway towards home. The highway had been plowed, but the service the sole other residence on the street and I employed had yet to arrive, so the road was filled with snowdrifts, the type of situation that inspires happiness in mountain girls like me and sends city people running inside to avoid the apocalypse.
The Wagoneer with its studded snow tires was up to the task of the deep snow, and I loved driving in it. There was something calming about the headlights cutting through the falling flakes, both insulating and blinding at the same time. I hadn’t driven far when I realized my tires were lining up in the tracks of another vehicle, meaning someone had travelled down the road not long before me. Which seemed peculiar. My only neighbors, the Greenes, were halfway down the road and kept pretty much to themselves. They seldom went out and seldom had visitors to their log cabin.
Like Sam, Ellie and Don Greene were longtime Aspenites dating back to the sixties. But there had been a rift between them some thirty years before over land usage or water rights or electricity – Sam couldn’t seem to remember which or didn’t want to. He had just characterized them as impossible to deal with. I’d sort of let things ride after his death and hadn’t taken the time to try and get close to them. Smiled and waved whenever I saw one of them on the road, but that was about it.
The Greenes and Sam had come to terms on plowing and phone lines, however, and after Sam died, I just continued paying his share as before, never questioning the arrangement. Story was they’d owned a popular restaurant that had been fairly successful until the landlord chased them out with ridiculously high rents in the nineties. They’d retired to their cabin and didn’t stick their heads out much except to take a walk in the forest or go into town for supplies. Though the house was dark, I could tell they were home, because even at this late hour there was a mild scent of wood burning, probably the last embers of their nightly fire.
I chastised myself for not being more outgoing and starting some kind of relationship with them. After all, with Sam gone two years and only two homes on a road … I mean it’s time to get over it, right? I promised myself to get closer to them this spring.
As I drove past their place the road angled to the right towards the A-frame, and my heart rate ticked up upon the realization that I was still driving in the ruts of someone else’s tire tracks. I exercised the thought that they might be my tracks from when I left for the Bug earlier, but at the rate the snow was coming down my tracks would have been long filled. The peace of mind I’d enjoyed only minutes before ceased to exist. I toyed with turning around and going to Judy’s, but then chastised myself again for being a chicken.
I followed the curve of the road until my headlights illuminated the front of the A-frame. There was no vehicle parked in front. The one that had come up the road earlier had appeared to have rounded the little cul-de-sac before tracing its route back out to eighty-t
wo. It occurred to me that maybe Jack had swung by to check on me. Except Jack knew that I worked the Bug Saturday nights during the season and had done so for eternity. In fact, because that schedule had afforded him the flexibility to pursue some of his other interests while we were dating, he was acutely aware that I worked Saturday nights. I decided someone had driven too far up eighty-two in search of some destination and realized their mistake upon dead-ending at my place.
The porch light glowed reassuringly, the rays casting yellow on to the front porch. I turned off the engine and killed the headlights. With all the falling snow, the night stayed practically as bright as it had been with the lights on.
I got the key out from under the planter, locking the door being a new habit for me and one only acquired since the death of my dog. I missed Kayla more than words can say and for a number of reasons, especially at times like this when her barking would have been a comforting sign that all was good at home. I unlocked the door and pushed it open timidly. The entry light was on, glowing over the red-brick tile, turning the walls to a lonely yellow, and I strained to remember if I’d left it burning. In a contrived show of security to myself, I kicked off my boots and slung my parka over the hook.
And then my senses took over. The presence of another human permeated the air, echoed off the slant of the A-frame’s walls. I could measure the exhaled breaths, could smell the heavy odor of work clothes, could feel skin shed in my absence. My eyes searched the entry for any evidence to confirm what I knew in my bones, that there was someone here.
Everything on the rack inside the door was in place. From where I stood, I could see past the shadowed kitchen nook into the living room beyond it, with its sofa and Sam’s old Barcalounger. Both rooms were empty. Still, another presence rang out.
There was a gun in the house, something I’d abhorred but that Sam had insisted upon. Though he claimed it a necessity to ward off pesky animals, I suspected it was the human animal which caused him the most worry. The gun was stowed on a shelf in Sam’s former bedroom at the far end of the house, still loaded as it had been the day he died. The door to Sam’s old room was closed. As with the entry light I racked my brain trying to remember if that door had been open or not when I’d left for work. Was there someone on the other side waiting to burst out and attack me? Or upstairs in the loft waiting for me to come up so he could violate me?
My sense of unease was so overwhelming I was too afraid to check the bedroom. To stick my head up into the loft. I thought of the unlikely bird’s nest in my chimney and the noise the other night that I thought was a raccoon. Maybe it hadn’t been a raccoon that I’d heard at all, but something else. My heartbeat in my ears was deafening as my certainty that there was someone in my home solidified.
I decided to trust my instincts and bolt. Even if I had to sleep in my car on a downtown street, anything would be better than this. I could come back in the morning when it was light to check things out. I slipped my boots back on and took my jacket off the peg without making a sound. My hand was shaking as I put it to the knob. And then a loud creak from behind me nearly caused me to jump from my skin.
I turned my head far enough to see the door to Sam’s room opening. I was right. There was someone in my home. I had to move fast. I had just pulled the door open to make my escape when a large male hand appeared over my shoulder and slammed it shut.
My survival instincts leapt into gear. Holding my ground, I jerked my elbow back hard. There was a loud ummph as my elbow met the invader’s solar plexus, and his hand fell from the doorframe. This time I yanked the door open all the way and ran for the car.
I had one leg in the Wagoneer before recognizing a familiar voice calling my name. I turned around to see Toby folded nearly in half in the doorway, holding his side. He was wearing a T-shirt and sweats and about three days’ growth of beard. The light from the entry illuminated his muscular frame.
‘Greta. Greta. Stop. What the hell are you doing?’
‘Toby!’ I shouted, running back to give my twin a hug. We held each other for some elongated seconds and then pulled apart. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’
‘I didn’t know myself until this morning. Ended up on an unexpected layover in Denver and one of the guys was coming up this way for a few nights. Thought I’d surprise you.’ He gave his ribcage a rub. ‘Man you pack a punch. You’re more dangerous than the rebels.’
When I looked up at my brother’s eyes, even darker brown than mine, his hair a blond mop, there is no way to explain the rush of love that flowed through me. We’d been in it together from the beginning, from a shared womb to the shared challenge of our mother, and our ties were infinitely strong. The fact that we would go months and sometimes years without seeing each other did nothing to dilute our closeness.
He had enlisted in Special Forces after Mom died, the Army Rangers, and since then he seldom told me where he was or what he was doing. There were occasional letters and texts from him, often blacked out, or calls at peculiar hours of the night. I didn’t know if this secrecy was to protect me or protect him, but either way I was immensely proud of him. He’d come to visit the summer after Sam was gone and knew about the hidden key under the planter.
‘You could have at least left your boots at the door to give me a heads-up,’ I scolded.
‘My bad,’ he replied. ‘By the time we pulled in your driveway I was so dog-tired I went straight for the bedroom. I hope my compa made it the rest of the way all right. He’s staying at his folks’ digs in Starwood.’
‘Not bad duty,’ I said, referring to the gated enclave with the airport view. ‘But not as good as staying with your sister.’
We lit a fire and talked for an hour. I told him about my being caught in an avalanche and the problem with the furnace. I didn’t mention anything about Warren. I wasn’t ready to share that story with him yet. ‘Holy shit,’ he said. ‘And I thought I had rough duty. Glad I didn’t arrive right in time for a funeral.’
‘In all seriousness, you came close.’
I noticed his head drop momentarily before he caught himself and forced himself back to wakefulness. It was clear he was having a rough time keeping his eyes open. The digital clock atop the television said it was three fifteen.
‘All right, bedtime,’ I said. ‘I’ll make you a nice breakfast in the morning.’
While Toby brushed his teeth, I went into the storage closet and got him an extra pillow and blanket. I took them into his room where a duffel bag packed with neatly folded clothing and a pair of shiny boots sat open on the floor. That was all he travelled with. There was something so solitary about it that my heart ticked an unjustified pang. I hoped he was just solitary and not lonely.
I was still staring at the bag when I remembered my ski date with Dr Larsen in less than five hours. Well, that ski date was just going to have to wait for another time. I wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to be with my brother in order to spend time with someone I barely knew. Then it dawned on me I had no contact information for the good-looking doctor. In the brief exchange over the coat-check door, we had not traded phone numbers. I could try calling the hospital for his cell, but I knew from experience they never gave out the numbers of staff.
Toby came back into the room and flopped on to the bed he had been occupying when I tried to sneak out of my own house. ‘Bad news,’ I said. ‘You’ll have to cook your own breakfast. I forgot I have to meet a guy over at Snowmass tomorrow. I’ll cut out early.’
‘A guy?’ His eyes lit up. ‘Anybody special?’
‘Nah. Just the doctor who keeps putting me back together. He caught me off guard and I couldn’t think of a way out. All I can say is, with snow like this he better know how to ski.’
‘We know that’s the truth, don’t we, sister? But hey, don’t rush home for me. I’ll be happy to sleep all day.’ He climbed under the covers, closed his eyes and was dead to the world. Like that. I guess in his line of work he was able to sleep on demand. And wake
up on demand too. Like when he’d heard me come in the door.
I climbed the ladder to the loft, took a deep satisfying breath and fell asleep nearly as quickly as my brother. All my skittishness, the overarching sense of danger I’d experienced these past days was gone. Toby was here. There was an Army Ranger in my house.
FIFTEEN
Toby and I were mutual survivors of our mother. Beautiful and headstrong, she left little room for argument when we were growing up. She was a good woman and she loved us as deeply as a mother loves her children, but she was also miserly with information and affection. When I say she loved us, I know she truly did. Nearly everything she did was with our best interest in mind, from where she chose to live to how she chose to make a living. She was so beautiful she could easily have married her way out of having to work long hours on her feet styling hair. But I think she truly believed that having a full-time man in her life would detract from her devotion to us.
That did not preclude her from part-time male companionship. Over the years there was a parade of them through her life and ours. Dozens of them. Some for a single night, some for a few months. Had she lived longer, I like to imagine that she would have committed to someone after Toby and I left. But she was a Swede through and through, with an aloofness that could border on cold. She kept distance between herself and other people, including us. Not so much when we were little children. Then she was warm and I can remember her snuggling us in her bed.
Our first home was a two-bedroom apartment in Milwaukee. My mom had settled there when she was pregnant with us, an odd place I always thought since she was always quick to say how much she hated Sweden’s long dark winters. But I always felt my mother was either running or hiding from something and maybe she thought that Wisconsin was a good place to take shelter.
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